borderlinegirlliveshere











Moods. dysregulation, like pleasantly drowning in quick sand, the sensation leaches into you, like that slow pin prick into a vein. You feel that warmth, blanketing like mugginess on a hot day, steaming and settling onto your skin, the poison, velvety caressing into your veins, drawing you down. Each breathe is a sinking , languid melt you don’t want to fight off, it’s easy to slide into that comfort of turning off the pain, the triggers, the hurt, the chaos. Each breath deeper into the warm mud, closing in, safe, terrifyingly safe. Depression is a womb, it comforts and envelopes, seals you off into a space where you’re suspended in hurt and sorrow, all you know, timeless, un-seeing. There is no up or down, around, sights, smells, all you feel is hurt, bone deep hurt, everywhere, out your eyes, in your skin. You’re meant to fight this, don’t sink into the warm cocoon of the sand, don’t slide into the mucus of the womb, because once in, you’re trapped, coming out is a labyrinth of emotions, and days of recovery.

But how to elude the crumbs of safety, come in and we will make you safe, warm, turn off that outside world, to hell with working through all the pain, let it welcome you, let’s revel in it, become it, and lose oneself in it.

I know I don’t want this but I am just too tired to fight all the triggers, they’re all around and I am tired. Each one seems bigger than the next though infinitesimally smaller, crashing in never ending waves and I’m drowning, can I not just drown?  I am tired of swimming, I am tired, and I am tired of people and their pokes and prods, tired of smiling, tired of trying to be me, the smiling me.

So easy to let go, so much easier to find that hole and crawl in, womb, wave, sand, take me to nothingness. Instead, put the training on, the hard hat and back to fighting, fighting all the demons that come within it, inviting me down down down to their opulent palace of oblivion and panacea of anaesthesia.

I will win the fight, again, as always. In the meanwhile, let’s face the pain. Pray its sticks and stones and not knives and bloods.



{May 13, 2015}   Springing Forward

5 months in to the new year and change is in the air, like Spring, there is a sense that there may be a sense of renewal. I get scared to write things down, positive things, like in some way I may jinx it by saying it loud. That there is an almighty evil residing not only inside of me but around the corner that senses positivity and will come down with a mighty roar of Thor’s hammer. It’s been 5 months of step by step, eyes to the ground, one foot in font of the other. I did things for myself, i went away, i took a good girlfriend and got to know her better, i lived in the moment in my happy place, and it’s made a difference. In my low times, i bring up that trip, the sun, the freedom, the immense sense of joy of being somewhere i love and it’s carried me through some hard welling of emotion that have stopped me in my tracks the last couple of months.

It’s been a jigsaw, 1000s of pieces slowly fitting together, many times not fitting and coming back to try again. My emotions are very strong now since I stopped my medication but I am stronger for having the control. I can 95% of the time feel the trigger impulse and squash if not deflect, or realize when i need to duck and hide, retreat.

jigsaw

There’s been a village of assistance with my psychiatrist back from maternity leave. I was scared to tell her that i cold turkey stopped my medications because I needed to work through the pain of separation, feel it, hurt through it and beat the BPD bastard so I knew I could live through not just this break up but any others to come, that I had the strength, in me, and just me, no medications, no fall backs. Hallelujah to her for understanding and supporting me and truly if she was around I may not have done it, but now that I have I’m a poster child. My counsellor has been a Godsend, a true godsend. My life is an open book in counselling and in class, i live through a village of guidance, nothing is sacred. I’d rather have it all out there and let’s help me live all together, because that is the point, for me to live, no matter what it takes.

Class gives me perspective in pain, that we all sit in there suffering through this pain of mental health. I am so honoured to be with people who are fighting just as hard with just as much stigma as I face. Judgement, it’s there all the time, from people you work with, unwitting friends, boyfriends, friends, exes. Like my life is a game, that somehow they have a right to weigh in with judgement or comments or think they know. It’s when I sit in class and hear the stories that I realize I am not alone, others face the same judgements and stigmas from loved ones and strangers alike and it gives me the push to ignore the people who want to derail and push my triggers. Don’t judge me unless you are me, I can’t even begin to think I can understand a fellow BPD pain but I can contextualize it far more than anyone else can.

I still struggle and tomorrow is still a scary place, as is next week, next month. There is never a sense of security, i feel the bottom could drop out at anytime. Small steps, forward. At least I know where bottom is and if I have pockets of up, I should enjoy them no matter what as my counsellor says, let myself revel in it for as long as I can.

