Dare You To Move 

I have borderline personality disorder. It is a part of me, a really big part, because it defines every surface thought I have, my self esteem,  my relationships with the people around me. 

I’ve spent a lot of my life believing that I was sub-par to everyone around me. I don’t take compliments or acts of kindness towards me well. Deep down I’ve always believed that I didn’t deserve them. At the same time I’m praying that someone notices this and convinces me that I’m extraordinary, that I’m beautiful and smart and a good person and that they love me. 

More than anything, I’ve always been searching for love. To be understood and accepted as I am and important,  although if I’m treated thus I grow wary, certain it’s going to fall apart. I’m always waiting on the day they leave. 

Things have changed, I have changed. Yet I’m still the same in so many ways. I’m going to try to be better at posting, either to have a record of who I am, or to share my story, or just to get things out. 

This is about the maximum I can handle for now. My therapist,  Meredith,  newish, but I really like her so far, says that any attempt is considered a success if you put your effort or heart in it, so that’s what I’m going to try to do. Here we go… 

Insomnia pt 7777

I have stopped sleeping at night again. Even with medication, even with lack of sleep. There’s a dark loneliness brewing in my mind that defies relaxation.

Therapy is helping. I’m not cured, of course. I doubt I’ll ever be 100 percent again. Some experiences leave deep scars. But until the void started swelling,  I actually had a few days that I could honestly say that I was happy. Genuine happiness. I’d thought it couldn’t happen, but there it was.

I think it’s because of pms. And having to do without the effexor while I wait for the nurse practitioner to call in my refill. I hate being controlled by my emotions, but sleep deprivation weakens my defenses. I’m trying to keep it together, using all the cognitive therapy tricks my therapist has helped me learn.

More later. I honestly just can’t keep a clear stream of thought at the moment. Here’s hoping a nap comes soon, but without the stress dreams that have plagued me for two weeks.

Good morning, all. I hope everyone is safe and happy.

Blahdeblah

  1. Lying on the couch waiting for sleep to take me. I am going to put my phone down and not pick it up until five am, time to get Cali up for school.

This new medication is not good. I’ve been weepy for two days, nauseous for a week. My therapist said she’d talk to the prescribing nurse and get me in to see her, and texted me to let me know I’m talking to her next week.

I know there’s no Magic Normality Pill, but I’m just so tired of going from sad to empty back to sad. Everyone around me has at least one really good day every now and again,  and I want that too. That’s all. I’m not asking for riches or beauty or epic love, just some okay days.

It hit me today that I’ve even stopped listening to music. No new songs, no old songs… I can’t remember the last time I cut on my mp3 player. I think the last song I listened to was when I played the Supernatural parody by Hillywood in Youtube. I don’t know if it counts since it’s a parody.

I don’t know why I’ve been so upset lately. Things have been okay. The kids are fine, Nathan has been helping me with my bills more since he’s working,  and except for today we’ve gotten along fine. It’s like my brain has short circuited and I lost the capacity for positive things. My therapist would call it “stinkin’ thinkin'” and remind me me to try to stop.

I want to look forward to something again. A book, an event, I don’t know. A new pair of socks. I feel like I’m drowning in a cold, black sea, salty with the stupid, cheesy tears. Every word out of my mouth sounds like a ridiculous emo song and I hate it.

Which makes me think of the very best comic I’ve seen about depression. You should read it.

And now is the time to hit post and put my phone away. Wish me luck…

September 15

My brain is so dull I can’t even think of a relevant title, much less a clever one. I miss being smart. It feels like I’ve lost a lot of my IQ with the anxiety and depression this time.

When I say “This time” I am counting the past two years.

I don’t know…  Maybe I was always this colorless and uninteresting and unintelligent and I’ve only finally realized. I haven’t tested that theory, since I haven’t done anything needing creativity in a very, very long time. No writing. No drawing except for one fluke, no baking, a few decent pictures (But still quite generic)… I haven’t even had sex in two years. I don’t know which part of your brain controls creative thought,  but I think it’s shriveled up in me. It’s hard to believe that I planned on supporting myself by photography and writing. It’s probably good I quit school when I did before I owed out 25k instead of a measly 5k.

My new therapist is nice. I haven’t seen her enough to know if she’s effective,  but at least she’s nice. Kiera is also going to start seeing her over the adhd anger and nightmares. Hopefully things will be better in that regard soon.

