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…

Rainy Day Promises

There are people who have it worse than me.

That’s what someone says when they think you’re just feeling sorry for yourself. And it’s true. There are baby girls in China and children in warzones and homeless in New York and so many other people who are suffering in ways I can’t even imagine.

But the thing is, I’m not any of those people. I’m me. I am living my life with all its misery and it is intolerable. I am trapped in this body with this mother and this history and I have tried to make a life but every step forward the floor is crumbling beneath me. I have no control, and when I try to take control someone completely ruins it and I’m back in the ditch where I belong.

I don’t trust. Every promise is just someone stalling. If someone says “I’m going to -” I immediately think “Lies.” Noone ever does what their “going to” do. When I was a kid, my brother’s dad would promise to fix things on a rainy day, because he had to work all the time otherwise. But the rainy day would never come, because when he was off he was up the hill at his parents, or at his brother’s and the rainy day promises were left to fall apart.

It’s depressing how many broken promises start out that way. And they’re often unprovoked. Someone will be all “I’m going to do this for you.” And I know that it’ll never happen. Even if i say it, because my life isn’t in my control so I can’t keep my word even if I plan and fight and scream and work at it. And then I’m unreliable and I lose friends and I’m left alone with only him and then he gets his way and I am left with nothing.  Promises are never made to be kept.

I want out of my life. I want out of my skin. I am never going to have a real life and I’m so tired now. He’s got his headset on and applying for jobs and crying, and I can’t say anything. If I do he’ll mindwarp me and confuse me when he needs to help. Nathan is supposed to be helping me, that’s why he’s here, but he doesn’t until I beg him and we fight and he completely screws everything up and he’s only applying as some weird form of payback. I am sitting on my couch and the girls are upstairs doing a project and my cousin is watching some shark horror movie and I feel so sick and alone

Genetic Disposition to Pariahism

I dreamed about him. I dreamed that things were as they are now, except I could see him. He was working. I could see by his expression that he missed me. I dreamed that we talked. When I woke I felt calm. Comforted. Then reality reasserted itself and I remembered. And it hurt.

I listened to mom talk for two hours tonight. She was talking about my brother’s dad and how she didn’t want him back and why would she want someone who never treated her right  and I could hear in her voice that it hurt. I realized, we are the same. We give our trust to men who hurt us. We love those who never let us belong. It’s this longing that will never be fulfilled, because they never let us in.

There’s a line in one of my favorite songs. The meaning isn’t even close to what it sounds to me. It’s about Louis Peltier and how he was wrongly imprisoned. Honestly, I don’t care what the real meaning is. It’s Crazy Life by Toad the Wet Sprocket.

Anyway, it don’t seem right, he’s in there while you’re on the outside.

To me, those words were from one outsider to another. How some people are welcomed and included, while for someone like mom, or me, we’re always left watching from a strictly kept distance.

Like how I’ve always been into games and writing and somehow I had always been left out while even ex-wives were welcomed in. And no matter how hard I tried to be agreeable and accepting and whatever they wanted, I was never a part of anything.

“Anyway it don’t seem right, he’s in there while youre on the outside…”

Do you hear it now?

Hide Your Truth

My first real breaking point, the one that actually made mom say, “This isn’t normal. You need help.” was when I was nineteen.

I already had the cloud of shame thick on me. I knew by this point about my father, and I’d never allowed myself to forget or forgive myself for letting the other happen. Maybe someday I can say it. But not tonight. Tonight is for a different scar.

My doctor sent me to a therapist. He was afraid I was going to hurt myself. I was shocked. Because I had been certain I’d hidden that effectively. Guess not.

Meds and therapy. Suddenly there was this stranger asking me how things made me feel. But the whole time I held most of it back. I am sure some of the whole “You’re not invested in healing yourself” comes from that wall.

It was built before I realized. Time to go. Mom would say, “Don’t tell those quacks anything bad about me.” Or someone would find out I was going to therapy and say, “Oh I tied that once. It was a waste of time.” and after, “Did you say anything bad about me?”

I learned how to feel shame from my mother that way. Hide the truth. Don’t let them know, they’ll use it against you. I also learned that from her. And Nathan, always so bitter when we fight. “Go tell everybody now. Make sure you turn everyone against me.”

These are people who, when I’ve done what they wanted, have said I am a good person. Loving. Kind.

