Category Archives: depression

Fuck

 

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

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The cost of freedom

camus-rebel

I started this blog with the intention of posting about the effects of living with BPD, and in the interest of that project I am going to write about my current day/week/life and the confusion and pain that is going on. This won’t be a very cohesive post I suspect, but it will be honest. 

Everthing is a mess. 

Most of this is self-inflicted. I can own that. But it doesn’t mean that I know how to fix it or that I won’t do it again. This is the reality of BPD I guess; repeating the same patterns over and over and then hating yourself for doing exactly that. 

Yesterday morning I witnessed a man being dragged down the street by a car .. he was screaming in pain and it was an awful way to start the day (for us both!). I thought at the time that he had been carjacked (Sydney ya know) but it turned out that it was a domestic between himself and the wife and he hobbled off, bleeding and broken rather than let me call an ambulance/police — he didn’t want to get his wife in trouble and I cannot help but think: is this what love looks like?

It’s around 7am here and today is d-day. Rent day. I have had next-to-no work for the past couple of weeks and this is now landing on me. I don’t have enough to cover it and as I have posted before, my roommate is less than forgiving. He hates me because I wouldn’t sleep with him and he never misses an opportunity to be angry with me. I am dreading his wrath — it is somewhat frightening.

Before my pay came through, I had gone without food for 9 days. I was weak and fuzzy, but doing OK. So, last night I bought some food and cigarettes and some cheap vodka and had a ‘happy night’ .. but it was delaying the inevitable which has landed like a sonofabitch this morning.

Today needs to be about finding the extra $200 I need just to pay rent. That doesn’t even begin to cover food etc … I am living in abject poverty and I have no real idea how I got here. 

I also have this weird thing going on with my young pup. He has taken to coming over on Friday nights and I don’t really understand what he wants from me or what I am doing letting him into my life. He is very cute and sweet but he is so young and I don’t know how to deal with that situation. 

Work is picking up for the next few weeks and I am OK with the idea that it will get better. But living week-to-week is just stupid at my age. I am capable of earning far more than I am but I lack the willpower to make this happen. 

I am living with nothing right now. Everything I owned has been lost. And I can’t bring myself to buy more things. I am frozen in time just waiting for the next thing to drop. Waiting to be dragged down the street by a car driven by someone who cares enough to do that.

If anybody out there has ever wondered what it is like to live with BPD. Well, this is what it is like; confusion, pain, terror and longing. It never leaves. 

You start the day with a trauma, you then hide in panic because you can’t manage your life. You get wasted on substances you can’t afford to blot out the pain of the fact that the person who you love finds you too much, too little, too something — something that made him leave. And you know it’s your fault but you have no idea how to fix it. And it’s only Thursday.

It is who we are. 


What I learned from RW’s suicide

When somebody famous commits suicide, a gazillion articles quickly flood the popular mediasphere. It may be morbid of me but I am finding it both interesting and comforting to read details about how he successfully (not the best word given the topic but .. I am sure y’all get my drift) managed to actually do it because it’s not that easy to actually kill yourself, take it from me.

The other aspect in the media coverage I am a bit fascinated with comes from the mental health professionals who are weighing in on the need for open and useful dialogue about suicide.

Ha!

Raise your hand if you have ever tried to discuss suicide in any way with any medical professional ever and ever had any response other than them immediately directing the conversation to demanding that you reassure them that you, in fact, are definitely not suicidal and are definitely not going to try to hurt yourself and that you feel ‘safe’ (whatever-the-fuck that means) — anybody? … anybody out there with their hand up?

My favourite part is when they make it crystal clear that failure to give them reassurances that you are not suicidal will result in them commiting you to a mental health facility, like, immediately, as in — you don’t even get to go home and feed the dog. This crazy logic deems that suicidal people cannot be trusted not to kill themselves, but they can be trusted to tell the truth about not having designs on killing themselves — or something like that.

Fact is, there are no spaces for discussions about suicide that help the suicidal. Speaking for myself, I would like to be able to talk through my thoughts, feelings and options in a rational manner but as long as medical professionals threaten to lock up anybody who tries to bring up the subject then suicidal people will remain silent.

So, what have we learned from RW’s suicide?

Nothing of course. How arrogant of us to think we would.

RIP.

robin_williams


Rivers are red …

It has been about 8 months since my ex decided he didn’t want me.

It has been about 6 months since I last saw him.

It has been about 0,4 seconds since the thought of this utterly destroyed me.

I have never suffered from suicidal ideation; I either did or I didn’t feel suicidal, I am unused to struggling with it on a daily or weekly basis.

It’s hard to write about because it feel like crying wolf. I have read repeated posts in forums that claim it is emotional manipulation and that is the very last thing I want to do … but I am really struggling to find a way through today. I haven’t just lost my love, I have lost everything, my books, my clothes, my pictures of my children, my past .. all gone. I have nothing. And I am not growing and learning from this, I am stuck and grasping/gasping. I have lost everything and it is all my own fault. How does one reconcile that? Truth is, one doesn’t.

I have only tried to kill myself 3 or 4 times in the past, and each of those times had an inevitability that I am unconvinced is here today — perhaps that says something — perhaps I am only at the wishing stage and won’t move past it?

But I feel like I am drowning right now and I am unsure how to stem the tide — something has to give, and all I have to offer is me.


Getting ‘better’

I am kinda dysregulating tonight, hence the multi-posts. 

Exploding-head

 

I have been reading posts on forums devoted to recovery from relationships with pwBPD and many of them express a distaste re the reluctance of those of us with BPD to ‘do the hard work’ of therapy. If only they knew.

How can we explain that it is extremely difficult to hear that our reality is ‘wrong’ and that we need to ‘fix’ it in order to be considered a worthwhile person?

It’s not that I don’t want to stop the crazy that is my life, but letting go of my beliefs, behaviours and thoughts is not easy, in fact, it is terrifying. My behavioural patterns were built when I was a small child and they were built for a reason; to protect myself. To be told that the way I live is dysfunctional is scary, no matter how true it rings, but even if I am willing to accept that I am less-than astute with my life choices (that’s actually kinda obvious), being told that I can join the ranks of the many and live behind a white picket fence and find bliss is entirely terrifying to me — you are, after all, asking me to give up myself.

We are not lazy or unaware or destructive or devious in wanting to keep what we have — we are just human, like you.


Splitting?

I don’t understand splitting.

oz

I have read the DSMV criteria and I have read others’ accounts but I can honestly say that I haven’t understood how this applies to me. In fact, I assumed this was another one of the criteria that didn’t apply to me.

But, recently, I have begun to realise that I do split … I certainly split my family/friends/colleagues but, because these relationships are all-but meaningless to me, I guess I overlooked them. For me, my BPD comes out in all its glory mainly in romantic attachments and as I say this I really want to emphasise that I mean ALL it’s glory — the self-harm, crazy-behaviour, fear of abandonment etc .. it all comes to the forefront in romantic and sexual attachments. I know that I split/betray/abandon other core relationships but, that doesn’t really bother me, if somebody pisses me off or challenges me or bores me then I move on — but not with my romantic partners, with them, I am stuck, and I ruminate and I self-harm and I cannot let go. They are more affective if you like.

I have thought about how I don’t seem to split my ex’s. It doesn’t matter how they have treated me or how terribly things ended, I don’t automatically split them black and just ‘move on’ like (apparently) most pwBPD do.

What I have come to realise is that I DO actually split black — only, I split myself black.

When I am (inevitably) discarded, abused, abandoned by yet another lover, I continue to adore them and hate myself. I hold myself (and am currently holding myself) accountable for everything that went wrong. I am not young/pretty/thin/amusing/healthy/stable/whatever enough to have held the attention of my lover. I am disgusting, revolting, dirty, hideous, sad, empty, unlovable and deserve everything that is happening. How could someone as wonderful as my love object ever be attracted to someone like me beyond the initial infatuation?

This always manifests physically as well. I go from being reasonably fit and functioning to being addicted, overwhelmed and at the mercy of my emotions and circumstances. How have I not seen this before? I am not speaking in metaphors here, I have literally gone from being on the top of my game to being all-but homeless; from being attractive, educated and charming to a dithering nothing who can barely function.

carnivale2

 

I am unsure if this realisation is good/bad/indifferent — it’s just another recognition that I am far from healthy where love is concerned I guess.


Foggy

laura

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 …