borderlinegirlliveshere











{January 23, 2014}   1 Step Forward, 2 Steps Back

Confused. Very confused. I suppose that happens after you’ve seen 3 psychiatrists, 1 psychiatric nurse, 2 emergency room doctors and your psychologist in the span of 3 weeks and tried to kill yourself and cut yourself.

That, all that, in itself is a lot of noises, voices, thoughts coupled in with well-meaning friends and family advice.

I saw a new psych today who thinks that on top of BPD, a lot in itself, I could also have depression on top of that. That’s just depressing, no pun intended. So, my medications have been mixed a little to see if it makes a difference, more bupropion, cipralex and trazadone. Yes, I am hoping it works and at the same time I am heaving a sigh of almost giving up. Can it get any harder?

depressionMeeting a new psych is also hard, new everything, start again, how do I compress 12 years into one hour and have you UNDERSTAND me. Then see you in a month and almost start again. I realize this is how psychiatrists work, especially govt run psyches, though when I had my first brush with death, I saw mine almost every week till life turned a corner.

I am still in home jail because I am volatile, to myself, being a quiet borderline and all. I’m prickly, sensitive and my mother poked me with a red-hot poker yesterday which induced a few steps backwards in the hockey pokey dance and involved some broken glass and cutting. I feel like a vibrating energy line loose from its pole, just on the verge of electrocuting.

I dont know what im supposed to do, stay where, do what, see whom, what do I want? One step at the time, I get it, but which path and which direction am I stepping? Am I going to live at my mother’s house and be visited by the psych nurse and another pysch every week, not guaranteed the same person each week, but they are just there to keep me safe, sane and stable. Then go see my psychologist. Then drive 40min to see the new psych I saw today once a month, plus the ones that see me every week, and attend DBT “light” classes once a week also 40min away from town, though without the 24 hour access to the therapists I had w my private program. I am already feeling crazier than the crazy I am. Maybe I should call the 1-800-SUICIDE line.

Safety plan, make my safety plan. And that includes who? It seems like a lot of people, professional people but other than there’s H and… 911 and some sedatives. SAD.

God, I have no idea what to do, why the fuck am I here, this is ridiculous, stupid, a waste of time, and I am miserable. Why does everyone have to be miserable along with me? It feels like playing a game with parts from other games thrown in, so nothing

stock-photo-close-up-shot-of-old-soccer-ball-basketball-baseball-football-bat-hockey-stick-baseball-glove-50956663quite fits together or plays together and you can’t win the game with mixing a basketball with hockey player with a soccer net on an football field. Yes, they’re all sports but which sports team am I playing with?

My head hurts, my heart hurts, my brain hurts and people wonder why I just want to go to sleep, this is so fucked the hell up. 

 

 

 

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I have been trying to work my episodes out using my DBT skills the last 6 months, and its been very good for me but I have missed writing and putting my soul out on paper. Today the jarring lightening bolt strikes on the side of my head are piercing and I need a little old-fashioned written therapy. The pains up and down my side, the jerks of pain on the left side of my head and the incessant chiming and evil merry-go-round in my head has been palpitating for days and even for all my skills its muted till I relax or am alone in bed and the voices will not stop. This morning I was frozen to the bed, listening to my litany of abhorrent thoughts duck and dive through me with the icicle of sharpness scraping through my head.

In a relationship, if I can call what I have a relationship, I vacillate on taking my cues from DBT class which is to assess what the relationship means to you and act according to the charts, whether you stand your ground to make your point with little emotional investment in the relationship or acquiesce without harming oneself to maintain the relationship, of course, bringing in all the emotional and distress coping skills to not take oneself down the wrong path.