And I convinced myself to hide the real me away. That the worst was true. So do what they want and think of them first so they won’t remember how awful I am.

Then he came back, and slowly stole through the cracks in my walls and I gave him every bit of me. My joys. And my shame. The beautiful and reviled both. And he said he loved me. He said he would always be here.

“I am here.”

And then he’s gone like he’d never existed. And they’re here, and I’m too weak without him and slowly the mire closes back around me and the skin, my walls, we’re already down and they’re in here and now I’m gone and “Don’t let them see, God please never let anyone ever see that deep in me again because I will disappear forever.”

You are not here.

“Don’t tell them anything bad.”

I suppose therapy really is snake oil if you hide your truths, so they weren’t exactly wrong.

My outsides match my insides now. I compared myself to Jabba the Hut today. It got a laugh, but I wasn’t kidding. No one could ever fall in love with me now. I am tarred black clinging to a dead form.

I had a cousin say to me yesterday, “You look pretty, Amy.” And I wanted to scream at her. It offended me. Kind words, especially about my looks, are patronizing and it makes me want to

I almost said die.

It’s a weird sort of narcissism. Knowing that you are hideous. Like the girl in the Library, having the clearest sight because she is both brilliant and unloved. Though brilliant is wrong. I just have been used to the worst reactions, and constant bombardment has made me wary, and often right.

I’m so tired now. I haven’t been this tired in a long time.

I Don’t Even Know

So my mom is having an episode. I could post some of the comments and messages she’s sent me but I can’t handle it.

My ex-husband has also been especially bipolar too.

I was ready to lose it.
Then Mandikins and Stephen came over.

I don’t often say this. But they have held me together over the past trauma. Mandi has been there for even longer, even when all I could do was curl up in my chair and cry.

No one has done even half of what they have to help me. Ever. I don’t know how I can ever even begin to repay them.

I think it’s time to cut the family ties. I can’t keep going through this over and over again. Now after t have e threats and horrible comments she’s sending Bible verses and messages telling me that I have done the worst a child can do and she doesn’t understand why I have done it. That she loves me. This is after over 50 messages calling me a liar and evil.

On top of Nathan’s behavior. And my aunt who is staying with mom started sending the same things. And she said “Fuck you” to me. I have let her live with me without any payment. I gave her my last 20 dollars and never asked for it back. She helped raise me. These women raised me and they have said some of the cruelest things ever said to me.

So I am cursed. But there is also the blessing of finding in friends the Family I never had from blood.
This was posted with my new phone. The one my friends gave me to help get me out of the traps I’ve been in. I’ll figure out the tricks eventually, but I felt it was important to use it to post this.

Amanda Palmer – Runs In The Family [OFFICIAL VIDEO]: https://youtu.be/5i0o3JRaF2g

So there’s that, I guess.

April? Nope, Always a Fool

Trigger Warning************************************

Rage issues. Abandonment issues. Depersonalization. Loneliness. Feelings of inadequacy. Some very very low points.

Yesterday could only be described as hideous. I completely lost my shit. I no longer existed. For a while, there was this shrieking banshee in my place.

The following formula is a constant:

I need help with something and Nathan promises he will take care of it. He doesn’t. I ask my mother for help.

She agrees after about an hour of telling me that I never pay her back ever and all I do is take and I’d better not be lying. I tell her there shouldn’t be a problem, because there shouldn’t be.

Every day, multiple times, since that point, I will receive a call and/or a text reminding me that she really needs whatever I borrowed back. I say whatever but it is usually money for food.

The day comes and I am specific about what I want Nathan to pay. I give him a list. This day is the only day he hops up without trouble. He goes out.

My mother calls multiple times. I call Nathan looking for him to make sure he is going to pay her back immediately.

Now here is where the two things branch out.

Timeline A: He pays her back. She calls and expresses her awe that we didn’t screw her over, and then reminds me again of all the times I have screwed up and how it puts her out. Which is valid, because I screw everything up. But it’s like listening to a woodpecker, right outside your bedroom wall. Peckpeckpeckpeckpeck… And I think I can’t ask her anymore. I can do without. But then the girls will go without so give in and ask. Meanwhile he bitches and complains about having to pay her back and how she shouldn’t hold that over my head so much so I’m pretty much bombarded on both sides.

Timeline B: He gets home and he has not paid her back. And he no longer has the money. So now I’m a liar. And usually I call her and she starts yelling at me. Telling me all I do is lie and I don’t love her and I am an awful daughter and she gave up so much and brought herself down to take care of me and I’m a shitty parent and when I give in and she breaks me down she says I’m throwing a pity party. Or we fight and fight and fight and fight, and then Nathan gets in on it and reminds her of things she’s said that she swears she never said (she did, but it was during manic moments so she may not actually remember) and they scream and fight and I get upset at Nathan and he and I fight and then mom starts threatening to do things that I can’t even type and then he’s telling me how I said this and that and everything becomes a big mess and I go to bed.

Today when Timeline B started I just lost it. Complete nuclear meltdown. Screaming. I told him I despised him and I wish I never had to see him. I locked myself in the bathroom for fifteen minutes, and when I got out I yelled down and told him HE had to call mom and explain to her. And when he said he would in a little bit I screeched some more and he told me our friend Stephen was here. He has this thing about people knowing his business. He’s got this facade that I am mentally ill and he is trying so hard but all I do is bring him down and he doesn’t like it when I don’t hide how I’m feeling. In fact this time I told him I didn’t give a fuck if Jesus Christ had descended down from the Heavens and wanted me to be quiet.

I lost it so badly Stephen took me a side and talked, he tried to comfort me as best he could, but I think I scared him. I have always turned my annoyance inward when he or Mandi are around, but today I just let it all go like an explosion. I had to physically restrain myself from shattering dishes. Or hurting myself. I came close.

Especially when he actually did call mom and they did their thing where they are screaming back and forth and mom is calling me names and he actually screamed back and told her that I am the best and most honorable and honest person he’s ever known. Which sounds nice but when it’s him on the other end I don’t know what I’m talking about or remembering and I need to get more medication because I’m crazy. They’re just alike. I’m like a man because I married someone with my mother’s personality. They’re both bi-polar. They are neither one properly medicated. Mom only sees me as an extension of herself. I’m not her daughter. I’m not a person. I’m the one she vents at, and the one she can blame when her life goes sour because it’s always my fault. Nathan just uses me for a place besides his dad’s to stay. He doesn’t like me. I’m pretty sure he never really did.

There are people out there that have love. They have support. They have someone who actually looks forward to spending time with them. They are loved.

It’s almost been a year.

This is one of those nights that I really just wish everything was over. There’s no joy left. I can’t remember what it felt like. I can’t remember hope. I feel so alone. The people who were supposed to love me the most have all made me feel like I’m nothing. And maybe on the outside that sounds like a pity party. But I’m not exaggerating. This is what my heart feels.

One song isn’t going to cover it. It’s a plethora of hurt like an infection in my soul, rotting me from the inside out.

John. Because every time something like this happens it hits me that he left me here. He knew these things, and he still left me in it.

Nathan. How could someone try so hard to keep someone else down in the gutter? And I feel like running, so often. But I’m so weak. I still can barely leave the house. I feel so pathetic and worthless.

I can’t even. My mother. I finally messaged her and told her I can’t do this anymore. That she will get her money tomorrow (which was the beginning of it, she didn’t want to wait a day although she didn’t need it immediately.) I understand she was frustrated. I get it. But I can’t take it anymore. I can’t fight anymore. Cali has a phone now. If mom wants to see them or talk to them she can call Cali. They can stay the night with her whenever they or she wants. But I’m done.

I’m so tired. I’m so tired. I just want everything to stop. I want out of this life. I can’t live this way anymore. I can’t bear this over and over and over . But I can’t get away.

blog, pt deux

This started out as a reply to an earlier comment, but it went three paragraphs long, so I figured… might as well make it another post. My blog and I’ll do what I want!!! >_<

It’s so sad, to lose the joy in writing for yourself. I used to ONLY write for myself. Though not because I was self-conscious, amazingly enough, but because it was something that was just mine.

My family wasn’t very intellectual or creative back then(my little brother has become an amazing artist), and part of the reason was there wasn’t that much I wanted to read at our little bitty library, and my allowance couldn’t keep up with the voraciousness of my reading habits. I used to make worlds that I loved, or fanfic when a show caught me in its pull.

It was the only thing I was confident about, I knew I was good and I wrote what made me happy and I didn’t care one whit if anyone else ever read it. I almost hate him for it, blaming him for making me share that when it ended up tainted. Or maybe I hate myself for being foolish, or letting it become tainted. It was my way to self-soothe, which is way better than cutting or promiscuity (though I have made stupid and reckless decisions about relationships) or drugs, though I would get pretty caught up, not eating or sleeping, while I was writing. My cousin Steven told me earlier that it was amazing that I never became an addict, and I wanted to disagree with him even if I couldn’t explain why I felt he was wrong, and now it finally occurs to me:

I am addicted to my fantasy worlds. My characters and stories and playing pretend, knowing it isn’t real, but something in the back of my head would say, “Wouldn’t it be amazing if just by creating these stories, in another reality they become real?”

Which is weird and I know it’s untrue, but I still liked to imagine that. On that note, yes, I have been playing Bioshock Infinite. But no, this is the way I’ve always thought. It’s kind of amazing to play, and knowing that this sort of thing actually comes to others’ minds.

What if there really were infinite other worlds, each one just a choice away from this one? Heads… or tails? Alive or dead? Left or right?

In my worst dissociative moments, I have convinced myself that I’m in the wrong reality. That something traumatic or just BIG has knocked me sideways and I slipped through some crack and I am living the wrong life. Because so much seems so WRONG.

Like, Nathan is not the man I married. John is not the man I thought I knew. My mom is not the woman she was when I was little… no one is, really.

I haven’t figured out yet if they’ve just changed that much or if I have been blind to everyone this whole time. I don’t know which hurts more: they’ve decayed that much, or that I was so stupid, or even that I’m trapped in the wrong life. They’re all horrible thoughts if you look at them. I’d like a fourth choice now please. Or at the very least, a way back to my real world.

I’ve also decided that I am going to link a song at the end of my blogs (and I may go retcon and edit my earlier ones and add a song to them… yep. I’m going to do that) because you can know so much about what someone is feeling by the songs in their head. So, without further ado- a song about the decaying nature of relationships by a woman with a beautiful voice and soul. The Bed Song by Amanda Palmer

Creative Standstill

I am an idea person. I have these plans and ideas and thoughts and if I could do everything I think of, I would have so much accomplished. But thinking and doing are two separate things, and I am pretty sure the creative connection has shorted out.

Like, I want to do AMVs. I hear songs and I think, “This would be great paired with so-and-so,” and I’ll have the song and the video downloaded but when it comes time to put it together I get overwhelmed and just stop.

Or with writing. I haven’t written in over a year. A lot of my block is because I made someone real my muse, everything I wrote I wanted him to read, and now he won’t read anything, will never read anything I’ve written again, and it freezes me.

I miss having that connection. I miss having someone to talk to and create with. We had so many stories we would write together. And now that’s gone.

I need to find a way to write for myself again. But I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do. I’m blocked.

I knew it was unhealthy to place that on his shoulders. I didn’t expect to lose him, not to this degree. Where I no longer exist. Which is also unhealthy to think. It’s like on that movie, The Holiday, when Arthur looks at Kate Winslet’s character and says, ” Iris, in the movies we have leading ladies and we have the best friend. You, I can tell, are a leading lady, but for some reason you are behaving like the best friend.”

I’ve given myself a bit part in my own life and I don’t know how to change that. I’ve spent so long worrying about how others see me and wanting to be everything to everyone (yay Everclear) and finally feeling like no one because I’ve made poor relationship choices and it ends, badly, always badly.

On another note, my cousin introduced me to Sia. The song “Elastic Heart”, you know, the one that small-minded idiots say is pedophilic, but it’s really totally not. The first time I heard the lyrics, I broke down. Completely. Like the wailing, fetal-position, raw-throat breakdown. The video is an adult male and young girl performing interpretive dance as the two warring sides of Sia’s personality, the reason (Shia Lebouf) and the emotion (Maddie Ziegler).

I think it is amazing and emotional and heartbreaking. But if you want to know how it feels to e struggling to pull yourself out of the dark, all you have to do is hear this song, but first you have to know the lyrics, so I’m leaving them here for you.

Elastic Heart

And another one bites the dust
Oh why can I not conquer love?
And I might have thought that we were one
Wanted to fight this war without weapons

And I wanted it, I wanted it bad
But there were so many red flags
Now another one bites the dust
Yeah, let’s be clear, I’ll trust no one

You did not break me
I’m still fighting for peace

Well, I’ve got thick skin and an elastic heart,
But your blade—it might be too sharp
I’m like a rubber band until you pull too hard,
Yeah, I may snap and I move fast
But you won’t see me fall apart
‘Cause I’ve got an elastic heart

I’ve got an elastic heart
Yeah, I’ve got an elastic heart

And I will stay up through the night
Let’s be clear, won’t close my eyes
And I know that I can survive
I’ll walk through fire to save my life

And I want it, I want my life so bad
I’m doing everything I can
Then another one bites the dust
It’s hard to lose a chosen one

You did not break me
(you did not break me, no)
I’m still fighting for peace

[3x]
Well, I’ve got thick skin and an elastic heart,
But your blade—it might be too sharp
I’m like a rubber band until you pull too hard,
Yeah, I may snap and I move fast
But you won’t see me fall apart
‘Cause I’ve got an elastic heart

I’ve got an elastic heart

Into Darkness

****TRIGGER WARNING****

Recently, as I’ve been paying attention to some of the BPD social community postings and message boards, I’ve noted that everyone gives a courtesy warning if there’s something that could possibly upset someone with your same issues. So I am going to follow this now.

The following blog contains upsetting emotional descriptives and triggers, such as terror of abandonment and extremely negative self esteem. I wouldn’t even post it, but I have tried to be honest when I write these, and this is something I could never say aloud in any circumstance, but I needed to say.

Into Darkness



In both the figurative and literal sense, if you think about it. Possibly I have it wrong.

I was watching the second Reboot!Trek and thinking about things that repeat and things that are different from reality to reality and I missed you again. Exactly as I always have, even when I was trying to convince myself to not be afraid of being abandoned, trying not to face the truth that all I have ever been is your dirty little secret because you were ashamed of me. My weight, being poor, being weird, being sick, being BPD and you would rather be with her than me because, really, who would have ever chosen me anyway?

Mandi and Stephen were here, curled up together on the couch, and my main thought was “Don’t let them see what your mind is doing so closed my eyes and templed my hands in front of my mouth and let the sorrow just hit me in wave after wave. Don’t break, don’t break dontbreakdontbrea-

I thought about writing, and how I can’t write anything without wondering if you’ll ever see it, and knowing you won’t because you would never look for me.

It’s like you’re dead. Or you’re Rory Williams and I’m Amy Pond looking at sunflowers and crying without even knowing she’s doing it over a soul mate who had fallen into the crack of the Universe and had never existed.

I’m sitting here now with my teeth gritted tight and my eyes are searing and I feel the tears on my cheeks and it’s a gasoline burning that scars all the way to the genetic code.

At the same time, I realize that the intensity of the hurt that I’m feeling isn’t natural. And that’s the worst thing of all. Betrayed by my broken brain. Tricked into believing in love when it normally would be, what, nothing? I had never even thought… I’m not a  brave person. I don’t take chances. The only time I have ever stood up for myself was getting my divorce, and even that has backfired because I am crippled by the misfiring neurons and imbalanced chemicals and I need someone to be on constant suicide watch because I don’t trust myself to stay alive. Not even actually committing suicide, because that would be an active movement toward something. All I am doing is slipping slowly downward. Down, down, swirling cold and clammy shadows of despair invading my soul and smothering it.

It’s been 341 days.

I remember the last time you walked out my doorway. I leaned my forehead against the screen and wanted you to stay. I told myself to not show the worry and hurt, but to look happy. Let you leave on a positive note, so you will want to always come back.

I told myself not to be stupid. I told myself that of course you’ll be back. That it isn’t the last time. I told myself it wouldn’t be the last time I saw you.

It rises inside me. It hurts. I close my eyes and swallow it down. I will continue to do this until it builds up too much and explodes.

Nothing takes it away. It is a constant. It is always there, the web of cracks in my soul. I hear the damage in my head, so loud and rolling it turns into static.

I will never not miss you. I tell myself I can survive that. Every moment. Every day.

And the really insanely awful thing is maybe-

No. Not maybe. I AM.

I am afraid to get better, because if it is just my BPD multiplying how I feel, the me that was me that had you becomes a lie, like the you that I thought you were that loved me. And I don’t want her to disappear, she’s all I have left now.

What if I wake up tomorrow and she’s not here?

Emotional state: Save Yourself by Sense Field