borderlinegirlliveshere











A simple yet compelling series of illustrations that highlight much of my world.

Sometimes simplicity is the best way to make a point.

After seeing firsthand how mental illness can take a toll, Marissa Betley decided to sketch out how it truly feels to struggle with a mental health disorder. She then posted the minimalist illustrations on Instagram. The results are simple, yet powerful — and thus, Project 1 in 4was born.

The initiative is aptly named for a statistic that many people still have yet to grasp: Approximately one in four American adults — or about 26 percent of the population — suffers from a diagnosable mental health condition in a given year.

Despite the fact that it’s so common among men and women, mental illness is still incredibly stigmatized — and that could prevent those who experience it from seeking the help they need. Betley says she created the project for this reason.

“So few are talking about [mental illness] and initiating change,” she told The Huffington Post in an email. “I thought if I could just find a real human way to raise greater awareness then maybe I could help break down the stigma surrounding mental illness that is preventing so many people from getting the help and support they need. Maybe the project could even save lives.”

Betley posts one illustration a day on the project’s Instagram page and plans to do so for 100 days. She also shares the images and other mental health resources on the project’s website.

Project 1 in 4 isn’t the first of its kind, but it’s a welcome initiative for a community of people who often feel alone in their experience. Anti-stigma projects like singer Demi Lovato’s Be Vocal campaign and beauty brand Philosophy’s Hope & Grace initiative also assist in promoting awareness about mental health issues. But society still has a long way to go: Only about 25 percent of people who suffer from a mental health issue feel that others are understanding about mental illness, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

“I hope the project will help erase the stigma surrounding mental illness that prevents so many people from getting the help and support they need,” Betley said. “Also to provide a sense of comfort to those suffering, knowing they are not alone. Millions of people around the world are up against many of the same daily challenges.”

Ultimately, for those one in four individuals experiencing a mental health disorder, Betley hopes the project inspires acceptance within themselves.

“You deserve to be happy and healthy — don’t forget that,” she said.

We couldn’t agree more.

Check out the slideshow below to see more of the Project 1 in 4 illustrations:

CLICK HERE FOR FULL ARTICLE

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{March 12, 2015}   Rollercoasting

Therapy.

Went to it yesterday. It’s a waterfall of relief having a person that understands you, gets you, right down to the warped molecules floating angrily in your brain.

It’s been a hard, hard, unbearably hard 3 months. It seems incredulous to think it has only been 3 months, but I suppose things were not right prior, they came to a head 3 months ago but had been gathering for a few months before.

I feel starkly black and white in certain ways. I wake up every morning wanting to die, without a doubt, a seed so deep it’s curled into every muscle fibre and vein of my body, drinking deeply as I sleep. I don’t try and rip it out anymore, I just work through the pain each and every day to get up and go, till I can find the quiet in my head, the mindful practice that straightens me and the noise of the world to get out of the bed and begin.

I still laugh at the people that tell me, who know me, “you look like you’re in a good mood today”, as if by saying that it will make it so, make them feel like they’re what, right? Sure there are good moods, good days but you can’t see them by looking at me. It just makes me feel like shit OK? So shut up. Because I don’t feel that way and we both know it. I always look like I’m in a good mood externally, I’m a trained BPD beast.

The days, the days are fine, I do my thing, the thing I am good at. It gives me routine, it gives me comfort and it makes me smile in my little bubble that I am making other people happy, creating worlds for other people. I don’t think my ex ever understood that, I want people to be happy, to build them events, find them that one piece that lights them up. It’s not the money, or the sale, or drive, it’s the fact that I can create for others what I cannot for myself. I am building a world of happy, even if for one day, and all it is is a fantasy. Everything is beautiful and perfect. Perfect, it’s what I am not, but what I can make. So, if I am tired and grumpy getting there, at the end of the haul, I get to see happy.

