borderlinegirlliveshere











{September 20, 2015}   How You Learn to Live Alone

First you fall, then you fly
and you believe that you belong
up in the sky.
Flap your arms, as you run,
every revolution brings you closer to the sun.
You fall asleep in motion, in unchartered
hemispheres,
and you wake up with the stars
fallin’ down around your ears.
And when they hit the ground,
they’re nothin’ but stones
that’s how you learn to live alone.
That’s how you learn to live alone.

Bit by bit, you slip away,
you lose yourself in pieces
by the things that you don’t say.
You’re not here, but you’re still there
The sun goes up and the sun goes down,
but you’re not sure you care.
You live inside the false,
till you recognize the truth.
People send you pictures,
but you can’t believe it’s you.
Seems forever since your house
has felt like home
that’s how you learn to live alone
that’s how you learn to live alone.

It don’t feel right, but it’s not wrong.
It’s just hard to start again this far along.
Brick by brick, the letting go,
as you walk away from everything you know
When you release resistance
and you lean into the wind,
till the roof begins to crumble,
and the rain comes pourin’ in,
And you sit there in the rubble,
till the rubble feels like home
That’s how you learn to live alone
that’s how you learn to live alone
that’s how you learn to live alone

https://youtu.be/yY8y4tEJz3A

Learn to live alone

Read more: Nashville Cast – How You Learn To Live Alone Lyrics | MetroLyrics



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.



{April 10, 2015}   Malaise

The malaise is settling back in. Woke this morning to feel the baby devil on my chest and the tightness radiating through my windpipe and down my lungs, slowly tightening the air from my soul, reminding me that it may abate but never leave. Pushed up and out to get up, walking zombie legs and mind, that thrumming of negativity behind each step, knocking, incessant. Sat in the car after dropping the kids of willing myself not to cry with the pain of breathing and knowing that the weeks ahead will be inhumane work to make it through without a hit to the wall.

Are we wired to be happy, I don’t believe so, BPD we are wired to be sad, death-full, pointless, we’re wired to misery. Like the pam trees on the beach reaching to the ocean, no matter how you try, you cannot bend that trunk any other way, it may sway and move to and fro in the wind, but that bark is permanently grown facing the direction it was meant to be. I find happy so fleeting, I have it, and when I do, I treasure it like a newborn baby, watching it breathe, hoping it stays alive, cradling it’s sensitive spots and enjoying the smell of life and renewal.

Work is a dark knife that is pushed so deep inside of me, each flicker of a movement, no matter how slight, triggers a nauseating amount of bile to rise up figuratively and at times literally. I spend so much time reading, researching and re-reading and my core is trust, I need trust and I don’t feel trust at work. My back is vulnerable, there is no comfort that my partners have my back, instead it is more of a scrutiny and constant watch that bores holes into me. I can’t settle into this job because I don’t find it a trusting place. I make it a trusting and nurturing place for my staff but the partner side is a mess. When I worked this job before, 5-6 years, we were a family that leaned on one another, shared and no matter what, business or work, people came first and we were a team through thick and thin. Now, thin means cause and effect, repercussions, scrutiny, and a constant “watch my back” feeling that twists the knife ever so slightly each time and makes me want to crawl into bed and find that depression.

I would say that maybe this is me but I know I have worked other places, like the former iteration of this job and with my other partner with no cause and effect. For me, it comes down to the people and to the trust I feel in them. My other partner, we’ve been in harder situations and more emotional ones, living one on top of the other, and yet we persevere because trust, admiration and an acknowledgment that people come, we come, before our jobs. We’re not robots and I do not govern myself without emotion, it’s my BPD hallmark and I have grown proud of the positive sides of being a person that cares. But oil and water… they will never mix, so we can keep stirring that pot, and stirring that pot and it’s still going to be a slimy, incoherent, mess.

Happiness. I can access it, bring a smile, find a bright moment before I stumble into the grey. Yes, grey, not black, we still have some light in there. It’s hard to go to the light and come back to this horrible, closed up, trussed up city I live in. It’s disgusting really. But I know the devil of this place and it has saved my life a few times, and, by nature of yin and yang caused me to need saving of said life. So best thing for me to do, shrink pep talk, look at my calendar, find the spot 3 months from now to put a light and work towards getting there and leaving again for a respite to come back and do this all over. Yes, work will have another eyebrow raising moment but fuck them, better alive and working than dead. I know what I need- their world may be about the bottom $ line, mine is about staying alive for my children. If they can’t see that they can take their business, up their ass and keep it. I’m working my ass off, maybe not in their “logical, functional, spreadsheeted” way, but my way, which doesn’t mean it’s the wrong way if it’s not their way. And, being in this business long enough, if you get rid of too much of my way, your way will go down with it.

#hatingthiscity #hatingthislife #babyboomerssux #lovemykids #happiness



{February 14, 2015}   Alone in this BPD mind

My counsellor asked me yesterday if I was suicidal. Yes, I want to to die, with all my might right now, it is all I want to do BUT I’m not going to. I am suicidal, can I control it. Yes.

Power, someone said I wanted power, that I was on a power trip. It was such a ludicrous thought I realized that person knew nothing about me. Power? I barely can find the days to quit hating myself and wanting to die to bother finding power. I want the power to end it all without putting others in pain, that’s the power that I want. To be let go without the guilt. All these other things I do to live, does anyone truly think I want any of life? Life with BPD is being ruled by one big power trip you can barely control. Jump off that building without ruining my children’s lives, that’s the power I want.

There are days, like now, where to feel good about myself I need to read about myself, to know that what I feel is not isolated, that it is disease. That it cannot be logically fixed and solved. I read about me so I feel better that I am not alone and though I feel achingly alone, there are other people, like me, in pain, aching, just wanting the world to swallow them up, reading.

Loneliness and Lack of Self Worth 

Many people with BPD are isolated from conventional family or friendship situations.  As many people around them do not know how to cope with the sufferers behaviour, they tend to withdraw from their friend or relative.  This leads the person with BPD to feel lonely and worthless.  They already have a very low self-esteem and this makes it worse.  People with BPD are like anyone else, they want to feel loved, but in their case it is more extreme.  Left alone for too long and they believe nobody wants them.  This is mainly caused by rejection at a young age, it is learnt behaviour.  The self-loathing and fear of abandonment also causes loneliness.

Psychosis

Have you ever felt out of control?  Maybe you have felt like you are in a tunnel, no fear or thought of safety for yourself or other.  Detachment from reality, at times, can be how be how someone with BPD feels.  Often they suffer from intrusive thoughts or hear voices.  The only way to describe how it feels to have intrusive thoughts or hear voices is, imagine someone is with you 24 hours a day, imagine this person is saying things like “hurt yourself,” or “the devil is following you, he will take people away from you.”  Often the thoughts or voices will play on the sufferers insecurities.  Some people have other hallucinations or believe they have super powers.  Commonly people with BPD only have mild psychosis but occasionally some sufferers have more severe psychosis.  Mostly they only have psychotic episodes induced by stress.  Think about it, if you go to a party and everyone around you is drunk, and you do not like it, you would remove yourself from the situation, right?  In the BPD sufferers situation, the brain is removing it’s self from the problem which is the persons thinking and thoughts.

Depression, Self Harm and Suicide

Everyone goes through periods where they feel down or depressed.  But for a BPD sufferer it is like that very much of the time.  Also severe depression will flood them from time to time.   How often do you wish you were not alive any more?  Maybe once in your life but most likely it hasn’t ever crossed your mind.  A majority of people with BPD think about it very regularly.  In fact for a BPD sufferer it becomes normal and it can be quite a surprise to them when someone tells them they never think of it.

Have you ever been in so much emotional pain that you’d do anything to relieve it?  Trying to counter act the emotional pain with physical pain is logical if you think about.  It’s like tooth ache, you’d do anything to relieve it.  So one of the reasons a sufferer self-harms if to get some relief.  Another cause for self-harm in a BPD sufferer is self-loathing, they feel so bad about themselves that they feel they need to be punished.  Self-harm is not always a sign of a suicide attempt, it’s just a reflection of how the person is feeling on the inside.

Threats of suicide are common among people with BPD, and it’s also not uncommon for them to make an attempt at ending their life.  Life with Borderline Personality Disorder is ten times harder than for a non-sufferer. Imagine how the constant fear and pain must be.  Suicide threats are like a safety net, “If I really can’t stand my pain any more, then I can escape,” makes sense doesn’t?  If you walked through a bed of stinging nettles you would think of trying to get yourself out wouldn’t you?

