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{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



{June 5, 2015}   Funerals make me sick

Triggers, the little buggers, they can come at you out of no where. Ambush. You think you’re fine, great and next thing you know you’re not.

I got asked to help with a funeral, a very high profile funeral 2 days ago. No big deal, I manage things for a living, generally not dead things, but the same principals apply. I didn’t think I’d have an issue with working on a funeral, till I had an issue working on a funeral.

I started getting mad, very mad. BPD come up from within and consume you emotion. Listening to the details needed for this funeral caused the slow burn to start. Budget was not an issue, thousands and thousands of dollars in flowers, catering, flying world renowned entertainers in to perform, all these things were just so important… colours, napkins, music… meetings hours after the person was deceased to work all the details out. The vulgarity of it made me sick to my stomach. Sick that death had become a spectacle.

Sick to my stomach at the 3-ring circus this death was. Have you ever been to a funeral, is any family member actually happy to be there? To talk to people? Every funeral i have been to the widow is distraught, beyond sad, barely able to speak yet he/she has to be there, has to be there because he/she has guests to see and entertain. There to watch his or her public sorrow. Are the kids ever happy to be there? Their parent has just died and they need to smile and entertain relatives and guests. Who is this for? Does anyone want to eat and drink? Does the open bar draw a crowd?? Shall we take selfies to say we were at THE funeral? Hashtag #bestfuneralevercircus

The decor, the food and the entertainment, do you come to a funeral for good food and entertainment? Isn’t it crass that someone you loved has just died and you’re more worried about what people will think about your funeral arrangements than spending time with your family in mourning? Who cares what people think, if they think badly of your funeral then obviously they shouldn’t be classified as a friend. There’s a reason people bring you food when someone dies, it’s because you shouldn’t be thinking of cooking and cleaning and entertaining, they’re not important, love, feelings, family, that’s what’s important. It’s so pompous that even in the death of a loved one people are still more worried about perception. That they are so important that appearance and vanity supersedes being human.

My black and white BPD came out in full force and I could not think positively about anyone involved in the funeral. So much so, I had to bow out because the judgemental side of me could not be put down and I knew I would come away vilifying people I work with on a day to day basis for their decision to work on this funeral. Everyone has a right to make their own decisions, and I realized this, which made me realize I had to walk away and shut this out or I would destroy and walk away from relationships as a consequence.

funeralI walked away, shut down for the last 2 days and I’ve been in a churning hole. I am so disgusted at the materialism and showmanship. The fact that this funeral has become a production, a production, like we’re putting on a gala dinner and show. The thoughts and images keep turning and turning in my mind. I can’t sleep, my mind wants to tear apart the people involved in the funeral, to make them bad to fit my judgements. It’s trying and exhausting winding the emotions and feelings down, finding the middle ground, taming the judgement and making sure I stay mum and do not engage.

They say, memories and experiences in your past create situations in the present where a seemingly innocuous event can cause a blown out of proportion reaction. When my father died, my extended family was very involved in “helping me” wih the funeral arrangements. So much of what you “should do”, I shouldn’t have to do anything, this is my father and the only thing I should do is be with my family and mourn my father. But the should do’s continued, i should pick the right casket (he’s dead and getting cremated) and spend my time looking at upgraded and premium versions of wood and lining. He just died yesterday who cares about the wood? We should get flowers and wreaths, who the fuck cares? My guests? Are they going to judge me for not having flowers on my dead father’s casket? He’s dead, he doesn’t care, he’s the most important perons here. We should get on the phone and call everyone and send invites even though my heart just cracked and broke. We should invite every person who has ever come into contact with my father, really? Why? So in addition to mourning I can smile at strangers, find the right words to say and wish like hell this was over and then pull out a cheque book to pay for all the people who felt they should be here because i felt I should invite them. Is there anyone that actually wants to go to a funeral? If they loved my father, saying good bye is not a public spectacle, it’s done inwardly, towards the heaven, the soul, whichever faith you believe in. It is most definitely not at a party with good food and entertainment with 600 of your closest friends. The straw that broke my back was my aunt wanting to film the funeral. Can we get some reality here, this is sorrow, a way to say good bye, not a movie I plan on re-watching every year.

Yes, I’m scarred, funerals are not a show, death is not a show. I’ve seen death, people close to to me have died. Maybe you need to see death that close to understand what loss is and how private it is. That celebrating pain is not a celebration. Misery is not a party unless you’re a narcissist.

That these people and their lackeys are so self important, that their china pattern, canapés, entertainment and napkins mean more than finding the space and time to mourn their loved one privately with class and decorum.

This is all opinion and judgement, I am well aware of this, hence, I have nothing to do this funeral or anyone involved with it. Walk away. If something bothers you, it is my prerogative to walk away. I walked.



{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.



et cetera
Life after BPD

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

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The secret life of high-functioning borderline personality disorder.

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