Nights, they’re hard too, but I have the pills at night and they cut the edge when the voices go astray when all my strength starts to fade. Nights are hard, my personal horror channel starts when my eyes close. The thing is, it’s not horror, I want it, I am now just trained to reject it. All the daydreams of death, they’re pretty, and there is the me that wants it so badly. I’m a trained dog, that’s told to sit and look at its food and not devour it, well trained I am. Don’t give in to those hunger pangs, Pavlov would be proud.

I’ve been trying to build community, my homework from therapy. To reach out and build relations. I pointed out it’s hard to build relations when you’re obscuring who you are to another person and are essentially pretending. Its basing a friendship on a lie. I have’t told my business partner of 2 years yet. I’ve lied to her so many times about hospital visits, illnesses, cuts. How do you come out of the mental health closet and not have people treat you differently. At the shop, the shareholders, who know, now consider every thing that might be off about me a “health thing”. Like, fuck off. Do you know how many people I know with who would tell you I am the most sane person out there, happy too.

Anyways, relations, I am building relations, reaching out to friends to “lunch” or inviting them to do things. It’s uncomfortable but necessary. I’ve realized it’s part of DBT, the relationship part, means more than just intimate relations, it means finding the boundaries and the mindful places with people. More training, setting my limits, testing how far to push and then pull back to find the right balance. When to go, when to stay in, when I want to stay in but should not. Or when to be in and not be out. Very confusing because my BPD self is an all or nothing beast. Black and white. Be a hermit or be a social maven, the in-between is a rocky road of self control.

Physically, feeling a bit scarred. It was a hard talk to have, that open yourself up and lay yourself out to someone. Though she’s my counsellor, it’s still vulnerable, to say that I don’t feel comfortable even thinking of physicality with another person anymore for fear of judgement. I was never sure if it was something wrong with me or him, that made me so undesirable. Months and every overture turned down. Was it because I was hard to please? Was it lack of skill? Was it a body type that was unattractive? What was it? What was it about me that was so undesirable? I look in the mirror and I don’t find myself unattractive, I don’t mind my own physicality, I’d walk around naked everyday all day if I could. I think for someone my age, I look good, yet… he never really looked at me that way, never wanted me.  I don’t think I could handle rejection like that again. It was a searing lack of affirmation for someone that needs affirmation like myself. It is so odd to me that I feel this way because I have NEVER been that person. And it’s not that I don’t feel pretty, I do, it’s not the face value or body dysmorphia, I just feel undesirable. Sexless even.

Things aren’t bad right now, it’s just pointless. I’m rudderless and just living with certain spots of gaiety. Kids, all for the kids. Almost like being pregnant, you’re a vessel, existing for another life that you’re creating, or in this case created. I’m protecting myself for them. Building a life, for them.

So tired.



Mental health suffers from a major image problem. One in every four people experiences mental health issues — yet more than 40 percent of countries worldwide have no mental health policy. Across the board it seems like we have no idea how to talk about it respectfully and responsibly.

Stigma and discrimination are the two biggest obstacles to a productive public dialogue about mental health; indeed, the problem seems to be largely one of communication. So we asked seven mental health experts: How should we talk about mental health? How can informed and sensitive people do it right – and how can the media do it responsibly?

End the stigma

Easier said than done, of course. Says journalist Andrew Solomon: “People still think that it’s shameful if they have a mental illness. They think it shows personal weakness. They think it shows a failing. If it’s their children who have mental illness, they think it reflects their failure as parents.” This self-inflicted stigma can make it difficult for people to speak about even their own mental health problems. According to neuroscientist Sarah Caddick, this is because when someone points to his wrist to tell you it’s broken, you can easily understand the problem, but that’s not the case when the issue is with the three-pound mass hidden inside someone’s skull. “The minute you start talking about your mind, people get very anxious, because we associate that with being who we are, fundamentally with ‘us’ — us as a person, us as an individual, our thoughts, our fears, our hopes, our aspirations, our everything.” Says mental health care advocate Vikram Patel, “Feeling miserable could in fact be seen as part of you or an extension of your social world, and applying a biomedical label is not always something that everyone with depression, for example, is comfortable with.” Banishing the stigma attached to mental health issues can go a long way to facilitating genuinely useful conversations.