Withdrawal from Others

Many people with BPD have times when they withdraw from the world.  They stop working and socialising.  If you were hurt by something you would try and avoid letting it happen again, wouldn’t you?  So this can be why someone with BPD may become distant and unresponsive to friends and family.  In most cases this withdrawal doesn’t last for more then a few days, weeks or months, but in some sufferers it can last much longer.  When withdrawn the sufferer will feel depressed and isolated.



{January 25, 2014}   Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

Hello darkness, my old friend,
I’ve come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.

dark place

My hands are shaking, I can hold them out in front of me and watch them trembling, out of my control. It fascinates me, the lack of control. My body, my mind, but not my will.

It was an effort to force myself out of bed, albeit only to the couch but to me, I felt like I just ran the marathon. Then to preclude myself from going back to bed, I threw all the sheets in the laundry. Not that I can’t easily worm myself back int a hovel of a mattress and uncovered pillows and a duvet.

Listless, I find myself, listless today. It’s almost more pleasurable to shut my eyes and feel the noise, the thrumming of the invisible rubber band against my brain. Between my eyes, a scorpion has its pincers gripping tight with a deadly tail swinging on the other end. Red, everything is red. Does everyone see red when they close their eyes?

It’s insidious how thoughts ambush you. One moment I am innocently thinking of my day and what I’ve done and the track changes so slowly that I only realize almost half an hour later I have moved back into the grey of negativity, looping endless tapes of death, what would happen if I jumped off the balcony? I’d break a lot of bones, not die and be even more miserable. golumFlashes of conversations with my sister of her abandonment brings sadness and disappointment welling. Thinking forward of the nothingness that faces me, makes me want to reach for the pills.  Even the tediousness of making it to the end of the day sets about despair.

My DBT, of opposite action, helps, but my gosh it’s tiring trying to head everything off at the pass. Deflect the ball back into the opponent’s court for a quick breath. It’s far harder to live than die. My phone bill popped into my inbox today and I almost threw up at the reminder that reality was coming for me.

My BFF posted pictures of her and her family in Asia right now and I wish I was there. Escape. All the doctors and psychologists and whomever all want me to stay in my little hell hole, bottom of the barrel and fight my way out, I’d rather take the side exit to denial. Can’t I just have a break, can I have something fun to look forward to? Come back and face the demons after seeing some light. Right now, there’s no light so what am I striving for?

I have nothing that I want to do. There is no impetus to leave the house. It’s cold, it’s boring, and I don’t have a community, what am I getting better for again? I forgot?

I finally got H to leave today, the guilt of him sitting here nurse maid-ing me was driving my guilt far up the chart. Yes, him leaving did reverberate some abandonment, but it’s a twinge compared to all else these days. All I want today is to lie in that bed and talk to myself. It’s so easy to take that step back to darkness, I don’t understand how they think I can look forward to going back to the life I was leading. If anything is pulling me down that is part of it. I don’t know if I can be happier anywhere else, then that trails into can I ever be happy? Which leads right back around to “what’s the point of my life again?”

The sad part is, the only thing I can viably see myself doing is driving to the liquor store for some wine. Numb the fuck out of everything, pop an Ativan and get drunk. It’s all wrong but its better than cutting and that’s option 2. Option 3 is to mindlessly watch TV all day. Option 4 is to just say fuck-all.

Hello darkness, my old friendmetal clown



{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. 

 

 

 



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 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?

Image

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.

Image



{October 22, 2012}   Trazadone Troubled Thoughts

ImageSleep has been scarce the last few days. My mind is a racquetball court with 20 balls simultaneously ricocheting at full speed. I cannot turn it off even with all my tools to focus on breath, to let them pass through, to imagine them floating away, they come fast and furious and varied in their focus from the mundane to the troubled.

Trazadone is my go-to sleep aid, been on this pill for 8 years to sleep at night. When I am in an episode I will need a Trazadone and a Clonazepam to ease me down and out. No pill=no sleep for me, and though some may say it is psychosomatic, I have more than proven it is not, my mind is too full of voices, thoughts, guilts, tangents to ever let me rest.

Breathe I say to myself concentrate on the breath, but the thoughts are like hounds at bay, pushing up against my invisible barrier for any moment that I lapse to sneak in, time and time again, its exhausting. I’m exhausted from last night, arranging and re-arranging myself to get comfortable knowing full well its inside that needs to get comfortable not the outside.Image

Trazadone normally works great but like the last few nights it just cannot stand up to my BPD.



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: