{December 18, 2014}   Tinder Box

Day 9 or maybe 10 without drugs, my head is a tinder box. Been bearable, painful but bearable till yesterday when I had kids and needed to focus on too many things simultaneously and it felt like gunshots exploding behind my retina and shrapnel lodging into every crevice in my head. It’s a lesson on focus, I’m emotional and I’m trigger happy and I don’t have the capacity to handle very much without the drugs. I literally stopped and held my head in my hands in the middle of the drugstore yesterday thinking my skull was cracking.

Why am I doing this? To prove to myself there is an illness here. I had to take a step back after the blow out 10 days ago to wonder is he right, am I really just faking this all and being a martyr (don’t get my on the subject of the real martyr). Somehow I have been fooling the cadre of specialists and doctors I have seen over the last 15 years and making these symptoms up and committing suicide for attention. Wow, I must be a really fucked up normal person.

As this experiment has shown me, life without drugs is what I imagine the worst hell must be like but at least it makes me feel real, that what I am is real, that I am really fucking sick no matter what the fuck you say and I can feel it with every fibre of my body these days, a rapid shot  firing squad that never goes away and never gives me time to think otherwise. I am thinking I should just flush all the damn drugs down the toilet and live in this purgatory, honestly, I sort of like it, no excuses, paying for your sins with a daily reminder.

Last night was one of the worst nights with the stress of kids and demand of work, there was no sleep, just a pantheon of nasty images, words, sweat and then the panic of getting up and getting the children to school with no sleep and 10 minutes to not spare.

I had a happy happy moment yesterday, stopped by to visit a gfriend’s newborn baby and my heart skipped a beat and my biological clock ticked so hard it was deafening. Just holding the little bundle of baby smells, warm breath, bitty hands and gurgling smiles was enough medication to last a year, precious and heart warming. I don’t know why my body wants a child when my head is clearly seeing logic. The damn biological clock is broken and can’t figure out we are too tired and old and also fixed. Though I can see the joy of a child, tropics, nanny, space, no financial worries and a hobby.

Anyways, time for some Advil and back to my 60 hour work week. Sayonara mother fuckers.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

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

Bi-polar parenting

Thoughts and ideas

%d bloggers like this: