Monthly Archives: June 2014

More therapy

I have seen my new psychiatrist 3 times now. That’s almost a record for me. 

She is a psychoanalyst as opposed to a psychotherapist. There is nothing DBT-esque about what we are starting and so far, I am hopeful.

In order to undergo psychoanalysis, the patient/client needs to agree to do a set amount of sessions per week – usually more than one and it can be 5. Yes, 5.

My T and I have been negotiating if I think that psychoanalysis will be beneficial, what that actually looks like (you DO actually get to lie on the couch!!) and how many sessions I am going to commit to.

As she is a psychiatrist, this is basically extremely expensive. However, in Australia psychiatry is covered in the same way that GP’s are covered and it won’t cost very much really, even if I do decide on 5 sessions a week.

However, the issues of meds is still in the air because she does not want to be both my therapist and my prescribing doctor, she wants me to see another psychiatrist for that .. yes, my shrink wants me to see a shrink .. go figure.

She is a quiet woman and i get the sense that she is treading very, VERY lightly with me – and I appreciate that. She has listened to my disjointed rantings and sat through my tears a and hasn’t offered solace or advice or anything of that nature … she is treating me a bit like a feral cat who could be scared off by any sudden movement, and she is not wrong to do so.

Today I told her that I feel like a balloon floating through a cartoon strip; untethered, vulnerable to outside forces and without true direction. She just nodded and let that be.

That is a good start.


Screaming on the inside


I am finding it increasingly difficult to moderate what is going on inside to what comes out on the outside. 

Usually, my public ‘persona’ works pretty well .. she clicks into place and manages to turn my weird thoughts into charming sarcasm but lately this is failing me .. I made a grown man blush tonight … I couldn’t stop the thoughts in my head forming sentences in my mouth .. I am getting more provocative by the day and I can’t seem to stop.

This wouldn’t be so bad except for the fact that this is happening at work .. I am falling apart and I don’t know how to stop that from happening. I KNOW it’s just a matter of time before something really bad happens.

Something really bad always happens.

The penguin in the park

I know that much of what happens to me, the disasters that befall me are self-created, I mean, I get that, I really do. 

I let things build up and when they consequently explode, I am left in crisis mode and then have the guilt of knowing it was all my fault that it ever got so bad.

But, I have not had the easiest life and some of the coping mechanisms I have developed have come from necessity … I often didn’t have the money to pay bills and couldn’t cope with the added guilt of making a call to explain why I couldn’t pay to a stranger only to feel judged and therefore, even more guilty and ashamed.

But things do happen that are outside my purview – shit just happens to me at times. Add this to my predilection for creating shit happening to me and well … it gets crazy around here.

This past week (for example) I had this weird thing happen with my wages. Actually it was a couple of weird things: first of all, last Friday was payday but my employer underpaid me by around $900 – they had screwed up my time sheet. It wasn’t a huge deal but I had to spend the day emailing back and forth and it was stressful for a few hours worrying that it wouldn’t get sorted.

At the end of the day they emailed to say that they had indeed paid me incorrectly and would send the money through on the next business day.

I had more than enough money to pay my rent and buy what I needed etc, as I said, not a huge deal, albeit a bit stressful.

As it turned out, that Monday was a public holiday here in NSW so, I waited for the money to come through Tuesday .. it didn’t. I called on Wednesday morning and the financial officer told me that he had been away sick and so would be sending the money through that afternoon.

All fixed right?

So .. Wednesday night the money came through around 7pm, I purchased a bottle of vodka and recharged my phone credit and that was that. On Thursday morning, I got a call from the vet where I still owe a couple of hundred dollars and so I gave them my card details over the phone to make the payment.

It wouldn’t go through – which was crazy as I had more than enough to pay. I was also needing to get ready to go to work for the afternoon so this was happening as I was getting dressed. I checked my banking online and the account was empty. Everything was gone – and the transaction history showed an ATM withdrawal the night before which emptied all funds. I was left with around $7.

I completely freaked.

I called the bank while walking to the train station and was on the phone with them for the whole trip to work. The concluded that my card had been skimmed – most probably by the taxi driver I had used to get me to a 5am shift the previous Saturday.

By the time I arrived at work I was a mess. The bank was saying that it would take up to 40 days to get the money reimbursed and I only had about $40 cash – nowhere near enough to live on for a week until my next pay.

