Tag Archives: fucked

Saturday (illustrated version)


Barefoot in Kings Cross.


Today was a flat-out day trying to navigate the labyrinth that is Sydney Metro Transport.

It didn’t help that a few of the rail lines were down and had to be supported by buses (every friggin’ week they are working on a line) which made everything take that much longer. Extremely frustrating and this only escalated when I was walking along Kings Cross and tripped and broke my shoe – I was convinced I wouldn’t get out of there without contracting some strand of hepatitis from standing on something sharp.

I was down that way looking at a studio which allows pets. I am trying to find something that:

A: I can afford

B: Allows dogs


The trip home was barefoot until I could find a shop that had both my size (I have long feet) and style and I am actually pretty happy with my new shoes so, that was a boon.

The disgusting old junkie who inherited a house only to lose every possession in it and let it fall into ruin around him.

It took the entire day to navigate the rail/bus/rail/bus/rail/bus fiasco and when I got home my new short-term roomie suggested that we go and get some drugs to alleviate the heat (it was bloody hot here today huh?) and the pending boredom and I didn’t take much convincing. I went with the temp roomie (A) to collect our goodies and got a first-hand look at what someone who has done drugs for 50 years looks and lives like when we arrived. I was completely freaked out by this guy and the worse part? He wasn’t the dealer, his niece was so, he was begging me for a bit of what A and I bought …. And he talked non-stop about how great is life was before he discovered drugs; how successful he used to be when he was young … it was entirely depressing and my opinion of how it would have been awesome to meet William Burroughs before he died was irrevocably altered.

The Park

Back home, I decided to go and see the neighbours who have been looking after my dog to try and beg their forgiveness that my hospital stay exceeded the promised 3 days. So, I went back to where I used to live.

And then things got a bit messy and weird.

When I got there, I was wired and feeling anxious about facing these poor people who have been so lovely to me and my dog. I was really stressed in hospital about them having to continue to take care of her and so I decided to smoke at the park for half an hour before facing them.

Then I sent the Pup a text — yes, I know, I know — I actually wanted to talk to him quickly about something non-personal for 10 minutes and tried to explain that I just wanted to see him quickly if he was free but it wasn’t urgent. We texted a few times and he kept asking what it was about and I said I didn’t want to get into it on the phone and then he just. stopped responding even though he had just said he would be back nearby in 20 minutes.

When he stopped texting, I decided to just call him and he didn’t answer. This triggered me completely of course. Knowing him, he was completely paranoid about the possibilities of what I wanted to talk about, put 2 and 2 together and came up with 22,349 and freaked out but I was upset that he just ignored me, he has never done that before and we had been still friendly texting for the past 2 weeks every 4-5 days. So he is officially an asshat.


I finally left the park and walked up to see my ex-neighbours, well, I knocked on the door, and they weren’t home. This wouldn’t normally be a crisis but my dog was locked inside and she had realised it was me knocking …. I felt like such a terrible person. Triggered a little bit more and feeling like a really crappy person who has abandoned the most loyal friend she has in the world and who is so unlovable that the (kinda) ex who was so very into her not one month ago cannot even be bothered to answer a call from her anymore he is so NOT into her now because she is disgusting and pathetic and just plain sad really.

I eventually ended up being in the park for around 4 hours all up. On a Saturday night. High as a kite, triggered and no idea where to go as my temporary roomie was out of it and a little scary for being so.

Luckily my lovely B took a call from me and talked it all through with me, or rather allowed me to rant at him while he listened patiently and reassured me that the pup is bat-shit crazy and not acting like a decent person and it wasn’t me being the human/ex repellent that I felt like I was/am. I’m pretty sure I was repeating myself over and over and I know for a fact that I was already repeating stuff B had heard before. I kinda love B.


Eventually, I got off the phone, deleted the Pup’s number and grabbed a train back to the connecting bus to A’s place (I don’t really want to call it a flat/unit/apartment as it is the most filthy thing I have ever seen). I was too late for a connecting bus and grabbed a cab instead. The cab driver asked how my day had been and I told him it had been a bit weird. He asked me why and I gave him a very brief outline and he acted really interested and asked questions and we got talking.

When we pulled up to A’s place, he asked if I was up for taking a drive and I said “sure”.

We drove around for about 2 hours, he asked me about what type of men I like, what I like about relationships, if I believed in love etc .. not the most original questions ever thrown at me or any other woman on the planet ….. it was odd but, he was nice enough overall and, to be honest, I was high enough and pissed off enough by the Pup to want to see exactly where this next young ‘un (a bit older than the Pup but not by much) was going to take things, or try to.

He actually drove to all of these dark little alcoves and parks, the kind of locations that are earmarked as ideal locations for making slasher films … but, he was perfectly polite the whole time. I asked if we could stop so I could smoke and he drove for a few minutes before pulling over and I was dumbstruck to see that he had driven to the park I had spent the 4 hours in …. Full fucking circle. I swear that park will haunt my Sydney life – it was where I originally met the Pup if you recall and it is now where the Pup refused a call from me for the first time. I am considering setting fire to it but, some basic Googling internet research has revealed that apparently, it is “illegal” to set fire to public parks, or, pretty much anything. Who knew?

Anyway … I eventually told the cab driver – Sam —  that I am working in the morning and I need to get home (I’m not). Along the way, he is trying, just a little, to see if I was open for something to go down between us. He was trying to be a bit sexy and definitely not pulling it off, he was so cheesy that it was almost laughable and I am sure he would have found it so as well if he was privy to the shit-storm that has been brewing in my life this year when it comes to men.

I got out of the cab, we exchanged “lovely to meet you” (s) and that, was that.

The home invasion

Around 4am, there was a bang on the door here. My temp roomie was in bed and I was attempting to sleep because I had not had any sleep for 47 hours at that point. Temp roomie (A) got up and answered and this HUGE young pup (not mine) barreled in and started demanding cigarettes and being generally obstreperous – he was actually really scary, very drunk and obviously pissed at A about something.

The young guy was around 6’4 to A’s 5’10 and they are both built like bouncers – given that this is the tiniest flat in the western hemisphere and every square inch is covered with dirty plates, ashtrays, bric-a-brac and furniture and I was lying on a sofa bed that takes up 60% of the room when open, this little confrontation was enclosed, loud and pretty damn scary.

The bouncer/pup had a serious bone to pick and was screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs. He had with him a tiny little blonde of around 19 who was wearing, well, nothing really and he kept turning around and slapping her on the arse and asking Artie if he ever “gets quality ass like that”. She, for her part, stole cigarettes off the table and tried to yell over the top of the bouncer pup that “let’s gooooooo” … “I wanna goooo” and smiling whenever the bouncer pup referred to her arse.

It was like a cross between The Godfather and Jersey Shore.

This all dragged out for a good 20 minutes, which is a damn long time when you are lying in a sofa bed holding your breath, waiting for an explosion and trying not to make any sudden movements to trigger said explosion.

It ended with the bouncer pup putting an axe to A’s throat and threatening to come back if A’s ‘crime’ against him was ever repeated. Obviously this is the short version but the point is that however terrifying, no blood was spilled (although both A and I possibly peed a little).

It was just an odd day.

And after paying A’s rent for a week and supplying cigarettes and stuff, I have dipped into what little money I have and really need to stay here for the week rather than fork out for other short-term accommodation.

But I seriously need outta here.


It’s happening again …



Things got all explodey with the pup last night. 

Yes I am completely aware that there were red flags.

Yes, I completely get that I should have cut him off totally and had nothing more to do with him or his premature exclamations of adoration.

No, I didn’t do that.

Yes, I am a fucking idiot.

Last night ended with me wandering around at 2am in King’s Cross having no idea where I was, no idea how to get home, no money whatsoever and blind drunk.

The pup turned up completely drunk and somewhat delusional early in the evening. He was extremely paranoid and kept accusing, or rather half-accusing me of these weird things — like being in touch with some woman who calls him because she only ever called after he had been hanging out with me … when I assured him that I was doing no such thing, he accused me of reverse psychology … because, yeah, that’s what that means dude.

I did ask him to leave at one point but he was apologetic and asked me to please sit and talk/hang out with him and (very fucking stupidly) let myself be talked into this.

He was incredibly vile all evening, I can’t put it any other way … he accused me of things, told me I had no idea who he was or what he had been through and then suggested that I was in love with him, which was not a good idea. Now, I have not said or done anything to indicate any such thing — but all the accusations were groundless and there was no reasoning with him. And, yes, I was entirely stupid to even try. But I was drunk, and I was getting hurt and offended and he was triggering the fuck out of me which wasn’t hard as I had been triggered all weekend. But really? He is all over me for 2 months proclaiming how into me he is and somehow this means that I am in love with him?

The next part however, I cannot blame anybody but myself for and I am shaking my head at myself even as I write it: At some point, the pup decided that he wanted to go into the city and get some drugs .. he asked me to go along for the ride and I agreed. halfway there, I realised that I had left my wallet behind but as he was paying for cabs both way, I wasn’t too concerned.

During the taxi ride, he got verbally abusive and almost physically violent with the cab driver over .. well .. nothing really, he was just out of control. When we arrived at wherever-the-hell we were, I was completely freaked out due to the taxi incident and I walked off .. he ran after me, and pointed out that I had nowhere to go and no money to go there with and promised he would behave. So, I went with him to the pub where the deal was taking place and he bought me a drink and went to meet the girl he was meeting.

Being very drunk already, I jumped in on a table where 3 guys were drinking and as they were Canadians, we played with an iPad somebody had showing each other where we all from .. and then I realised that the pup had been gone for some time …

I asked the Canadian guys where the hell I was and how the hell I could get home and one of them was good enough to get me down to the train station to get a train for the 1st leg of the journey. At some point, between trains, I must have looked so lost as a young guy came over and helped me to figure out what my next train/s were and I managed to get home … without buying a ticket at any stage — thank you Sydney rail for leaving the ticket gates wide open after 11pm!

At some point on one of the train trips, the pup and I spoke one the phone and he told me he was already home — I don’t recall much else of the conversation but one of us hung up on the other one … twas all very dramatic. Then, I get a text from my roomie saying that the pup had turned up at the house and stomped about like he owned the place demanding to know where I was and that the roomie had been forced to tell him to fuck off. Wonderful.

I got home, went to bed and woke up to a missed call and a text from the pup asking if I was OK. I responded that I was a very fucking long way from OK and to please never contact me again.

He wrote back that he was sorry about last night and that he was so wasted and didn’t mean anything he said (no mention of leaving me in King’s Cross). Then he called a few times. I didn’t respond to the text and didn’t answer the calls.

Yes, it is my fault that I get involved with psychotic men.

Yes, I should most certainly have known better, I mean, I did know better, I KNEW this boy was about to snap, crackle and pop but … I just had to have one last dip into the cookie jar.


Measuring my self-worth through POF

My ex frequents POF (internet dating site).


I don’t know if he used POF while we were seeing each other, but I do know that he used it when he began to devalue me; and that he used it to cheat on me.

I actually knew about his profile because he showed it to me and assured me that he had the profile only to assure his then live in GF that he was looking far and wide (and not just at me) and because he had shown it to me, I assumed it meant nothing. Stupid, stupid girl.

When we split, he used to spend hours and hours on the site and although this made me sick in the beginning, I came to see it as a reassurance because, if he was on POF then he wasn’t ‘happy’ with his current conquest right?

I checked and check his profile every single day because it made me feel secure that he was not entirely happy with whoever he was courting fucking.

Yeah, you know where this is heading.

A few weeks ago, he stopped checking his profile every day, and then, he stopped checking it at all. And I am freaking out because this ‘obviously’ means that he has found-the-person-that-is-not-me-and-she-will-make-him-happy-and-is-worth-his-love-and-devotion-and-it-was-obviously-me-all-along-and-why-doesn’t-he-love-me?

He stops checking a stupid dating site and I want to kill myself.

And they say we are fickle and have no idea how to love with longevity — what a joke.

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 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.




Rough night.

A long shift at work and too much to drink.

Too many responsibilities and too many memories, all colliding.

My head is like a kaleidoscope – the same thoughts, but shake them, and they appear to be different …

I am torn between slicing my skin open and dissolving into erotic memories that aren’t true – are they the same thing? Each one holds a truth and a deception entwined.

I fear that I am never going to get past this. I have fetishised the monster who showed his face, and I love him for letting me see.

I am beyond saving, beyond redemption, beyond any pedestrian truths to be found in a so-called therapy.

Maybe I truly am ….


My name is …


Apparently everybody has a false ‘self’ that they present to the world. 

I think this is exaggerated for those of us with PD’s … we present a contradiction; a self that seem at ease, ironic and even charming.

Unlike the psychopath who does this for personal gain, pwBPD do this to survive … and it is exhausting.

I long for the person who sees beneath my veneer – the person who listens to me, and my words and calls ‘bullshit’ on it all.

I thought I had found him in my ex, but it turns out that he was so ensconced in his own BS that recognising how I felt was  simply too much to ask …

Can I really go through life pretending without anybody realising that this is the case?

Is anybody listening to anybody else EVER?

This is really fucking with me today, as I sit in mt batcave and pray for salvation …. I thought my ex heard and saw me .. but he only saw himself … that mirror, the one that allows, or encourages him to  live only for himself .. I want one to. I want a mirror that reflects only me.

The biggest myth of BPD is that we don’t care .. we care all-too-well … I have painted my body in scars to prove I care. I simply doubt that anybody is listening. And I don’t know how to make myself heard, or, if I have any right to.

I love, therefore I am.

I leave, therefore you threw me away.

I don’t know what comes  next …

I don’t understand how to be indifferent.

Can you teach me?

Can you un-do what you did?

Can the very essence of me be un-done?

Is the reason you and I met simply that I was mean to understand that nobody, ever will help make me whole?

Are you real or, or did I create who you were – all evidence to the contrary?

Where did I go when you left me sobbing?

Did you kill me or, do I remain, trapped in a body that cannot possibly contain all that I feel?

You never really told me what I did, or said, to change your mind.

So, I love you more than I love me.

Is that wrong? Is that the difference between me and everyone else?