How much does rejection hurt? As much as depression hurts without the Cymbalta to help.
Took 2 more steps up my ladder to the flame today, it’s starting to singe. Yesterday the money woes started to catch up with me, that I shut it down, turned it off and ignored it. What more would it do than add to the despair. Today rejection struck another blow at a vulnerable point, my Achilles heel.
How do I describe the rejection of BPD. We are so vulnerable to rejection that I call it our Achilles heel, a tiny prompt that even hints at rejection spirals into inconsolable sorrow and internal self-flagellation of how unworthy we are. For me, it hits like a tsunami, immediate and encompassing that I feel like I cannot breathe and the tears come like someone has just punched me in the gut or thrown me facedown onto a concrete floor. As it continues nausea builds at how unworthy I am that I want to vomit myself out.
I write this feeling the vice grip of steel bands around my heart and lungs, trying to focus on limiting the spread. I won’t go into the mitigating event because my focus right now is control. I turned on the TV immediately to find a distraction that I could concentrate on while I got my tears and breathing under control enough to move. Even now, an hour later, any backwards thought brings the force of tears to brim over and I have to focus on here and now, writing this blog with no other thought on my mind. I have the radio on too, LOUD.
I am at my mother’s house to have additional distraction, albeit I don’t talk to her about what is going on, I attributed my agitation to stress over my lack of a job and writing this as “work”. I am sure she may think my red eyes are a bit off but there’s always an excuse for everything.
My gut wants me to tune out the pain and not face it head on. I do need to face it and explain what I am feeling to the object of my rejection, so I can let it out. Our exercise in DBT was to opposite action. I want to curl into a ball at home, turn into the blankets and cry till nothing will come out anymore. Turn every form of communication of and just let the hurt suffuse me, not bother to do the work, and sink into the pain and my hatred of myself.
At this juncture I know what I need to do but I don’t know what I will do. I need to stay moving and engaged to not let it take over. Go out, don’t go home, use my skills to face it and explain it, knowing “this too shall pass”, it will always pass once I hump the hardest part of the next 12-24 hours and start the journey down without dissociating.