I felt so guilty for a while of so many things, of finally making that stand that I needed to take time for myself to get out of this town. I’ve said it over and over again through the years, get out every 2 months and yet guilt and shame from others made me feel like i was joy riding rather than doing something for my health. Now that I am alone, and I have done it and seen the rejuvenation, the spring I can pull from, please let me have the strength to continue to defy those that guilt me for doing so.

20120609-103853.jpg

Work, it doesn’t help, but we all know this, counsellors, psychs, peers, we all know that work and BPD, stress and BPD is like feeding crack to an addict, it helps but it doesn’t help. It gives a purpose but it comes with its strings. It reminds me of being in a batting cage with the ball machine on the fritz, swinging that bat wildly to ensure you don’t get knocked out cold. You score some home runs but it’s not relaxing. My counsellor asked me if I wanted a career, and the truth is, no, I don’t. I have no desire to grow bigger and add-on additional stress or more eyeballs. I’m here because I need to pay the bills but truth be told, if I could leave this town and move somewhere more open and meaningful where i was working and accomplishing but not dealing with the shit race of life, take me there. I need to get out of this town and it’s plastic pretences, fear of transparency and lack of balls. People in this town are all about smoke and mirrors, just get over yourselves and your judgements, wrapped up in a pretty bow of perfection.

Dating, it’s been a hot topic at therapy and group. So, we have all started dating. I say “we” because it has become a dating by consensus, even though it’s just me on the front line. I like it, it’s like having all your friends watch your back and I don’t have to make any decisions on my own and it makes me feel more secure that there is a check and balance built into me. It’s been fun bringing everything to the mental health table every week for group discussion. That word “fun”, makes me cringe most times. This life is the furthest thing from fun. The furthest thing from “happy”. Two most dreaded words I hate to hear people ask me, “are you happy?”, fuck no, but I am alive and I have good moments. Happy, go ram that up your ass, I haven’t found happy in 15 years for more than a few hours.

the-4-x-4-of-bpd-15-728

Dating. It’s meticulous. Dating the correct BPD way, maybe I can start a manual. Everything close to your chest and make sure you put out all the disclaimers and warnings right off the bat, here it is, read it and proceed at your own risk. Makes me laugh. So stressed the first time and now, I don’t care if people know I have a mental health disease. Would I judge someone for cancer, no, I’d empathize. My ex-DBF used to care so much about perception and what people thought that it made me almost ashamed of my BPD and my scars. This is me, through and through, I am not afraid to tell someone what I am and what I have been through, yes I cut myself, you can see it, and I am alive. You have an issue, it’s not my problem, its yours. Second thing, past the warning, it’s not about my health, no day-to-day health or stress sharing, that’s my game and my game alone. I deal with my issues, it stays on this side of the pie chart, dating on the other, the two do not co-mingle. It’s been weird but good, it’s likely obvious I am withholding things but I’ve gotten good at working through my troubles alone or in group or with counselling, no need for a layperson that doesn’t understand to get into the mix. I don’t need another person to handhold my BPD, I have a village behind me for that and some awesome friends to call. Dating stays in the neutral zone, no need to get deep, three’s a crowd, BPD can stay home and join me later.

So, step by step, health first, kids next, everything else is tertiary. I say that mantra to myself everyday I step out the door and to work. I know what I need for my health, I’ve made some big changes on my own, so tune out the naysayers and the judgements and stigma and one step in front of the other.



{March 18, 2015}   Happy & Crappy

Today was a classic example of borderline moods. I have had every mood possible and I am exhausted from the effort of non-effort as I personally had no control over my moods, which is rather evident and disturbing. For the first time in 3 months, yesterday and this morning, I woke up without wanting to die. The lack of death was glaring, that I almost missed the feeling. I was stupid happy this morning, chatted with a good friend, la dee da’ed my way around the house, drove the entire highway singing at the top of my lungs with a smile on my face and not once did I gauge my normal drive off the cliff points. Laugh out loud, I could have tattooed the “LOL” on my forehead. So this may all be a extended definition of mania, not sure, or I could just be happy (what?).

However, before we cue the grandiose music, by mid day, i was miserable, miserable and more miserable. Deflated and a ball of drudgery and moroseness at how purposeless life is and the irony of being euphoric to abysmal in a matter of minutes. Not that this is a surprise to anyone with BPD, cycling moods, quickly cycling moods is a hallmark, I’ve just been in a transient depression for the last 3 months, I’m jack in the boxing due to triggers I think.

