To Quit or Not to Quit

I took the title of “writer” off of my profile today. It seemed like the right thing, after months of not being able to make progress and after some of the critiques I’ve had.  It was easier than it should have been.

After my last round of pills for  anxiety and depression, anything remotely like creativity dried up. I had nothing stirring around in this big, empty, wooden head of mine. Reading became a painful reminder of tasks undone and dreams not pursued. The more I read, the more I realized that maybe my trusted friend was right, maybe I should look at some of the other things I’m good at.  I’ll never forget that comment as long as I live. It felt like a curved sacrificial blade was slicing and pulling out my heart.

That became my reason for stopping, that I was no bloody good. My writing is not polished, it’s overly complicated, it’s amateurish. There was one nagging thing though, and like all things that are pushed down, it eventually resurfaced. The pull started again, the ideas.

I need to do it.  Good or awful.

There are a lot of reasons to quit something. It may come to nothing, it may be received with harsh criticism, it may have been done before (everything has)…but the drive, the need can’t be extinguished and so, to silence that inner demon, I’ll write. I’m not sure what yet. I’m not sure my manuscript is worthy of revisiting, but I’m going to do it for the satisfaction of having done it. I’m going to take the next steps to get the novice mistakes out of the way and even if the final product is bad, it’s mine. It’s work I’ve done, it’s sweat, tears, and emotions that needed exorcising.

What spurred me on tonight was an essay by another writer about the ten years she spent on a book that came to nothing but that everything had been worth it. Looking from the outside, it made so much more sense. Perseverance is a hard thing to practice when you’ve beaten yourself down and had no cheerleader in your corner,  but it’s the cornerstone of success. Even if I’m the Ed Wood of authors, I will have at least done what my inner self called me to do in order to be happy.

I’m not sure if I’m ready to reinstate my title of writer. I know that no matter what, I’m going to be writing in the quiet. I need to flex the muscles a bit more, but I intend on never quitting again, especially if it’s based on someone else’s opinions.

Square One

I’ve wanted to post a lot more than I have. There have been a lot of daily prompts that I’ve found interesting and could have made funny. I’ve wanted to be funny. The problem is, I’m back to where I’ve started feeling weird. I’m in the midst of an anxiety attack. Square one. Not a great place to be. Not funny for sure.

One of the prompts was called Mirror, Mirror and wanted to know what you see when you look, you guessed it, in the mirror. Lately, with my recent weight gain, it’s been less like the evil queen I’ve so identified with and more like those boobie dolls Cher was making in the Witches of Eastwick…but now, I’m to shaky to even look. The mirror is showing me a strung out junkie but not because I am, but because that’s what I feel like.

Yay for my psychiatrist. He has tried. Really he has. He’s tried a number of combinations to make me feel better but I think we’ve yet to get it right. As of now. the stuff I’m on makes my skin crawl. I want to do laps and squats and run away and back again to get the feeling in my legs to stop. I can’t sit still. Writing is really hard as is sitting to do my job of data entry. I, of course, have some pills for that too, but it’s up and down. Ugh! Some days I feel exhausted and just want to sleep, others I want to exercise all day, which you’d think would stop this whole weight problem wouldn’t you?

That’s another thing. I’m disappointed. I’ve gained a full half of my lost weight back. I can’t tell you why. Self-sabotage? Self destructive behavior? When I look in the mirror, I’m not sure who’s looking back; the queen, the Borderline, the good listener, the aspiring writer, the loving mother, the anxiety-ridden mother, the self-conscious overweight woman, or someone else.

I was in the bathtub earlier and it occurred to me that no matter which was true, and I took a good hard look at what was in front of me, that I didn’t hate what I saw, boobie doll or not. I was okay with me. I may not be the ideal of the 99.9% but I think I’m ok. I think it’s ok to like me the way I am . The only thing I’m not ok with is the way I feel right now. I want to feel normal, whatever that is. Not strung out, not exhausted, not full of the heebee jeebies, not needing to run a marathon, not needing to sleep; just able to sit down and read a book or write a post like anyone could. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.

Day 31: Who, me?

Post a picture of yourself and tell us your story.

Yeah, ok. I’ve been dreading this day ever since I read the list all the way through. Is there really much else that needs to be said? I’ve doled out a heck of a lot of personal information over here! Mainly, I just don’t care for talking about myself. Isn’t that funny for someone who’s decided to blog? Hahaha!

So, firstly, yes, it’s a picture of me so it counts! That face right there, that shows you everything. I’ve never been one for grey areas or being able to hide my feelings. I’m either at ok, pissed, or depressed without many gears in between. I’ve always been sensitive, and told that fact to the point of insanity. I just always thought I just had deep feelings. I’ve been proud of my sensitivity, but there’s been a destructive side that hit badly in High School. It’s a time of dubious relationships anyway, but feeling every rejection as deeply as I did, I felt tormented a lot of the time. People said I exaggerated, that I was overly dramatic. I just took it as a slight and that they hated me. I thought everyone did for the longest time.