My new psychiatrist,  however, is doing the dance. The “I’m going to ignore the bpd symptoms and focus on the symptoms that point to bipolar”  And she kind of insulted me by asking if I was attention-seeking. Which is code for overdramatic faker. It surprised the hell out of me that a psychiatric professional would use such a… I don’t know… Wrong thinking. That’s not what bpd is. It’s been proven that our minds are physically incapable of feeling in degrees. That it’s like living with no emotional skin. That I’d do anything in my power to keep from being abandoned if i thought it would save me. But I knew it wouldn’t so I didn’t. The way she pulpit, It felt like she was pointing and screaming “Lying Bitch!”, though I know that is definitely just overdramatising. But I’m not screaming about it. I honestly almost walked out. But I need to keep seeing a psychiatrist and therapist. Maybe I’ll talk to my therapist about it tomorrow. She keeps reminding me that it’s okay to be bothered by things, but dwelling and obsessing and getting caught up in the bad emotions is just hurting me.

I don’t know. I’m trying not to be whiny or depressed. I mostly just feel empty and numb. I would hope that new meds would help, but they put me on another antiseizure medication (Lamictal, which I’ll never remember) rather than an anti-anxiety med or antidepressant. So we’ll see. I don’t have much hope, and there are severe side effects like “life-threatening skin rash and multi-organ failure”, both of which sound like a party, but they do sound better than what the Abilify did.

But there are good things, like the girls are doing well in school and newish car and  their dad got a great job which means he will help me with the girls and bills. I could be bitter that he didn’t do it when we were married,  but he is helping now, so better late than never. Maybe things will stop being so bleak.

Backsliding

I can’t sleep. I hurt all over. I haven’t been able to write or read or even think. I’m so tired and sore and miserable I can’t stand myself.

That’s all. I’m alive, I guess. So that’s something at least.

Many things

I had a full blown passing out panic attack last night. Stephen saw it coming on before I was even aware and talked me through it. That was terrible and embarrassing.

My mom’s best friend died. Lung cancer. A long, hard downhill slide. I can’t even process it. I wanted to write about her but I can’t.

My friends Alicia and Ted bought the girls aloft bed, a mattress. And a comforter. I am so blessed without friends, I really am.

My second bad moment came while Ted was tightening screws and his phone rang. I heard him. I heard him and almost got sick.

I’m still not better. I’m just better at avoiding the thought of him. But the moment he appears in my head it’s exactly the same. Why do I let it affect me so badly? I know better. I know it’s over. I know I’m better off. But it still hurts. Dammit.

I wanted to write. I had an idea. Maybe… But Idk. I don’t think I’m ready.

What I’m going to really talk about, my focus, is thiS.

I was told by my ob that I have pcos, but heart prescribe me anything as long as I’m on the Abilify because it causes weight gain. Well, finally got ahold of my psychiatrist and he says he’s only going to give me medicine in that class.

So, I have to choose. Treat the PCOS which could make me physically healthy, but risk losing my mind, or keep trying the meds I’m on so I won’t lose my chance at disability, even though by the time it’s through I’m afraid I’ll be the lady whose house is cut open to get her fat ass  out when she dies.

What the hell am I supposed to do?  I have noone to talk to about it. I feel trapped. Not to mention…  I thought the whole point of going to Frontier Health was so I could try new types that ETSU couldn’t prescribe. So it’s all been some damned trap. And I can’t switch either because there are no choices where I live with my insurance. Dammit.

Anyway. Vent over. Whine over.  Babble over. I’m tired now… And so very sad. A deep in my bones sad. I want one amazing thing to happen. Just one good thing.

I am tired of hurting. I am tired of sorrow. I wish I’d never felt this. I wish I’d never fallen in love.

“Hunger”
Of Monsters and Men

You are right, I’ll move on
But my lungs feel so small
I couldn’t breathe if I tried
I lay my head on the floor
My beating heart wanting more
But I’ll keep it in and keep you out

I’m drowning, I’m drowning
I’m drowning, I’m drowning

But for the longest time I knew
There was nothing left for us to do
But I tried, oh, I tried
And in this quiet company
There is nothing staring back at me
I’m in need of the sound

Hungry for the kill, but this hunger, it isn’t you
Voices disappear when you are speaking, in somber tunes
I will be the wolf and when you’re starving, you’ll need it too
Hungry for the kill, but this hunger, it isn’t you
It isn’t you, it isn’t

And I’ll go talk to fill the void,
Let me go cause you are just a shade
Of what I am, not what I’ll be
But in this quiet company
I forget sometimes just how to breathe
Fill my lungs with the sound

Hungry for the kill, but this hunger, it isn’t you
Voices disappear when you are speaking, in somber tunes
I will be the wolf and when you’re starving, you’ll need it too
Hungry for the kill, but this hunger, it isn’t you
It isn’t you, it isn’t

I’m drowning, I’m drowning
I’m drowning, I’m drowning
I’m drowning, I’m drowning
I’m drowning, I’m drowning

Tick tick tick

Too much to do and no time. Doctor appointments, procedures scheduled, medicine changed and ordered. I have no energy for this.

