{April 30, 2012}   D-

Well I got a D in the therapy today, the reason i didn’t get a fail is that I at least can talk about it and realize that I knew this was coming.

I am very highly functioning and as long as I work hard, stay an A student, I am great. But, even A students have rough weeks, things going on at home, too many exams and tests. I knew I was toying that line of falling into a depressive episode, it has been winking at me for the last couple of weeks and I have been successfully skirting it and pushing it to the back of my mind. And, going full speed ahead without any break to re-group, need to get out of my environment, somewhere neutral to let the tension ease out for a week.

Go figure my GP just walked in to the restaurant and asked me how I was doing. Karma.

So I have been bad and the walls are closing in and the claustrophobia is coming on making me want to either hide in a hole (my bed) and do nothing for days until I turn into a shamble-y incoherent mess or bolt. Neither is good for continuous income, children or having any sense of continuity in life. I don’t know about others but when life turns into a blur and getting going in the morning is daunting, I know I am in trouble. Each morning has been harder and harder to set my mindset positive to go to work, to go to yoga, to go see my sister. 

I’m depressed at my finances, I’m depressed that I want to send the kids to camp and I can’t, I’m depressed because there are all these pretty things in the windows and I haven’t bought a thing for myself in almost a year because there are so many more important things to address, which makes it horrible to walk around now that spring is in full bloom, I’m depressed that my commuting situation has been so hellish lately my yoga, my one shining, grounding light, has fallen to the wayside. I’ve let my apartment disintegrate because this weekend I felt like doing shit all but lay around with the kids and walk outside to get out of inside. Even my personal grooming is crap, I’m going to need an intervention soon.

So, I was told I needed to get grounded again and quick. Pull my big girl socks up and find a starting point and focus. First I need to take a breather, not sure when that is, but moving on… I have to figure my schedule out, I have to get to yoga the weekends I have the kids. I have to make sure I have enough of a regular safe social life to tamp my mania, I need to be prepared on school nights so I am not a chaotic hot mess, I need to get summer schedule put together so it’s not hovering over me like a swarm of killer bees, I need to win the lottery (or sell my house), I should go on a holiday for at least a week to somewhere I have no connections to.

Is it bad to want a drink at 2:24pm on a work day? It’s 5pm somewhere…

I am muddled between going home and crawling into bed, hiding out, working incessantly to not think, or going out and ignoring it all.


10 Reasons Survivors Might Know More!.

{April 30, 2012}   Orgasm of the Skin


Sometimes and some days the world goes by so fast I feel suspended in a vortex that continuously spins and when I set down my mind is still spinning but the world is standing still. My head hurts, I’m struggling to orient and I am exhausted wishing I was still spinning because the stop is akin to slamming into a brick wall with my engines still gunning but the wall aint budging.

It’s time for the red zone, my period, in about 2 weeks, and this is the cresting wave leading up to it, sucking all the debris in before it crashes on to shore and dissipates. I’m swimming up the wave, surfing it, which is a monumental task.

Normal BPD days I need to be aware and conscious. I check my temperature when I wake up. Depressed, overwhelmed, overly excited, agitated and I manage to circumnavigate my day with my training relatively well if all factors are even. Enough sleep, not too much stress on the plate, stay groomed, have enough social interaction, touch base with the support team, keep the reins in tight. It’s funny how people have no idea how every decision I make is thought through to see where and what triggers might click and whether the decision is mine made rationally, emotionally, reactive, whether it will tip over my nicely placed dominoes into a domino cascade of hell.

So, most days it’s good, PMS days it’s navigating a battlefield, I am so strongly focused on everything I do and say, I walk around with a constant headache and a blur of exhaustion. Someone bumps into me it’s a study in concentration not to scream at them, walking through the mall is feeling like Indiana Jones in a pit of snakes, and every tiny bit of annoyance is multiplied to a sensation of being pricked by needles and wanting to smack someone. Alcohol helps, helps dull the edges into a bit more of a fuzzy coating. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not swilling alcoholic but during these days a glass a day is additionally medicative in addition to the drugs.