Avoid correlations between criminality and mental illness

People are too quick to dole out judgments on people who experience mental health problems, grouping them together when isolated incidents of violence or crime occur. Says Caddick, “You get a major incident like Columbine or Virginia Tech and then the media asks, ‘Why didn’t people know that he was bipolar?’ ‘Was he schizophrenic?’ From there, some people think, ‘Well, everybody with bipolar disease is likely to go out and shoot down a whole bunch of people in a school,’ or, ‘People who are schizophrenics shouldn’t be out on the street.’” Solomon agrees that this correlation works against a productive conversation about mental health: “The tendency to connect people’s crimes to mental illness diagnoses that are not in fact associated with criminality needs to go away. ‘This person murdered everyone because he was depressed.’ You think, yes, you could sort of indicate here this person was depressed and he murdered everyone, but most people who are depressed do not murder everyone.”

But do correlate more between mental illness and suicide

According to the National Institute for Mental Health (NIMH), 90 percent of people who die by suicide have depression or other mental disorders, or substance-abuse disorders in conjunction with other mental disorders. Yet we don’t give this link its due. Says Solomon, “Just as the association between mental illness and crime is too strong, the connection between mental illness and suicide is too weak. So I feel like what I constantly read in the articles is that ‘so-and-so killed himself because his business had gone bankrupt and his wife had left him.’ And I think, okay, those were the triggering circumstances, but he killed himself because he suffered from a mental illness that drove him to kill himself. He was terribly depressed.”

Avoid words like “crazy” or “psycho”

Not surprisingly, nearly all the mental health experts we consulted were quick to decry playground slang like “mental,” “schizo,” “crazy,” “loonie,” or “nutter,” stigmatizing words that become embedded in people’s minds from a young age. NIMH Director Thomas Insel takes that one step further — he doesn’t like the category of “mental health problems” in general. He says, “Should we call cancer a ‘cell cycle problem’? Calling serious mental illness a ‘behavioral health problem’ is like calling cancer a ‘pain problem.’” Comedian Ruby Wax, however, has a different point of view: “I call people that are mentally disturbed, you know, I say they’re crazy. I think in the right tone, that’s not the problem. Let’s not get caught in the minutiae of it.”

If you feel comfortable talking about your own experience with mental health, by all means, do so

Self-advocacy can be very powerful. It reaches people who are going through similar experiences as well as the general public. Solomon believes that people equipped to share their experiences should do so: “The most moving letter I ever received in a way was one that was only a sentence long, and it came from someone who didn’t sign his name. He just wrote me a postcard and said, ‘I was going to kill myself, but I read your book and changed my mind.’ And really, I thought, okay, if nobody else ever reads anything I’ve written, I’ve done some good in the world. It’s very important just to keep writing about these things, because I think there’s a trickle-down effect, and that the vocabulary that goes into serious books actually makes its way into the common experience — at least a little bit of it does — and makes it easier to talk about all of these things.” SolomonWax, as well as Temple Grandin, below, have all become public figures for mental health advocacy through sharing their own experiences.

Don’t define a person by his/her mental illnesses

Just as a tumor need not define a person, the same goes for mental illness. Although the line between mental health and the “rest” of a person is somewhat blurry, experts say the distinction is necessary. Says Insel: “We need to talk about mental disorders the way we talk about other medical disorders. We generally don’t let having a medical illness define a person’s identity, yet we are very cautious about revealing mental illness because it will somehow define a person’s competence or even suggest dangerousness.” Caddick agrees: “There’s a lot of things that go on in the brain, and just because one thing goes wrong doesn’t mean that everything’s going wrong.”

Separate the person from the problem

Continuing from the last, Insel and Patel both recommend avoiding language that identifies people only by their mental health problems. Says Insel, speak of “someone with schizophrenia,” not “the schizophrenic.” (Although, he points out, people with autism do often ask to be referred to as “autistic.”) Making this distinction clear, says Patel, honors and respects the individual. “What you’re really saying is, this is something that’s not part of a person; it’s something the person is suffering from or is living with, and it’s a different thing from the person.”