My friends at work were entirely lovely and even gave me some cash to get through a few days. My branch manager also called while I was at work and told me that he would give me an overdraft of whatever I needed to get through .. so, it wasn’t as bad as what I thought it was going to be, and here I sit with enough money to get by until my pay goes through or my funds reimbursed; whatever happens first.

But in order to get access to the overdraft, I had to go out into the world yesterday … I also needed a referral for my new psychiatrist (who I am seeing on Monday) and so I thought I would get both done on the same day because .. well, the chances of me getting my shit together to get out the door twice in one week are negligible, zero actually.

When I went to the doctor (after spending an hour at the bank) I was asked for my medicare card (a card we use here in Australia that is needed for all medical appointments) I explained to them that I don’t have one – haven’t had one for years – but I do have my number and that is usually OK with most doctors.

Now, the reason I don’t have a card is that mine got lost and I haven’t gotten my shit together to get a new one – entirely my fault.

This doctor however was insistent upon a card and sent me up the road to the Medicare office (there just happened to be one). I had a 1.5 hour wait there (and it took me 20 minutes to find it), I got my temporary card and went back to the doctor to be told that there were now 6 people in line ahead of me and so … long wait at the doctor.

I eventually got through and got my referral and did some food shopping and got home some 6 hours after I had left. I was exhausted and stressed and marvelling at the ongoing combination of crap that happens to me and crap that I bring on myself all colliding to ensure that my life is an ongoing stress-fest.

I had to take my dog to the park and when I got down there, I was feeling proud of myself for having gotten through the ordeals of the day without cracking up … I put the issue of missing money aside and decided to try to relax.

And there it was.

Sitting on the edge of a low wall, exactly as pictured, was a penguin. I’m not sure if it had been put there or left there, I have no idea what it was even doing at a park, it didn’t look like a dog toy and it seemed too ugly to be a child’s toy (no offense penguin) … but it just made me laugh to see it sitting there and the stress of the previous few days just kinda evaporated into the little guy …

Sometimes things happen that are entirely my fault, sometimes things just happen to me and sometimes, life throws you a penguin.





I have often made mention of my ex on this blog, I think I have spelt out the basics of that rather horrific story again and again … and that is the key phrase; again and again.

It has been 6 months since I last saw him and 8 months (or thereabouts) since he dumped me … but I still haven’t been able to move past what happened, what he did to me.

I think this is because he actually literalised my childhood abandonment/abuse … he became the thing I have been running from all my life.

I don’t know if I have made this clear in my writing but I am literally living on a mattress on the floor with half a suitcase of clothes. I have lost all of my belongings, my photo albums, my collection of my children’s art, my books, my computer, the drafts of my Ph.D dissertation, my furniture, my pretty things … gone … I have been in a completely dissociated state and I have paid a massive price for that. And all because I was drawn to a sad little man who promised he could not only see me, but that what he saw was special.

I struggle every single day with my diagnosis … one day I am convinced that BPD has ruled my life all my life and then I fear that I am excusing my basic fucked-up-ness by telling myself that it was beyond my control; hiding behind a diagnosis.

My childhood was a mess. My adult life has veered between abject achievement and pathological destruction. Does this mean I am ill? Probably. Does this mean that I deserved what he did to me? No… today I am landing firmly on the side of no …


All things truly wicked start from innocence

Ernest Hemingway

Today is the anniversary of the first time I met my ex in the flesh. We had spent months and months desiring and craving each other .. wanting to be together … thinking it would never happen. But, it did. And today marks that date for the first time … and I have been in crash position all week knowing that it was coming.

I have cried and raged inside, I have tried to understand and forgive and I have considered revenge. It has been a week of reckoning really. Every pwBPD knows what I am talking about when I use the word betrayal. It gets referred to as abuse, but we don’t know what abuse is when we are that young, we simply feel the betrayal; the sense that someone else saw who we were and decided that the only response they could muster was to trample on it, use it, throw it away.

Aren’t we all just children who were thrown in the trash? We keep trying to find our way out but we don’t know how. Every time this is repeated, we are reassured that this is where belong; that our feelings don’t matter, our desires are futile, that the world doesn’t hear us or care … every person who throws us away is just reinforcing what we already knew .. but it never stops hurting as much as the first time .. it never, ever stops hurting.

Happy Anniversary lover .. and fuck you.