I was changed to Cirpralex 6 weeks ago, it’s meant to help with this week but since I normally can’t remember the weeks once done I have no idea if it is or not, all I know is that I feel gross and want to walk around the streets dressed in sloppy black sweatpants with stringy hair scowling at people. Every evil female insecurity that could exist to plague womanhood I feel. Fat, greasy, pudgy, wrinkly, pimply I am convinced I am all of the above. I haven’t looked in the mirror for 2 days. Not to say that I feel depressed or sad, I’m just gross, slug like, tired and this is just far too much work for 3 days of blood. Who came up with this equation, let’s feel like crap for a week to bleed for 3? If a hysterectomy didn’t automatically age me 10 years I’d be in line. I did try taking the 3 month birth control pills, where I only got my period 4 times a year, and it was GREAT for the BPD PMS but sucked for the break through bleeding, weight gain and the bloating. I am close to considering it again… 

This probably wasn’t a stable time to be reading other blogs because I came across one brilliant article of a woman describing her cutting, which she hadn’t done in years, akin to myself (OK, not years but maybe a year), and even then it was tiny). I’ve had a few close moments in the last year but have always found the mental fortitude to make myself walk away or walk out of the scene.

But it reminded me of how good it feels, sad that they come across as pleasant memories but cutting is pleasant. The pain that drives someone to cut is unimaginable, words cannot do justice to the internal pain that wells up under the skin and in the brain, pulsating like it’s alive, crawling through your veins and behind your eyes, that you want to tear your skin out to get the release. I used to feel like pins were pushing up from underneath my flesh unable to escape, my throat would be tight, the tension coiled so cold and hard the only salvation was to pick up that knife and slice. And the heaven of feeling the coldness of the blade, the trepidation and the guilt locked in a battle, the stillness stifling the air and then the cut, like a violin bow against the string, magic. Watching the blood steal out, leaching with it all the pain, the more blood the better the high, and then the fervor increases to cut and bleed out more and more, before guilt could walk in, before reality thought to find me or come home, till spent. Though left with bleeding scarred limbs, the pain, its blissfully gone, cutting doesn’t hurt, you can’t even feel it compared to the rage inside, and the external pain is a welcome relief that’s controlled, an orgasm of the skin that puts me rest.

Namaste. No worries, no cutting ahead.

{April 28, 2012}   MAY is BPD Awareness Month

MAY is BDP Awareness Month.


Im in a funk. Not a bad episode funk but a maybe this can slide down this way funk.

I haven’t felt like I have done anything fun or light to uplift myself lately. Work has been full on with not a moment to breathe. The kids schedules were abnormally complicated and the last 2 nights have been a triathlon of working, motivating, cooking, cajoling, grumping and driving, driving and driving. There hasn’t been a moment to just sit back and have a laugh. A giggle would suffice.

So, tonite I think to self, self- should I go sit at the bar down from work and have a quick drink, just to get some space around me. The thought of seeing the house in all its chaos after the kids have left is not calling to me, shit is everywhere and it’s going to feel like a ton of bricks coming down. Then my flip side feels depressed that I have to go sit at a bar and talk to strange people. I asked Carl the office manager if he wanted to go for a drink but Carl is just a little too earnest and I sense that might be more work than not. I’d ask Hugh but then I have to deal with him coming back to me that I spend too much time with him. My sister has the baby. Shae has an appointment. Jules has her kid. Cay has the kids. Everyone else I know I don’t particularly want to see. I’m back to the same options, home alone w mess and no sanctuary or bar alone with no mess but some space. Gah!

Riddle me this and riddle me that.