My boyfriend who is a good person, he is a good person, he gives and he is thoughtful and will physically be there for you. The caveat is on his terms, which is fair, his body, his life, his terms and one is taught to have no expectations and the only actions controllable are your own. Choose to accept or to walk away but not to blame or expect. If I need help moving, if I need financial assistance, if I need external distraction 150%.

domestic-violenceBut the rules reside in his court and his alone. I am the flawed one and in accordance with that I don’t get a full vote on anything, not even on my own feelings. I am told regularly what a sacrifice having a relationship with me is, that the fact that this is not a “normal” relationship taxes him and by that fact I owe him appreciation and that I have no right to have issues with him to discuss or even mention if my feelings are marred. So we are on different ground, I am the adopted stray or the half price item on the shelf that can be returned anytime if malfunctioning, or if your stray acts badly sent back to the kennel. That I need to keep this in mind when I have an episode, that he can only take so much and that my “acting” this way warrants my being given a warning that our relationship is predicated on my controlling my mental health and never voicing any hurt or injuries I may feel against him because for all he does for me, I have no right and if I do they are caused by my actions, my flaws and my inability to understand him which then “disappoints” him because stupid, mentally flawed me is “disappointing” for not understanding, for not appreciating, for not knowing that how I thing is wrong, that by not seeing it “the correct way”, marks another ground for dismissing me for being a lesser human being because there is only one way, his way.

My boyfriend is perfect. Not once in 2 years have I been able to bring up injured feelings or hurts without being lambasted about how I bring it on, I cause things to happen, I am the one at fault. There has never been an apology from his side, not once, not once has there been an acknowledgment that I can have a say in the relationship without being warned that any more of this nonsense from me predicates him leaving. All our talks round back to, because of my disadvantages, I need to be grateful for what I am given and for my flaws and disappointments, I need to behave. That the way he conducts himself with me is all for my benefit and how dare I ever mar the surface of his world by bringing my trivialities to the table. That he has enough on his plate that I should know that having a life threatening mental illness that needs support taxes him and I am to take it outside of our sphere because he has enough to worry about and my job is to make sure our relationship is an asset of positivity for him or he will discard me.perfect_boyfriend-379561

And I have tried to swallow and I will continue to swallow the hurts and bruised feelings that I have, which is normal in any relationship but ours, because he is perfect, there is no possible way his mind he can be less than so in a relationship as he says all the time, “he knows people” and he knows himself. Yes, he is a bit full on that front, there is no teaching an old dog new tricks, it is what it is, so anything I see I try to shut up. However, should I disrespect him, say something off colour, make a comment that makes him feel hurt, I am lectured till I am on my knees begging forgiveness. If the tables were turned and I felt an injustice, it is my fault, my doing, my making and he is not wrong, not liable, not ever possible he could have done anything less than perfect, because do remember I am being given a favour so suck it up and don’t be a “disappointment” for thinking he could ever cause me any hurt feelings.

He planned a week vacation with his brother and family, and I am all for family, its great, took the time off, put it together, and his brother, due to a mental illness of his own, had to cancel the day before. So he had the week free and I had a week in Paris with accommodations and food paid for so I invited him, to no avail he had to work and the plane ticket was too much. Though then he did take 3 days and went off on a trip of his own. But of course it was only 3 days and I am sure he spent less than the $600 ticket to Paris. You think?

When we are together his work is paramount and he is busy, all the time, no time and I do understand, so I shush, all the time shush. But if a friend wants to go roller blading, he will find the time, if friends want to go out on his boat he will find the time. If I go out-of-town, he will always go away on a trip but when I come back, he’s busy, too busy.

He said he was busy this week, had to get his things sorted out, two days after I left town, he’s going away for 4 days. We had a week planned together next week which got put on hold for a friends party but that still leaves us 4 days, I am pretty sure he will be too busy for that, I will let you know. So when I am in town it’s always busy, when I am out-of-town, all of a sudden its free for him to go away, no phones, no computers, inviting friends.