Sometimes the problem isn’t that we’re using the wrong words, but that we’re not talking at all

Sometimes it just starts with speaking up. In Solomon’s words: “Wittgenstein said, ‘All I know is what I have words for.’ And I think that if you don’t have the words for it, you can’t explain to somebody else what your need is. To some degree, you can’t even explain to yourself what your need is. And so you can’t get better.” But, as suicide prevention advocate Chris Le knows well, there are challenges to talking about suicide and depression. Organizations aiming to raise awareness about depression and suicide have to wrangle with suicide contagion, or copycat suicides that can be sparked by media attention, especially in young people. Le, though, feels strongly that promoting dialogue ultimately helps. One simple solution, he says, is to keep it personal: “Reach out to your friends. If you’re down, talk to somebody, because remember that one time that your friend was down, and you talked to them, and they felt a little better? So reach out, support people, talk about your emotions and get comfortable with them.”

Recognize the amazing contributions of people with mental health differences

Says autism activist Temple Grandin: “If it weren’t for a little bit of autism, we wouldn’t have any phones to talk on.” She describes the tech community as filled with autistic pioneers. “Einstein definitely was; he had no language until age three. How about Steve Jobs? I’ll only mention the dead ones by name. The live ones, you’ll have to look them up on the Internet.” Of depression, Grandin says: “The organizations involved with depression need to be emphasizing how many really creative people, people whose books we love, whose movies we love, their arts, have had a lot of problems with depression. See, a little bit of those genetics makes you sensitive, makes you emotional, makes you sensitive — and that makes you creative in a certain way.”

Humor helps

Humor, some say, is the best medicine for your brain. Says comedian Wax: “If you surround [your message] with comedy, you have an entrée into their psyche. People love novelty, so for me it’s sort of foreplay: I’m softening them up, and then you can deliver as dark as you want. But if you whine, if you whine about being a woman or being black, good luck. Everybody smells it. But it’s true. People are liberated by laughing at themselves.”



{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. 

 

 

 



{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 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 22, 2012}   Safety in Disassociation

This is a great excerpt I took off a post by Beyond the Borderline.

What she described to me was an instance of pretty intense dissociation. She was beyond the point of even crying. Her body and brain just shut down. She could walk and talk, but there were no more feelings. She moved to a place beyond her ability to feel emotion. Blank. Nothingness. There’s a reason for these defense mechanisms and sometimes I do think they’re a blessing. Especially since it only lasted that day and she was able to escape it. Imagine being under so much stress that your mind takes over and lets you have no say in how it functions and is able to interact with the world. It’s a really bizarre feeling.

Not all BPD persons experience disassociation and it is a very peculiar and out of control feeling when your mind and body shut down and you are a spectator watching yourself go through motions you neither care nor not care about. I liken it to watching a movie of yourself you have no control to stop, pause, rewind, just watch like a big screen movie.

For me, it only happens under extreme extreme duress and only a few times in the last 15 years. Once I had rented my vacation house out to a couple about to be married and she called screaming that he was trying to kill her. After the police, the hospital, the stress, the exhaustion, the sheer overwhelm off all I was doing hit, I blanked into zombie mode and eventually friends had to sedate me and put me to bed. The other couple of times have been with ex boyfriends, one was abusive and the other the emotional pressure was a catalyst. Thankfully, nothing has caused me great harm and perhaps the disassociation has saved me from hitting the edge and causing more harm in the situation.

 



{August 17, 2012}   Dog’s Ass

I don’t understand how I am always the shit.

I so wanted to meet up with Hugh last night, he texted me at 11:25pm to meet him. I said good bye to friends, kisses, etc and texted him back at 11:47pm I was grabbing a cab and he pretty much said too late, i blew him off (he waited an hour and a half for me- huh? 47-25= 22 minutes?). I waited wondering if he would text me tell me where he was going and when he didn’t I went home and now I am the dog’s ass feeling like the shit hole who screwed up by wanting to see him.