I see Val tomorrow. My psychologist and I know i know the answers she’s going to tell me. She’s going to say I need a break, I’m moving too fast, doing too much and not taking care of myself. I have  unresolved items hanging over me, primarily my Finances which is turning into a pile of quicksand around me, and the more a fight it, the deeper I sink. One step forward THREE steps back. It costs a lot to be crazy and see 3 medical professionals at a time. Thankfully, I am such a unique case my psychiatrist has convinced the government I am interesting enough to pay for. Then there’s living in the most expensive city in North America, having 2 kids, summer coming up which scares me to bits and having my work constantly interrupted buy absences I need to take to stay healthy. Then there’s debt, omnipresent, constantly growing and I am sure going to suck me in and spit me out in a huge episode. I also have my ongoing saga with my ex husband over assets which is for another day, another time, another mind.

I think I said it, I have more financial stress then I should but how do I fix that. I am looking for another job but that goes counter intuitive to the relax and take more time to do non stressful activities. I need to take a break, every 3 months, medically advised… yes with what money and what time? Fairy Godmother???? You there?? My psychiatrist, by the way, is kite surfing in Barbados, perhaps I should have gone with him, would have been like an all-inclusive fun and therapy retreat.

OK, I am taking up work time which is probably going to add more stress to get done by 4:30 so I can find that damn laugh and giggle

{April 25, 2012}   Rocky Horror House

It’s been 3 nights of unsettled sleep. I take Trazadone at night to help me sleep, which means that unsettled sleep and nightmares means that there is enough percolating to over ride the medication. Welcome to the Rocky Horror House of my mind.

Getting to bed has been a uncomfortable affair of bed gymnastics from one side to another, from front to back, there never seems to be a place of rest. Once asleep the dreams start, which too is an anomaly, I don’t dream, and when I do dream it’s a slap in the face that I have unresolved issues. My early warning system so to speak.

The disquiet is hard to pinpoint but this morning’s remembrance gave me a foothold. My dreams have centered around someone I care about being taken, bound, restrained and pained and the crux of saving them lies with me figuring the answers to hidden messages. Such clarity in the dreams of the captors, sweat beading on their brow, the smell of fear, the tension, and the urgency for me to see, see what I can’t see in the puzzle to save them.

It doesn’t take a PhD to figure out I’m scared of hurting someone I love if I can’t sort the puzzle in my mind. That this screams poor inter-personal relationship girl plagued by guilt at her inability to not hurt people. In 3 nights I haven’t saved anyone as yet. Luckily my dreams/mares have excluded me from having to watch their grizzly end. Of course, it hasn’t been nice enough to PG-13 my emotions in the dreams.

So with heavy heart I sit here before getting ready to work, tired and frustrated. It’s not a bad day and I don’t feel bad, it’s frustrating not sleeping and knowing full well why you can’t sleep but unable to solve it. So, here’s to a great day. I have a therapy appointment on Thursday so I’ll get head shrinked and zapped back into shape and maybe only kill off one more person tonight (in my dream).

Happy Hump Day

{April 24, 2012}  

It’s so true that being BPD gives people in a relationship with us so much more heightened emotions. Of course in all directions but it’s never dull!

Yes, that’s me.

The BPD that is so highly functioning that it’s almost detrimental because my BPD seems invisible to the normal person. I want to be normal (whatever that may be), not LOOK LIKE I’m functioning normally. It just makes it harder when the mania and depression come full force it’s a shit to let anyone in because they cannot imagine me as crazy (YES, I AM CRAZY). Then we have awkwardness, they don’t know what to do, they feel helpless and I am helpless, so it’s a no win. And then how do you go back, once they see you in mania or depression they can never see you as highly functioning again and every thing you do is watched and analyzed, and a relationship you thought could perhaps have some semblance of calm no longer is.

I wish Canada had never cut mental health services, it used to be you could go to the clinic or mental health support to find that non judgmental safe place , where you could not fear repercussions and have people around to talk to you and understand. But now, you’re either suicidal or you’re not and there is nothing in between. If I walked into the hospital today asking for respite I’d have another mark on my medical record saying I was unstable when all I wanted was comfort.

{April 23, 2012}   A Friend in Need

Rage, I can feel it coiled in my chest like a serpent waiting for me to lift the lid and release it. The discomfort hurts, sitting heavy as I try and push the mania and hold it at bay. Because for the life of me I want the stimulation to distract and numb out this quake that I want to reach inside of me and remove.

I am sitting at home trying to find as much stimulus as I can in this small space to not go crazy and out. I’ve watched TV, I’ve played games, I’ve cleaned, read and now it’s almost time to rewind and repeat. But I am angry, angry that I am ruining my Sunday having to fight this insanity. Yes, I know my trigger, I let my emotions in too far and left open vulnerability and wham bam out comes Amanda to play.

I went walking around in such a blur, people passing by were nameless, and I was senseless, it did nothing to assuage my ache, perhaps made it worse because I was out there but I wasn’t, watching people be happy, watching friends interact and wishing I had the lightness,wishing I had something to make me feel whole but all I had was this stupid ache that stood me apart. So I came back to the TV, the games, the book and to gritting my teeth and wishing I could let some of this mania out, find someone to play with, someone safe because I want to rage.

They say to call someone, I mean wtf do I say, I need you to… come go out with me, or come here and hold my hand because I’m sick and this will make me feel better. Yes, great, that would win me the idiot of the year award. Shrinks don’t always get it, we can’t always reach out and find someone, they have lives, they have commitments, how do you ask someone to drop everything to come attend to your mania that may or may not get out of control.

And then there’s the fact that I look and act completely normal with the 3-ring circus of serpents pounding in my chest. I don’t even know where to go with this rant, I’m having a hard night and I need a friend and I don’t seem to have any.

{April 22, 2012}   Blogger re-cap

I was attempting to segue my entire Blogger posts onto here and sadly I could not figure out how to make it so and retain the integrity of all the dates so we stayed chronological. So, I cheated and just added my blogger link on here. This one from 2010, seems so apropos for now, I thought I would share:

I saw his face today, across the green murky video camera feed. He somehow looked older than I had ever seen him, the stretch across the lower jaw as you begin to age, the beginnings of age creeping in that I never noticed. But the hardest part was the slackness in the eyes, the emptiness and sadness looking back at me. I wanted to reach into the screen and touch through my sorry, my sorry for everything, my sorry for the hurt, the pain, the broken heart, I am so sorry for the chasm of all that could not be undone. Did I cause the light to go out, for you to lose your spark.

Everything across my screen looked so small and far away, like a tiny fishbowl that I wanted to press my palms onto, to look in, to watch my life without me, how it all could be the same but so different. How unknowing and innocent excepting the knowing in my mind, knowing what I held would change so much and they didn’t know, they were all still so happy.

How long do I carry this time bomb of indecision, of fear, of moving forward with no regrets, accepting this as not failure yet feels like the mantle of failure? I know, when I step off that plank there will be no peter pan to swoop in, because heroes only exist in fairy tales, and a mistake in reality is borne by me and me alone.

Why cant I see this as a shining light, as that beacon at the end of tunnel, is it the sacrifice. I read copious amounts that tell me about me, about what I am, about what I do, about what I think, that all of this is normal for me, the instability, the chaos, the impulsiveness, how do you fight against what you are? Where are the words of light, of saviour, that maybe, maybe I can make the right choice, that maybe I don’t have to leave a trail of hurt in my wake. Is it ok, does it make it ok because the books say this is what I do? It’s ok because this is I, this is what I do, this is what I’ve been given and the children bear the sins of the mother.

There are no answers, just questions and doubts. I am insulated here, hidden, shrouded, but I know I am weak and fragile. Even a tiny sliver of reality jars like a million shards cutting, and I remember, I am not as strong as I wish. It’s good to have the reminder because I get complacent, begin to assume all is well with me, in a vacuum it’s easy to be lulled into safety. Reality bit today and I bled.

There are days that I drop tears onto myself…

et cetera
A Forgetful Traveler

Remembering the world one blog post at a time

Life after BPD

Life after Borderline Personality Disorder; making a life worth living through love, laughter, positivity and Dialectical Behaviour Therapy


The secret life of high-functioning borderline personality disorder.

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