Category Archives: Dissonance

Ever been frightened by who you really are?



Conversations with dead people


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.



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 …



After I wrote the last post, a feeling of calm has come over me. Usually, when I get suicidal, the calm can only be found once I have actually let some blood or a night has passed, whichever comes first.

But here I sit. Calm, relaxed, and while not happy, I am OK.

Maybe all of this stress and anxiety around therapy/DBT is not worth the feelings of self-loathing it brings .. or maybe I have finally hit my rock bottom. I’m not sure and I don’t really care one way or the other right at this moment – I made it through the day and I don’t currently hate me.




I had an appointment with the psychiatrist today.


I was hoping we could have some sort of discussion about meds – even antidepressants. I am barely functioning out there in the real world, yesterday I had to leave work early (after arriving late) … I am a ticking bomb waiting to go off and I was scared yesterday.

I have met with this psych a couple of times before and I had a good vibe from him. He did my initial pre-diagnosis and was supportive during that time.

So, I went to the appointment with some enthusiasm and hope that he might offer some words of wisdom regarding my DBT debacle and that meds could be discussed.

What a silly, silly girl I am.

Firstly, here in NSW, there is a protocol for having your case worker sit in on any psychiatric sessions. I have seen 3 shrinks over 5-6 sessions and every time my case worker has been there nodding away and taking notes. It’s intrusive and demeaning not to be considered worthy of the privacy offered regular people.


Secondly … all the psych really wanted to do was to insist that DBT was going to be my cure-all irrespective of how I felt about or why I felt that way.

I have been upfront and honest about my alcohol consumption from the get-go and this morning it became incredibly obvious, yet again, that honesty is not the best policy where mental health is concerned. The whole session was about him lecturing me on drinking and telling me that if I didn’t do DBT, then really, there was nothing else t/he/y could do for me.

They both sat across from me in silence for much of the session and I felt judged. I felt worthless, I felt stupid and childish. I tried to explain that I am drinking because I am not able to deal with my emotions and he kept responding that drinking was going to become a very serious problem very soon and that DBT would ‘teach’ me to deal with the emotions. Although, he admitted that DBT takes time, a lot of time – and when I ask what I am meant to do in the meantime to be able to function/get to work … he looked at me like I was a petulant child. I could feel his distaste and impatience … I spent the whole session crying and feeling like I had been ambushed …

I walked out of there more triggered than I have been in months. Basically, he offered no medication, not even SSRI’s and he even mis-heard me when I used the word ‘intentions’ and thought I said ‘medications’ and jumped all over me.

I have never once asked for or discussed medication since I started going there in January and today was no exception. And yet, I was made to feel awful.

He had become yet another man looking at me with distaste, contempt, indifference … and so, I sat there, quietly pretending to listen to the ‘advice’ being shoved down my throat given and I completely split my psychiatrist. He stopped being a warm, friendly man (I can’t believe I ever fell for it) and became a self-involved, judgemental person who has no interest in my well-being at all.

Coming home is a bit fuzzy .. I remember crying the whole way on the train and I remember that creeping sense of inevitability that I was going to come home and try, for the 5th time, to finish this.


I climbed into bed and slept .. and drank and slept.

Now I am writing and drinking … writing and drinking … during my planning stage today, I yet again came up against the question of what to do with my darling dog. If I am not here to look after her .. what becomes of her? She is the only anchor I have and today it felt like a chain around my neck.

I am ashamed to admit it but I thought about killing her first so she wouldn’t be left at the mercy of strangers … but there is no way I could do that, not ever but death has become mixed up with release in my head.

It’s not Friday anymore … the day has become sentient; a dragon, and it hates me.

I got bitch slapped by the hospital and didn’t even get a fucking t-shirt

As I mentioned in an earlier post, DBT was not looking like a good fit for me right now. 



I haven’t been back to my group in a few weeks but my individual therapist has been calling and when I didn’t respond, things got amped up and I was getting a few calls a day from a variety of hospital staff so, I called back the other day and agreed to go in and see somebody today to check in.

One of the things I have made an effort to do this time with the psychiatrists and therapists I am involved with is to be honest – and this is easier said than done. If anyone reading this has had the experience of being sectioned then you will know what I mean – you learn, very quickly to avoid being honest AT ALL COSTS and to tell the resident psych whatever it is they s/he needs to hear in order to get your ass released … he holds the keys to freedom and your lies are the only way out the gate.

I also got frustrated and ultimately bored of being told I was ‘depressed’ .. uhm .. no shit Sherlock, I just tried to kill myself… but depression is not the whole story … depression is a culmination of everything coming to a head, yet again, that I am to blame for it all. It seems a fairly understandable response to me (albeit not a popular one).

The point being; I have never given therapy or therapists a proper chance because the couple of therapists I have seen – outside of emergency psych units – cannot seem to get past telling me how “normal’ I am, how “productive” or even “successful” … as soon as they go down this pathway, I shut down because they are obviously not listening to me and I just can’t be bothered … it is also incredibly invalidating to tell somebody that you have developed a drug addiction, destroyed your relationship, lost your job and are trying to resist the urge to simply pack up and move to Brazil and have them allude to what degrees you have or what jobs you have had. It becomes obvious that they don’t get it.

So, I went to the appointment today as I promised I would and while I was there, the case worker/person/thingie got all in my face about my drinking (I have been honest, as stated) and my mood/circumstances etc .. she wasn’t aggressive but she pushed .. and I broke down.

She then went to get the psych resident and asked him to section me .. god .. I hit panic stations .. I tried to remain calm as best I could and pleaded with them that my job depends upon me getting there, my dog needs me and if I lose her .. I lose everything.

So now I am on a short leash – they are going to call every day for the next 3 days, I have an appointment with the psych for a 2-hour session and they made an appointment for me to attend an induction with the drug and alcohol unit … I am feeling completely smothered and engulfed. I can’t simply not do any of these things as they know where I live and I have no doubts whatsoever that they will turn up here if I try to vanish.

I understand that they are only trying to do their jobs and I am not angry or upset with them, just at the situation and the feeling that I am being watched and judged.