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 25, 2012}   Rocky Horror House

It’s been 3 nights of unsettled sleep. I take Trazadone at night to help me sleep, which means that unsettled sleep and nightmares means that there is enough percolating to over ride the medication. Welcome to the Rocky Horror House of my mind.

Getting to bed has been a uncomfortable affair of bed gymnastics from one side to another, from front to back, there never seems to be a place of rest. Once asleep the dreams start, which too is an anomaly, I don’t dream, and when I do dream it’s a slap in the face that I have unresolved issues. My early warning system so to speak.

The disquiet is hard to pinpoint but this morning’s remembrance gave me a foothold. My dreams have centered around someone I care about being taken, bound, restrained and pained and the crux of saving them lies with me figuring the answers to hidden messages. Such clarity in the dreams of the captors, sweat beading on their brow, the smell of fear, the tension, and the urgency for me to see, see what I can’t see in the puzzle to save them.

It doesn’t take a PhD to figure out I’m scared of hurting someone I love if I can’t sort the puzzle in my mind. That this screams poor inter-personal relationship girl plagued by guilt at her inability to not hurt people. In 3 nights I haven’t saved anyone as yet. Luckily my dreams/mares have excluded me from having to watch their grizzly end. Of course, it hasn’t been nice enough to PG-13 my emotions in the dreams.

So with heavy heart I sit here before getting ready to work, tired and frustrated. It’s not a bad day and I don’t feel bad, it’s frustrating not sleeping and knowing full well why you can’t sleep but unable to solve it. So, here’s to a great day. I have a therapy appointment on Thursday so I’ll get head shrinked and zapped back into shape and maybe only kill off one more person tonight (in my dream).

Happy Hump Day

et cetera
A Forgetful Traveler

Remembering the world one blog post at a time

Life after BPD

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


The secret life of high-functioning borderline personality disorder.

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