buddhist-monk-with-orange-robe-pray-in-temple-with-hands-claspedAnd the Buddhist way is to understand that you cannot control anyones actions but of course it hurts, hurts a lot. And I made the mistake of bringing it up, knowing all that I have written above, you know, I know, I needed to shut up and just carry on. But with a rough previous week, PMS and just coming off the pill, poor sleep, an episode was eminent and I could not control myself and out it all came. I know better, I know better that talking always makes it worse because on top of my hurt, I will not get understanding, I will find out all I am wrong, all I need to be grateful for and get a warning that any more episodes and I am on the street. It also feeds into my episode hearing how I am wrong, how I am unappreciative, how I am disappointing, how I have only a few chances left which is cocaine to the episode, sending it even further down and the pain is excruciating. Once the mental pain starts, the physical pain starts to set in and then it is past any relationship woes, its down to BPD survival and managing the episode as it crests (and LOL God forbid I ask support from him to make it through, I am meant to make our relationship an oasis of positivity and asset), chanting to myself everyday that this too shall pass, just a few more days, clutching and un-clutching the knife wanting to cut, deriving all my emotion regulation and distress tolerance skills I learned (in the class he paid for, I told you he was there physically).

Don’t get me wrong, I know it sounds horrible and on that level it is. I think I stay because I do love him (love never enters his equation so it will not be said) and I do feel like the charity case, that I deserve this coming from the half off bin. The other piece is, other than the ultimatums, I can handle the rest by off setting it with the 90% good and knowing that I can control yourself by walking away and not engaging. Buddhism teaches not to blame the other person, I am in control of how I feel and I need to take responsibility for my hurts and not place it on someone else, I have the choice to step away from conflict.

The ultimatums make me wonder if the work going into this and I have done a lot of work will ever go to somewhere solid. It takes a lot to bring yourself back from the brink of death twice. To find a reason to live everyday and to beat the monsters back everyday. But it comes down to the fact you can’t see mental illness, crazy is crazy regardless of whether its an illness. I know he doesn’t believe I am sick and I know he doesn’t believe that all of this is not just a figment of psychiatry. How I would wish him into my head one day so he could run screaming by what he could hear and see. I will never make him understand and I need to accept that. Any argument we have will always be an oxymoron that though he doesn’t believe I really have an illness, he will use my ilness  to let me know how much I need to appreciate what he gives to my non-illness. The end is I need to always know that though I am working to make this last forever regardless of everything above, his link to me is on a tether based on my “good” behaviour, having him in a relationship is a right that can be revoked at any time, it is not through good times and bad or in sickness or in health.

child_abuse

I feel better, writing therapy is always good. Shut up, soldier on, stay true to the fact that the goal is to be healthy, not rely on others and be OK alone. Have no expectations and mitigate my hurts to myself and my therapy.



{November 28, 2012}   You Just Don’t Get It, I AM SICK

Well, I had a bit of a rage yesterday, this was after I had sedated myself for 24 hours with Trazadone and Seroquel. I began to have those thoughts of going to sleep and never getting up because the day was excruciating. No matter how much I think my BF understands, he still views my lows as just another thing I need to get over fast, like a little doggie, go over there relax it’ll be over. I think to myself, your regular cheerful GF is in bed, has not eaten for 24 hours and is drugging herself, do you not think he would be a little worried, no, not at all, figures if he leaves me alone, all will be well.

Next day, after being knocked out for a good 14 hours I had some strength to muster out but my limbs were still screaming and my head precipitous. I did some good things, got in the shower, went downstairs, with every step like descending on nails. I only had half my brain, the rest was still consumed by the episode, and you know, it is like being in a hazy fog and everything is a monumental effort that takes 250% to achieve. I also needed to support to try and make the hurdle out, so I kept trying to be near BF, because alone all the evil thoughts would suffocate me. BF keeps running away from me like I’m a needy plague, you can guess how the rejection then transpired, he told me I was a lot of work, needed too much. Of course I need him, I don’t have anyone else to help me and I am sure he didn’t want me walking over to the neighbours to support my BPD ass.

The switch flipped mentally before it did physically, anything I might have done to take 2 steps forward ended up 10 steps back. The despair and hopelessness broke the floodgates, I had to go hide in a corner just to quiet my mind enough to search for more pills to take me out because if not it would have been bad. I did stare at those pills a might bit too long, really didn’t want to get up. I threw down more Seroquel and Trazadone and BF comes up to tell me I am in his way again being in bed as he is working (putting up curtains). The physical rage switch which NEVER comes out of me went into overdrive, I could not believe the insensitivity and I guess neither could my inner demons because it took over and really all I could do was watch and listen to myself.

BPD Rage

Afterwards, I think he understood the severity but still not enough, but he did try, guilt trying. Made me want to just send him away and take more pills because at that point I felt like charity and he HAD TO support me.

Today is the 50-50 day, I slept another 12 hours last night which helped, but I’m wading carefully today, I’ve had a couple of pin pricks from BF but he has no idea each little one feels like a punch to the head. I have tried to stay as busy as the mind will let me while trying to stay in distress tolerance mode. BF made a crack about how he was focused and working hard and not just taking breaks and wasting time (that was a nod to me and a punch in the head, almost caved on that one). Little does he know how much work it is for me to just to be walking and talking today, that it is not over, still walking on eggshells.

You get it, we’re sick in our own way but because we can move and talk people put us aside as exaggerating or “being needy” and we just need to “get over it”. I screamed at BF that if I was hit by a bus I would get more sympathy, but because he can’t see it I just need to work it out. Getting hit by a bus would be far less painful and I would live and get support pouring out of him. My life long potentially fatal disease, not so much.



{November 27, 2012}   Unravelling (warning: trigger)

ImageI am unraveling, not the dainty  spool of gossamer thread, light and delicate, nor the bright unwind of a ball of warm yarn clicking into needles, this is rough thread leaving a still raw and weeping wound, being pulled apart slowly, each tug exposing healing and damaged skin, pooled with that glisten of wet that seeps from anguished cuts.

I came apart last night, thinking I was doing no wrong, knowing I was on shaky mental ground. I still don’t know what I did but my behaviour was wrong. I was feeling good, enjoying the mood, happy to be out and with people, but I was inappropriate, enough that my partner left me at the party in disgust of who I am. What was so bad about me, can I not see myself, can I not see the wrong I do. I don’t know what I did but I feel so bad and scared, because I felt like me and nothing felt wrong, so how can I not see my actions.

Who am I is the siren call of BPD, who am I? Do I see myself as I really am? What am I, am I a good person, am I pretty, am I generous, am I hard working, I don’t know, I don’t know the answer to my own self. Borderline is an unstable sense of self, I can see it written on paper, I wish I could see myself catalogued on paper, not just as a Borderline but how I am to the outside world.

People say things, some flattering, others not so much, do you believe them all, are they all of me. People call me pretty, yet the mirror does not say so, I like it when they say it, it makes me feel that maybe I can ignore the face in the mirror. Wen they say I am smart and work hard I have to laugh, maybe Amanda laughs, can they not see me? I feel like a child playing an adult’s game. When I look in the mirror I see insecure, fearful, tense, aging, pock marked, chubby, hollow me.

My head hurts, I cannot get out of bed, I have tried. My legs are inertia, and walking is an excruciating expenditure of energy I don’t have. Then the fear, I tried to go out and face the world and the fear came up in my throat like it was to strangle me, then the pain, then the uncontrollable tears of hurt that all I could do was hurtle back into bed and let the pain out and the hollow set in. Hollow, it flits in and out, alternating the stitches dragged out of my skin to then experiencing nothingness. Black and white. Tiny tremors of knife pricks scratch at my chest, I feel without the confines of my clothes my body would fall into shredded skin and bone on the floor, carcass.

Opposite action they said in class, opposite action would be getting out from bed and plastering that happy smile while I let the pain subside, I know it will, but in the thick of the flames I cannot imagine my screams going away. Someone is burrowing a point into the side of my head, I can feel the thudding so loud, they almost drown out the voices of negativity. Unfortunately, it hurts.

I walked home last night, under the light of the moon, surrounded by the dark of the trees. I should have felt worse for being left but I suppose this was punishment for being me. I thought of all the things that could happen on this dark road and I felt what was due was due, just one step ahead of the other. I fell in a ditch, mud soaked shoes and skin, walking my way back to a place that doesn’t want me. I was sad when an hour later a ride came by, it meant exponentially increasing the tidal wave of suffocation in my chest and the fray of my mind splintering.

I didn’t cut, yet. The easy out keeps slipping through my mind like a slippery eel, wending its way in and out of my consciousness, hissing when it finds a hole to curl in and remind me. Last night the urge was strong, I stood holding that knife, running the edge of the blade across my palm, imagining the panacea it could bring me. I put it down, I picked it up, I put it down, I walked away. I mindfully washed the mud off my legs, my shoes, my hands, my clothes while duelling with the knife in my mind.

This too shall pass, so easy to say when you are not living the hell with me. When you can’t see me. When you don’t understand me. All I can do is squash the words and find the smile, no words can describe this inner pain, so best to smile through the pain. Those stitches will soon come loose.



{October 23, 2012}   How much does rejection hurt?

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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.

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{October 19, 2012}   Judged and Damned

BPD relationships or at least my relationship reminds me of the scales of justice, with weight tipping from one side to another and the challenge is to keep it level or be judged and damned, gavel to the head.

It is so easy to tip too far in one direction, which for me is wanting and needing to spend time with him excluding everything else. The issue is, when the scale tips too far over I am overwhelmed with my own emotion and feel like I am losing myself. I have a little voice that tells me to divide my time, stay home, do something for myself, pace myself but the lure of closeness is a drug, I fear if I don’t get as much as I can he will go away or worse yet, find something better. Sometimes it is as base as I am swept by the tide and I cannot swim against it so when I finally hit shore, I am exhausted.

What my head doesn’t always realize is we (head and I) need space and we need to trust that just because he is out of sight does not mean I am out of his mind, and find the trust to function with faith he will be there the next hour, the next day and not be done with me. Easier said then done because I love the time but the more time I spend the more attuned I get to little ticks and sensitivities, and my emotions get heightened where the tiniest bit of an argument, disagreement, or even a look will pop the balloon.

Popping the balloon is not a good place, it weeps of instability, fragility and an open sore of vulnerability. Once popped, it’s just a pain trying t get it back together again, everything is a lip quivering, heart thudding, anxiety that is tremulous to control and takes days to right.

So I speak from experience as this is what happened to me this week. Overdose and now facing the withdrawal symptoms while simultaneously wondering if he thinks I am a psychotic mess to be breaking down at the drop of a pin (straight into my balloon).



{October 19, 2012}   Step by step

Been absent from this space for a while.

My apologies.

I have been working hard on my DBT (Dialectical Behavioural Therapy) and surprise-surprise I feel a difference in my ability to control some of my triggers, moods and episodes. A lot of what I am learning in group class I have ascribed to before but another part of the learning is being in a group, knowing that I am not alone, and though it sounds, strange, watching others face the same trials and tribulations I do. We are a very eclectic and varied group of people, and just like me, from the outside you would never know how much we suffer.

Having a reminder every week to practice, to think, to read helps maintain the DBT at top of my mind when situations and/or triggers arise. Not to say that all is well and swell 🙂 A lot more ahead but this is a twinkle in the eye of recovery.

Heading up to the inferno

This week had been a surprisingly hard week but on the flip side a good week. I say this because this would be the kind of week that would send me straight down into the pits of BPD hell and damnation. Every button, every push has compounded one on top of the other that its been a tightrope of a dance, spins, cartwheels. I call it my staircase, wach little trigger, though it may seem inconsequential on its own takes me one more step up the flight of stairs. For instance, I had a minor operation at the beginning of the week that though not threatening was stressful (1 step), scheduling for an event got very mixed up with lots of parties looking at me (2 steps), my car battery died in the rain and wind (3 steps up), bad sleep (higher we go), had a birthday party to arrange… Imagine each step gets closer to a burning inferno and so each step gets hotter and hotter and you react stronger and  hurt more and more and the final few steps, though they are the same height as the ones you took early on, you are now much higher and almost on fire.

 

I pretty much was close to diving into the inferno earlier in the week, and I have taken a few steps back down but a series of charged scenarios this weekend threaten to send me back up. My goal is to come all the way back down the flight but that will take a heck of a lot of distress tolerance skills and calmness around me. The good part is, I have come down a few steps and though I keep stepping up and down, at least I can come down a little, versus in the past where I would be hurling up 2 steps at a time.

I don’t know what the end of this weekend will bring, but I hope it send me to the basement.

 



{August 31, 2012}   Are you Embarrassed of Me?

I think Hugh is embarrassed of me. This could be paranoia on my part but there is a part of me that believes he’s uncomfortable letting people he knows or we know that we are dating. If he does anything with friends it is without me, I can understand solo time with your friends, but all the time and them not knowing you are dating someone after almost 10 months of off and on dating? If I invite him to do anything with my friends or family, I already know its an assured no, or more so , a question on why? why cant i see them alone, why dont i enjoy them without him? why dont i go have fun he can take care of himself? maybe im proud of him? maybe i want to share? what  a concept…

Somehow, i feel guilty for even asking him and feeling inadequate for asking. now if this happened once in a while, ok, but all the time, leads me to think, hugh doesn’t want to be seen in public together or be associated with anyone, or is it just me he doesn’t want to be associated with.

yes, he is private, very private, just getting him to tell me about his day seems like an invasion of privacy. don’t normal people do that, share? thats always been my history, you want to share with someone you are close to.

its an outside looking in perpective, like im asking for permission and tentatively working around  the stainless steel door in case it falls over and smashes me into the ground without a second thought, because i dont exist in that world.

so is he embarrassed of me? he’s amazingly loving and caring when we are together, as long as we are alone or with strangers. he would never think to invite me to something he’s been invited to (party, dinner, get together), normally i have to invite myself which is beginning to make me feel pathetic, for pete’s sake if he wants me there he’s invite me, as opposed to my being the sad case that has to invite myself and twist his arm and then spend the whole time thinking im a dead weight.

i remember before we started dating he’d bring dates to joint events we would see each other at, i wonder if he still does that, with other women not me. i dont think he’s sexual with them, he’d just rather bring someone else other than me who he isn’t dating.

the other reason i can think he’s not proud of me is that ive dated 2 of his other friends which makes him seem like he’s got the cast off girl, embarrassing to admit  that he’s somehow dating me too, that in boy world, like im sloppy seconds or thirds. wow, that makes me feel terrific. didn’t we go steady withpeople in high school and university that your friends or acquaintances had dated?

this is me the pariah, hide me in the shadows and only bring me out with the crappy friends we have in common who’s opinions we dont give a shit about.

i have low self esteem, i know i do, I just push hard to hide it and put that face forward that makes everyone see confidence, where inside i pray and hope no one calls me on it. I guess this just reinforces that never quite good enough feeling.

yesterday i was at a work event for a wedding consult and i felt like the plainest, ugliest, shortest chubbiest woman there amongst all the women. if i could have been a dull wallflower i would have blended in perfect. my insecurity was at an all time high and without work to focus on it would have been tragic.

 



{August 23, 2012}   Hold the Ice

My insides are burning and I can barely gasp for breathe, my chest hurts and the air is searing through my lungs, breathing so hard I want to pass out. I have to swallow all the judgement to make it go away, I feel like my father is standing over me again finding every fault and flaw he can to beat me down, to show me I can never be good enough, that no matter what I do its wrong. I want to scream, claw and cry the pain out, even when I havent done anything wrong somehow I am wrong. I cant seem to get past the legacy of never feeling like I can do anything right. I don’t know why I try, no one notices when I try, they only notice what they judge is wrong. I have been working so hard, so fucking hard that my head hurts everyday from the sheer volume of exertion to get better. But no one sees it, all they see is bad, always bad.

I cant let other people’s judgments take me down, I need to hold on to what I know is right, I cannot hold it inside of me, I cannot internalize the pain, I cannot hurt myself based on other people’s opinions, I need to fight this off, I will not cut, I didn’t do anything bad. I am not bad. I AM NOT BAD.