I pyscho babbled my way through the afternoon, and proceeded to go from listless, to irritable to flat. Flat that everything was excruciating, watching myself in a slow motion film pushing myself to plod on. It’s easier to stay flat constantly than to drop from high to low, the pressure coming up and going down is as uncomfortable as it sounds. Its like being attached to puppet strings but you can’t look up or see the script of what’s next, it’s just a jerk and you’re spun into act 2, mood 2.

Distraction, I played the music loud, I tried to watch TV, I tried to do sit ups, I tried everything just to stay doing something and not feel. Nothing worked, I was on the roller coaster and the eject button was not an option in this particular carriage.

And then, pffffft, mood change, talked to a girlfriend and felt awkwardly normal, whatever that is, transient depression, where I was before, comfort zone. Tried to keep it there, played all my DBT tapes in my head, talked to myself. Self motivated, tried to stay in this “normal” zone, I’m exhausted.

I am truly exhausted. I have no idea what spin the mood is next, but I’m not liking this at all. It’s creepy and yeah I like happy but not when happy and crappy go face to face, cheek to cheek every couple of hours.

Oh my dear BPD, how nice to see you classically manifesting yourself just as a reminder in case I get too comfortable in depression.



{February 5, 2015}   Yes. **trigger**

I read an article about a woman who leapt to her death from the top of a parking garage a few months back, she was depressed among other things, and she left behind a care package, on the roof, for everyone she cared about. People have many reactions when they read a story like that, sadness, horror, pity. I was jealous. I didn’t want to admit it and I massaged my feelings for several days, and I am, I am jealous. I’ve wanted to do the same thing many times, looked over my balcony, assessed how high would be high enough not to be left a quadriplegic. Looked for places out of the way so I wouldn’t scare someone coming down or make a mess. Hit someone’s car, or even hit someone period. I know all the spots on the highway that one can take their car off and over a cliff. Some people daydream and plan bucket lists, my bucket lists consists of ways to die. And its not morbid, I get frustrated that I think these things, but I also know they are part of me, I am wired for self destruction. I am jealous, because I want to get away and at the same time I have these two amazing beings that though don’t always stop me from coming close to the edge, still keep me trying and working and learning and fighting, even though I despise most days of having to do so.

I want to be selfish, every fibre in my being wants to be selfish, and get away. Get away from being invisible, for fighting to have people believe, to get away from being lonely inside even when surrounded by people. To be sad when laughing. Very empty on this island when you’re a freak that looks normal. Stigma, a word that is getting more gravitas lately, there is so much stigma and it pushes someone like me into a corner into a wall with no exit.

Do you know how much trauma it takes to make your brain want to shut itself down in protection. Try looking it up. A lot is laughable. Do you know how much it hurts after your brain does that and how bewildered, frightened and unstable you feel. Take away 12 hours of memory. And then, leave that person alone, alone to sort it out, alone to feel rejected. Bring them home from the hospital guilt ridden and confused and leave them alone because they look fine. No scars, no cuts, no bruises, no cast, nothing. Nothing’s wrong, assimilate, stop whining, you’re fine, everyone gets stressed and loses their mind.

Stigma. Did I mention stigma. Loneliness. Emptiness. No one can see you. And how do you tell them. You feel depressed and want to see a doctor you need to wait a few weeks till they can fit you in, you get hit by a truck and emergency will take you in immediately. What happens when I jump from that building, will you fit me in then?

Sometimes it takes death for the people around you to understand, to take a stand, to support and then to look backwards and realize how isolated their loved one was. But its too late, for your loved one, but maybe not for others you can then believe. People don’t want to die when they feel well, when they’re happy, when they want to live.

I came home from the hospital post mental trauma. The biggest concern was not for me but for the impression I caused by having a mental breakdown. Stigma. I caused a problem. I was the problem, I made my own problem. I put people out of their way, I somehow exaggerated myself into a nervous breakdown. Then, I was left to piece together my numerous pieces and then lectured on my ineptitude to manage my situation. Pretty much, since i happen to be walking down the street and there are cars, naturally if I get hit by a car, it’s my fault, suck it up, get up, quit your whining and look at the damage you did to the car and the poor driver. You have a concussion and can’t walk, well too bad, you asked for it.  Now drag your sorry complaining ass over and apologize to the driver and pay for the damages. Not to mention the people that now have to come help you. The fact that you’re internally bleeding should not warrant any need to shirk responsibilities because that is self serving and indulgent. Other people are working just as hard under tremendous stress as well, even that poor driver who’s car you damaged so think of him before yourself because even if you were ordered to clean the streets that day, it’s still your responsibility for being at the wrong place at the wrong time and no one cares about your pain.