I want to do it though. I want to make those calls. I want the apartment nice. I want to try to get better.

My obgyn finally said “Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome”. It feels almost too little too late, but maybe not. I have to wait to see what my psychiatrist puts me on, Dr Pinnell can’t treat the PCOS weight gain until I’m off the abilify because it causes gain. Which, why give that to a fat woman anyway? But I digress.

It’s made me antsy. It helps, then it’s too much. Still panicky, but not nonstop. A good start, but I’ve gained 7 lbs in two weeks and that’s not right.

Working on birthdays. Working on me. I want to live. I want more than the half life again.

ARGH

I slept for an hour. Then Kiera woke me and I’ve been lying here since.

Tried watching Pet Sematary Two but the router keeps resetting and I’m too tired to keep dealing with the Xbox and Netflix. So I have music on low and I’m curled up on the couch.

It’s been a weird life lately. There are good things, which I’m afraid will implode, and the usual bad.

The meds actually give me energy. Or at least, they make me have the desire to move. I’ve been more active, which is great.

But… I can’t sleep longer than two hours at a time. And after about twenty minutes the drive wears off and I get weak and shaky. And my panic attacks are still awful. I had one today while Patty and Steven argued where I covered my head and curled up in a fetal position. I tried calling a friend for help talking me through it, but… Saturday night,  everyone is busy living. But it got… Sorta… Resolved.

I love my cousin and aunt, but they need to calm the fuck down. Every conversation doesn’t have to end in screaming.

Nathan fucked us big time. He was supposed to start a new job last Monday. But his Id was expired. And he STILL HASN’T GOTTEN A NEW ONE. They told him to go get a new one and he could get in the next training class.

But dammit. They won’t call him back now. He promised he’d start paying child support. He promised to help with their birthdays. As it is important sorting through clothes to sell on Facebook to get the gifts and party things that my cousin can’t help with. It’s fucked up that two disabled fuckups are taking care of everything.

I want Nathan to find a girlfriend. Or friends. And go. I don’t mind seeing him. But he is right in the middle of my home and won’t go. And I can’t make him and I can’t ask for help and I don’t want to hurt the girls more than they’ve already endured with everything.

Tired. I really want to sleep. I’m so tired of being sad.

I want to feel safeDammit. I miss being pretty. I miss being funny and smart. I miss being someone who could be loved.

No Last Time

From the Dear Hope group. Beautiful and sad.

Dear Hope

There’s never going to be a last time.

There is no cure.

There is only the finite space

Of not-so-bad

Of kind of okay

The discrete moments of joy.

And they’re so hard to remember

Especially when the sadness

Is so overwhelming,

When the melancholy floats to the surface

Like poisonous cream,

When I’m already so tired

And the reality is that the best

I can hope for is respite

Rather than true relief.

It’s like having a terminal illness

That never terminates,

And there’s no palliative care,

No hospice,

And so often, no real understanding,

Just empty platitudes.

Submitted by Hanna Lange who runs a blog that you can find and check out here.

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manicpanicplanetschmanetjanet

I haven’t slept.

I cleaned. I cooked. I had company. Phone calls. I showered. I played yatzee. We watched Don’t Trust the Bitch in Apartment 23 and I listened to a lot of Bastille while I wrote.

It’s been a long day. But I’m… Good. I want to sleep at some point. But it’s good. Well, it would be if I wasn’t bouncing literally off the walls.

I had some anxious moments. But only one panic attack. Only one crying fit. And this is actually a pretty great thing.

I had a great conversation with a friend who ssuggested things I’d never thought of about my fear of the nothinguess. I would post some of his advice but I’m still processing it close at heart for now. But it gave a logical, “Hey, this is an explanation why you feel that and this might help you deal.”

I know some pretty freaking smart people.

I’m going to go shower again and try to warm up my hands. The manic crap makes me get ice fingers and toes

Oh yeah. Song.

Painful and full of wish. But so… So me.

Bonus song for my lovelies reading. ❤