I can feel those dark hands coming up against my throat, winding around me, roots pulling me down, please stop, I can’t go there. I will not sink, I will not let words hurt me, my intentions were not calculated, no matter how twisted into ugly people want to view me, there was nothing but me, standing there, naked, open to flagellation. So, I’m beaten and now I have to beat the darkness that I let in, to get up off the floor, to stop these cries, to stop claws, to stop the tears on my words as I write. Find the breath. Find the soothing. Do not cut, you are not ugly, there is nothing to cut.

I need to sedate and work through what we learned in class today. Today I told the class I had BPD, today I talked about cutting. Today has been a big emotional day. I knew what was going to be thrown down on me, I knew it would be negative, and I need to remember that all I can do is listen, I cannot change people’s impressions of me, everyone is entitled to an opinion and if I internalize every negative I will hurt myself. DBT says I need to hold onto me, know me. If I know who I am it shouldn’t matter what people say, Amanda will not be allowed to come to play. Fuck you Amanda, you can’t use those words because they are untrue. Opinions. Opinions are not truths.

I am going to hold some ice.



{August 19, 2012}   Positivity!

I don’t have a bad life, outside of the calamities caused by my BPD, it is pretty amazing and I need to find the appreciation and moments to soak in days like these. If I could bottle the days of true joy to breathe in during the darkness how therapeutic that would be.

The groundwork I used the last few days to not obsess and tangent over work and Hugh surprised me. Surprised me tremendously how in the moment I was able to keep myself in, especially on a 5 hour drive to the cabin! I will digress to let you know, the thoughts that could intrude into my mind is that I made a few small mistakes at work the last couple of days which my boss pointed out and Hugh got annoyed at me for my lack of awareness. Which would lead me to- I am a disappointment at work and Hugh is going to break up with me and tell me again how he does not want any ties to me. BUT- right now, I am not a knotted up, gnarled, dark and stormy bundle of evil darkness washing across my happy.

My job is perfect for me, I don’t make a lot of money but the freedom that it gives me to be able to have time and space to balance my BPD is hard to find. I am given an inordinate amount of trust by my boss and the company as a whole. It’s also in an ideal location so I am not commuting and wasting parts of my life in a car. Where else could I work to let me be sitting here now writing.

Hugh, I think Hugh is amazing. Of course there are things about him that make me stop short but I am far from perfect and some of the things that frustrate me I also admire because they make him who he is. Yes, they can be unreasonable and hurt, but one has to weigh the pros and cons and the pros outweigh the cons and in those moments I have to take that internal mind breath and remember that relationships are compromise and work and we are different people, he cannot be me though there are times that I want to beat Buddhism into him, lol, which of course, goes against the grain of Buddhism. He’s great, I think we work well, and on the off moments I need to give him space and take mine as well.

The things that are always happy in my life, my children, my amazing, beautiful, sweet and kind children. Though life is much harder on my BPD for having them, they are now the guiding life of my BPD. I could not hope for more empathetic and gentle souls as they are.

Future, that scary far off nebula of fire. If I can keep this path I have set with the doctors, to concentrate on health first and foremost, the children and Hugh next, I see that tiny spark of a star.My gosh its work and I am exhausted by the amount of day to day focus and maintenance it is taking, and to make it succeed I have to watch that I take those mental breaks every few months to not let the strain trip me the tight rope. I can tell the DBT classes are going to help, and I thank and thank again that Hugh is here to help me with them or the chances of my being able to take them would be slim. I see a sliver, a fission of hope that I can do the work to take that next step.

Disclaimer, it is one step at a time. I am still not good at reaching out, at explaining, at not beating myself up. Do you have days that you wonder what you would be like without BPD? Would I lose my joie de vivre for the simple child like things, the spontaneity, that when I love you I love you beyond belief, that I will not fight. These are all things that are good, that my BPD enhances. Yes, there is the flip side of all of those items but we’re on POSITIVE today.



et cetera
Life after BPD

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

confessionsofbpd

The secret life of high-functioning borderline personality disorder.

Bi-polar parenting

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