Stigma. Mental illness. People think we hide behind mental illness. Laughable. You think I would wish this on anybody. You want to see strength, this is strength, living with this everyday, without empathy, is beyond strength. It’s a lonely battle that you’re never sure who you’re fighting for. And when loved ones turn their backs, well that’s when those parking garages seem so appealing. Because maybe when I am dead, they will believe and they will reach out and help someone with an open and understanding heart from their guilt.

Do I feel lonely. Yes. Do I feel empty. Yes. Do I hurt. Yes. Am I alone. Yes. Do I feel stigmatized. Yes. Am I pretending to not be in pain. Yes. Why? Because that’s what expected.

Are these all the signs of suicide. Yes.

Will I find that building soon. No. When I do will I leave everyone their care package. Yes. Will they feel bad. Yes. Will I feel good. Yes. Will they believe. I hope so. Will they feel guilty. Yes. Will it be too late for me. Yes.



{January 20, 2015}   Psychosis is my friend…

Dedicated my yoga practice to me tonight.

I watched some TedX Talks last night and it took me back years (17 years) to when the madness really started. My Gollum, my voice in my head. How controlling and fierce and foreign he used to feel, creeping through the channels of my mind, at times holding on like a vice grip, the seductive innuendoes and outright blatant suggestions of my death, our death, the beauty and peace in it. My uselessness a constant monologue I listened to daily, fought with, screamed with, while living externally. How adept I am at having 3 conversations simultaneously. Second nature now.

And yet, Gollum and I, we still fight, but we’ve mellowed with age and learning, or perhaps I have learned that they way to manage Gollum is to not fight him but to have learned him. Learn that no matter what, he is a manifestation of me, echoing and voicing all my deepest fears and insecurities, letting him/me, scare and frighten me into actions, and believe in exaggerated truths about who I am. He takes the nuggets I hide and exploits them, and because they come from me, buried within, I believe them as they are my worst fears and thoughts about who I am come alive in his voice.

He still talks, always, I don’t know life without an internal dialogue of questions and rebukes. I’ve learned that when I am strong I can turn the volume down, that I can talk him down, that I can listen and not act. Everyday there are the suggestions on ways to die, I can’t drive the highway without the silky suggestions of how easily it would be to go over the rails, I can’t step on the balcony without the push to wonder how quick it would be to jump that edge, or listen to him remind me how good it feels to cut and feel that blood. That I’m useless, stupid, incompetent, unloved, you name it. We’ve grown old together and yes, he can incite me, when I’m feeling weak and sad, the buttons are there to push. He can still push them and he can still reduce me to a ball of misery when I am low. But it’s not daily or weekly, we talk all the time, I’d miss him if he left (i’m quite aware I can’t leave myself), I don’t know my mind without the voice I talk to everyday, all the time, subconsciously, consciously. These days I don’t even realize half the conversations are happening, it’s second nature.

Therapy, time, experiences- psychosis can be tamed and become the enemy you would rather hold close. I can turn him off with meditation, I can turn him off through yoga. I know how to escape if I am losing the fight, distraction is my friend.

There are times I can’t win, when both outside and inside are yelling at me, one fuels the other, conflict is Gollum’s friend. I know I need to walk away, not give him wood for the fire from someone else, I am bad enough! My head has ached a lot the last 2 months, without the pills, neither myself nor Gollum have been tempered and we’ve been eye to eye many a time. I’m not drugged and neither is he. I know we can co-exist, without the drugs, with the learning, my training, history has taught lessons, and god knows i have paid the price time and time again, we’ll never be perfect together, but we’re coming to equal ground.

To the people that have empowered me, believed my psychosis, given me the tools and support to embrace who I am, voices and all, and never doubted me, you have all my love. So few and far between, I can count you on one hand, you never disbelieved, you opened your mind to crazy and always listened, always stood by with words of support and never judged or commanded when I sunk lower than low, sank in and out of depression, raved and ranted, hated, and did nothing at times, lost my mind, lost my soul, lost my will. You’re angels and I hope you stay with me till whenever that end comes.

Namaste.



{January 14, 2015}   All Roads Lead to where??

At a crossroads but all of them are either washed out, barred or have ogres under the bridges.

I feel good about my mental person but I am despising my life around it at the moment. Unfortunately, these two roads will cross at some point. I want to enjoy the fact that my head feels strong right now, for however brief amount of time that may be. But I don’t because I am irritable, cross and feel like I have ants and people crawling all over my ass, under my eyelids and in my ears and mouth.  All I do is work work work work and work. My saving grace is I love the industry I am in, but my bosses are starting to make me want to suggest they find someone better for their job. For pete’s sake, rather than fucking me from all angles everyday, 12 hours a day, find someone that can get the job done in 30 hours with minimal pay a week that’s a super spreadsheet, sales superstar, forward thinking, business planning, do-it-all superwoman, it’s not me.

evilboss

I am going to see my counsellor soon and I think I am going to just ‘fess up, it may cost me my disability and assistance I need but I need someone to talk to about the 70 hour days, the pressure, pressure and lack of self time and life breaks. I am not supposed to be working at all, let alone at this maniacal pace. I think part of the reason I have been able to push through is I stopped taking the meds so the mania could kick in and keep me going. But, history, good old history, which I do not want to repeat is a knock knock knocking at the door, this almost killed you twice, it can do it again honey.

It’s not worth it. I know it’s not. I don’t see my kids, I don’t see my sister, I don’t talk to my best friend, I have no time to get anything personal done, bills aren’t getting paid, I haven’t seen a doctor/shrink/counsellor in over 2 months, I have no time for classes, I am too tired to talk to my friends or give them what they need, my relationship is gone, no time for any hobbies, no planning which I love, my partner is mad, no breaks, not even enough pay.  No, it’s not worth it.

I didn’t ask for this. What I wanted to was a job I could do 30 hours a week, maybe 3 days, even weekends is fine, see my friends, my family, take the time off when needed, get to yoga, meditation, do BPD classes and connect with other BPD folks, time for side projects I like, have a life with not so much worry.

Work-Life-Balance-Sign-post-by-Stuart-Miles

Things got far out of hand last year: my best friend had a nervous breakdown at work and went into a depression, another friend spent 6-8 months dying slowly and terribly. My aunt died which didn’t affect me so much as my mother. But people don’t see these things. I’m an emotional being. People come first, family come first. Right now, all everyone cares about is work comes first. It’s not me yet I am trying to curl myself into it because of responsibility and PRESSURE and hating that all other parts of my life are getting chopped off like limbs from my body. I may be strong but now I am strong, hateful, alone and pointless. I’m not crying and whimpering in a depression but neither am I seeing a future or even a light in the next while.

What’s the point? If I don’t have any of the loves, creatives and emotions that keep me buoyant, it brings up the age old BPD question of, why am I here? I am not here to work 70 hours a week, be crawled over with gnats and raked through with a comb and hate getting up in the morning and spend my nights sleepless and my days tired. ab963c4b4cbaa8981d2e5523741a-660x518

I have been trying to get to yoga these days, it’s like running a triathlon to fit it in and costs me more time staying up to get what I couldn’t get done while at yoga done which wrecks any happy happy joy joy that may have come out of it. I enjoy myself in the moment, its my hour to hour and a half of no noise in my head and then as soon as I step out the doors the alarms start ringing non stop and I start running. Sometimes I wish I could stay seated after the class is over and stay there for an extra hour and savour the bliss, swallowed by the peace and quiet of post practice where my mind feels like a glowing pulsing orb of positive energy.

I am a yucky person. I am. I don’t like the outside me. I am cross, grumpy, and I feel myself biting my tongue to not lash out at people. That BPD anger part of me, without the drugs, is very prevalent in the back of my head. I want to say “FUCK OFF, IF YOU DONT LIKE IT DO IT FUCKING YOURSELF!” Yes, exactly like that, sadly, true, it runs through my mind when I am face to face, on the phone, on emails, text, it itches to come out. Where I used to feel the pain of sorrow and loss, now I can feel that itch of anger in my throat that burns hot. I had to hold back the reins very tight today and finally just stopped answering calls because I knew I would just tell her to fuck the hell off.

leaderfunny

Well, spent so much time writing, just lost my window of getting to mental health and some drugs for tonight. Time to go rummage under the sink and in my handbags for old pills. I know I have some somewhere in the bloody house. When it rains it pours pills and people are hiding them from me, when I want them, where are they?



{June 1, 2012}   Dear Amanda

Dedicated to my alter ego that haunts me, lives with me, loves me, hates me, torments me and kills me. One day one of us will win.



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

Thoughts and ideas

%d bloggers like this: