I know everyone is tired of me. The moment I left the hospital and started to look “normal” it was all over, and I knew that would happen, it isn’t like my first ride on the pony. I wanted to stay in the hospital, the only place where people knew my disease, knew how it worked, knew that just because it had been 10 days and I looked “normal” did not mean I was.
And now, I am back to putting on the face and pretending because that it what everyone expects, may it be H or my mother, actually both. They’re both itching to say “just get on with, you’re fine” which makes me want to break into hysterical laughter. Do you think your mind can go from wanting to die, devolving that far to snapping out of it in 2 weeks and being stable. I guess, if you haven’t been there, you don’t know.
I know and that’s all that should matter, so I got up this morning with the resolve to say, OK, it’s just me against me now, and if I succeed or fail it’s on me. I can’t handle the guilt of people looking at me and wishing I would get over it. My boyfriend is so bored and I know he’s just ready to toss it in the air, all he’s doing is torturing himself to be nursemaid to someone who “looks normal”.
So I am going to go home and tough this out solo. With calls to Amy, of course. I have no idea what I will do when her new move takes her so far away from me. She’s the only link that gets me, all of me and I think that loss is going to be a hard one to surmount. It’s a pressure and a trigger but no one has figured that out but me. That just started me crying, the thought is so painful I can’t think about it.
It depresses me, that an inadequate word, that I don’t have a friend/peer network that wants to understand or even one that I can count on to try. My mother is clueless and will continue to be so, she has expressed that she has no desire to learn. Old dog, no new tricks. H is trying but he can barely get himself to read a book on BPD, if my loved one had BPD I’d have devoured 6 books by now and seen every doctor I know, but that’s me and I can’t be judgemental. My sister is a laugh-off, my support group sister, took off on a 10 day holiday after I tried to kill myself. What a laugh the excuses were. Another pressure and trigger I can’t deal with now. If she had taken the time to read she would know rejection, abandonment and even replay of history were all hallmarks of BPD, but I’m glad she got a tan and now that she’s had her fun she’s all eager to come home and support me, just fuck off, do you think you’ve built any trust in me that you will be there next time?
So, it’s me and professionals for the long haul and they wonder why I don’t want to live. No one can put themselves in my shoes and see that it’s a pretty miserable experience no matter how pretty I look on the outside. The low moments fas outweigh the highs. Everyone just wants the old Vida back, the face behind the mask because that’s what they’re used to. They will get that back, make all happy again that their lives are back to normal and mine never will be.
I am still angry to be alive, it’s still burning in the middle earth of my soul. And the thought of nothing to live for but doctors and more doctors and crazy groups feeds that fire like the ring. It’s tamped down, being a good student, but it’s there, always there as an escape. I am smarter this time. Next time it will be done, smarter. They now have my Last Will & Testament, and this week I plan on making a paper copy, notarized.
Blank, blank, blank, all the time. Pain in my chest, the tightening of my throat and the thrumming of my head. I’m a bad orchestra.
Plans. Make myself pretty again, they all want that, put the smile and the spring back. I will do the work but I know it takes months and in the meanwhile I have been pretending for years. Its better than watching everyone struggle to feel sorry for me. Or look at me like I am pretending to be sick, what on earth would I gain from that? Free meals?