Yeah, hurt, feel like crud. Trying to breathe, stay in the moment, not let that ugly take hold. Participate and non judge which I just failed at by judging myself as a dog’s ass. Don’t want to see him because its going to hurt but its going to smart for a few anyways regardless and I need to get my car.



{June 6, 2012}   The Verdict Handed Down

I am calm right now, had some seroquel force fed into me.

im at a loss for words, truly at a loss for words, feeling quite numb, probably from the drug and so much i want to write before i forget or fall back into the low again once the meds subside.

shocking, but given the last few days not shocking, very upsetting, not sure how to cope, i have been given 4 weeks off work. im not sure what that means, bills, money, need to claim disability, something, cant deal with it now, i cant take 4 weeks off and may have to ignore that order. 4 weeks off means i’ll have every creditor in the city after me.

my medications have been curtailed to two weeks at a time, just in case, i you know… limited supply on hand.

however, not on suicide watch!

been put on clonazepam for a little while till i can get a better handle and work through this period. i havent figured out how i am going to get myself to the pharmacy without breaking down sobbing at the counter since just getting to the hospital was a shaky affair. i should get it tonight but i know its not going to happen, i cant do it. i made it 3 nights, i can make it 4.

too many things at the same time, my regulation shut down, overloaded, depression. constant tension at work made me have to put so much energy into staying even and managing the barbs and lost a safe place, having 8 hours of my day fraught just elevated my stress, i didn’t take proper breaks to re-charge, my mother’s little dynamo of a secret rocked a fragile space with no resolution and festered, and hugh pretty much jumping ship and declaring me unworthy of anything further due to my BPD tendencies and not sticking by or believing me when the first true ugliness of my BPD came through when i had put my trust into him pretty much hit the last trigger of abandonment and rejection.  Then my own guilt and self recrimination, thinking that i must have been wrong and bad, could have done better, why am I such an awful person… and the rest is history

i got validation, my disassociation while traveling was not because i was a loose provocateur. given the history and the tension, plus the trauma of history, my outlet for pain was not available, and to fend of an episode my mind disassociated to cope. It is not a facet of my morality but as he put it, a multiplication of historical factors that would be hard for any BPD sufferer to handle even with DBT training and unlikely for all those triggers to happen simultaneously again as they were historically based on the volatility of the relationship. Like a cub protecting her young, i acquiesced to protect my mind and that was the right thing to do, in a weird warped clinical way i am sure no sane person could understand.

My fear of emergency, the fact that I didn’t go to emergency for fear of them throwing me back into the psych ward and not letting me out based on my history was calmed. Repeat after him, do not be afraid of the system, they are here to help me. My psychiatrist swore to me up and down that if I ended up there, to have his card, drop his name, he would come, he knows that i am very high functioning, this was a dip in the road, they would not hold me. I am “a great model of a recovering BPD patient”

it was ok that i called no one or asked for help. Because my trust was broken, it would have been hard for me to not have been caged about letting someone in to help for fear of them disappointing me. My cutting was moderate, i think they didn’t want to berate me, given that i was  about to collapse, and i had managed to come for help, which was a step in the right direction.

This does not mean I am not still here, lying on the floor, struggling, crying and panicking. I should go get the clonazepam but i cant, just like i cant go to work, i cant get up again, once was enough, and coming back home after some rest and a sedative im just calm and regulated enough right now to write this before we repeat the cycle for the next few days. Going to stay bad, the depression they say will be at least a few more days but if i get on the meds, focus and work hard on getting back in control i should be in a better place by Monday.

no one said anything about a support system, my babbling and crying about trust and fear in people perhaps made them think i could go this on my own for a little while to gain some strength before letting anyone in in case they imbalance me. If i get too scared alone i am to go to emergency and ask them to admit me till i feel calm again.

i can feel the drugs wearing off and the anxiety starting again. my head hurts. i havent eaten but the nausea of self loathing is still present. im jittery, trying to count the slats in the wood, feeling my twinkling shards of pain surfacing, i missed the shadows coming through, and its very quiet. regardless of what they say, the damage is still tight in my gut, and if i could shed this life and person for another, i would.



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.

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