As an adult, my relationships remained rocky and I remained moody. My marriage came and went with its share of drama, and the aftermath of that was nearly too much to handle. I started having heightened anxiety and derealization episodes at this point. When I found out I was pregnant by the guy who’d just left, got kicked out of my house, and lost my job, I’m amazed I didn’t crack. I know I came close. I came treacherously close to suicide on several occasions. I couldn’t find work for well over a year and started counseling and antidepressants.

I was lucky enough to have real family support and a place to go for a while. Things held steady once I started my new job and I’ve held it together with ups and downs until recently when the strain of everything finally caught up with me.

This year I had a breakdown. I collapsed crying on the floor, hallucinating. Again, I was incredibly lucky to have support in the form of a friend. I took some time off, went to a therapist for the first time (All had been counselors before) and went to a psychiatrist.  Severe Panic Disorder and Severe Depressive Disorder were the words of the day. I’ve been working in all of the issues that brought on anxiety, lack of proper boundaries, mood instability, impulse control, anger, and when I was reading a book about dealing with someone else in my life who is undoubtedly a narcissist, I came across dialog on Borderline Personality Disorder.

I kept reading. I cried.

I took my notes and concerns to the therapist and everything began to fall into place. The more I read and watch, the more things make sense. I don’t fit every single criteria, but more than enough. It’s both wonderful to have a name for it and to know that there are others who have this experience, but it’s still a scary diagnosis. I’ve had to look straight at my behavior which is uncomfortable, but I’m more than willing to do it. I don’t want to be this way. I want to feel better and I want other people to want to be around me. I want good relationships. It’s all I want actually. Friends. A partner someday. To raise my kid into a healthy adult. The normal stuff.

So, this is the condensed version of the past 31 days of rambling. It seems like I’ve touched on about everything though I wanted to be slightly more irreverent and droll over the past month. It’s a hard subject to make funny, at least for me, being right in the midst of it and beginning to get a grip on what it all means. I can only hope this is helpful somewhere.

So, now would be a good time for you to go put on some fuzzy slippers and read something funny! I am… Happy New Year to all of you. Love and Luck for the year ahead 🙂

 

Day 25: Understanding

What’s one thing you wish non-borderlines could understand?

Intensity. One word sums it up better than a scroll of words a mile long. I wish people could feel, just for one second how deeply the emotions sink in, the fear, the anger, the pain, and on a good day, the love. Sometimes things affect me so intensely it seems like I can’t survive it, or don’t want to. I’ve written at length about the waves of emotion, highly charged and changeable like the tide. One small gust of wind and everything moves in a different direction, powerful enough to suck you and anyone nearby under. 

To the outside, nothing may have happened, nothing discernible anyway, but we will have registered a ton of information and triggers that cause avalanche to break inside us. Not seeing the ton of data that we see coming in must look rather like watching someone walk down the street making wild hand gestures and facial expressions only to realize later that they have a bluetooth ear bud in. They look crazy and overly dramatic, but that’s because you can’t see that there’s something else they’re hearing or seeing that you can’t. Like I’ve said before, it’s no superpower and a lot of what registers is wrong or misinterpreted. I know my satellite dish needs a good cleaning, or at least a change in the filter.

This one’s short and sweet because I’ve said it all before, but it truly is the most important point I wish was obvious. The emotions  run deep and beyond intense. If I overreact, well, it’s because I’m reacting to how big it feels to me. It’s a hard one to understand if you haven’t been there. I can be content being considered a drama queen. Everything is dramatic to me but that’s not all bad. As much as there is, it’s wonderful to feel. You know you’re alive and that’s deserving of big!

Day 24: Redo

If you could pick one year of your life to give back and start over, which one would it be?

I’m leaning strongly toward this past year. It has, well, it’s stunk. Actually, to be honest, the year before from November on pretty much bit. All my troubles started when I made simple little cleaning mistake. I turned my dining room chairs upside down and put them up on the lip of the table so that I could clean the floor easier, the way they do in restaurants.

Long story short, I bent down to pick up something and hit the chair, which turned over and hit me square on the head. These are solid wooden chairs and I felt dizzy and weird afterward but I never lost consciousness or anything like that, I was just out of sorts.

What I did feel was my neck crunch downward. That’s a big deal for anyone but for me, someone who’s already had a broken neck, it caused a lot of problems. That one mistake would have been huge to take back. Everything after that went downhill, nerve damage, random numbness that led to panic attacks and eventually, my breakdown. I made some lousy decisions and my mood began slipping only down.

It’s true that I should have taken better care of myself, respected myself more, taken  more time off to recover so that I could fully heal. Then maybe things wouldn’t have snowballed the way they did. If I had fully focused on myself, things would have turned out much differently.

Of course, now I’m finally dealing with some things I truly need to. It wasn’t all bad, but I could have gotten to the same place a lot easier.  I could have eased off my relationship, given myself time to grieve something that showed signs of ending instead of holding on to false hopes. The emotional turmoil has been truly overwhelming. Without a chair to the head, I imagine the whole world looks much clearer.

I could redo a bunch of years. Stopped myself from getting married, decided to finish college, moved away from everyone and started over somewhere new when everything fell apart, taken better care of my teeth… though all of those things have made me grow as a person. My regrets show me what I value. I can still change some of those things, but the health things are huge. The self-care, the self-respect, the need to truly take care of yourself. If anything has been the big thematic lesson of the past year, it’s the importance of  care and maintenance.

If you love something, show it, take care of it, spend time. attention, and effort. Don’t let the important things slide. Don’t put it off and most importantly, take care of yourself! Nobody else will…

Day 23: Perception

How do you think other people see you?

When I decided the title, it was so hard not making this a William Castle joke with the Tingler “Percepto!” ad…any excuse to use Vincent Price! But hey, Joan Crawford is more apt here.

You know, judging by the feedback, I’d have to say that people tend to see me a bit like Joan Crawford, erratic, unhappy, impossible to please, and likely to snap at any moment, especially since most people misread my sadness for anger because, well, that’s just my face.

Pain looks like anger. Sadness looks like anger. Ambivalence…you get the picture. I’m still pretty sure that one of my bosses is convinced that I have secret ninja skills and that I may strike at any second, which really cracks me up. I may or may not foster that misconception.

Unfortunately, I’ve seen pictures of me when I’m just sitting normally, not in any particular mood and I do indeed have resting bitch face. I can see how people assume irritability but usually, I’m just deep in thought making up a story about this or that. While I do have big mood shifts, I’m usually focused inward with them, meaning there’s not likely to be a spree with an ax in my future, yay for everyone!

The one thing I will concede to is that I can be kind of depressing. I’ve heard that for a very long time and I think there’s a big perception that I”m like Debbie Downer from Saturday Night Live (Wah wah). I do tend to see the dark side to every situation and that’s not a helpful quality at times. My friend once told me I should have had the job of coming up with the plethora of ways people could die on Six Feet Under because my worst case scenario brain comes up with some doozies to worry about. ( Did I just nick an artery shaving my legs? O~o)

Of course, I can only go by the bit of feedback I get and I can’t assume that it’s been 100% honest. I’ve had tons of people comment that I’m funny as well, but that tends to come and go depending on my outlook. I see a lot of things as funny and laugh to myself all the time. I suppose if I wasn’t so shy or such a neurotic mess  and shared what I was thinking, a lot more people would think I was at least mildly amusing. I’m sure when things die down a bit with what’s going on I’ll find some hilarity in it. I usually do after the fact, especially when looking at what I’ve been acting like. Sort of like Johnny Depp said in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas…you can actually watch yourself behaving in this terrible way but you can’t control it. (This is bat country!)

Another thing I’ve been told time and time again is how calming I am and how consoling, which is very good for the job I do, but my gosh, for an anxiety ridden afore-mentioned neurotic mess, I can’t help but crack up at that one too.  I’ve got Panic Disorder for crying out loud! Get with the program people! I’m, of course, happy to be there for people so that there’s at least something positive I can offer. Being here to help people through tough times and to be a witness to their story is what appealed to me in the job. I’m loving and empathetic but man does it go straight to the heart and stay.

I’d love to be one of those carefree, smiling, laughing, joke-telling people who other people like to be around. I’m probably never going to be a calm person, despite the good sponge thing I can do when the occasion calls for it. I suppose until something radical changes and I start jumping off things for adrenaline’s sake (yeah…never) and screaming “Woo!”, not much will change in the perception department. I’m going for smaller changes to begin with.

If people stick with me over time, I hope the result will be a shift from seeing me as a complete mess to someone they’re happy they stayed with. It’s been a rather tough time and the ones that stick are keepers I think. I’ll swing back again. In the end though, I need to stop worrying so much about what people think and try harder to reflect the truth. Then the right folk find you…like people who get all your jokes and make them right back at you.

Day 22: Realization

Pick a random story from your childhood.

The reason I’m picking something not so nice is because a) I tend not to remember the nice things, which is sad, and b) I managed in one fail swoop to accidentally traumatize my son yesterday. I’m not terribly good at sneaking around and he saw a truth that I wish he hadn’t. On the bright side, through his tears he managed to tell me he wouldn’t be needing therapy. I felt bad but it was only a matter of time.

As for me, I have many a traumatic story from my childhood but I’m going for the one that isn’t really that bad. It’s a similar kind of thing.

I don’t remember how old I was, but I imagine I was close to my son’s age. It was Christmas eve and my parents made me go to bed ridiculously early. It was a long time to lay there in the dark thinking.

At some point I remembered that we didn’t leave cookies out for Santa. I heard everyone downstairs playing music and whatnot so I knew Santa hadn’t come yet. I wanted to remind them all before it was too late.

I remembered running down the stairs  past my grandmother in the den who yelled at me not to go into the living room. Adjacent to the living room was the dining room and as I ran to see my grandfather sitting in his chair next to the fireplace, out of the corner of my eye I saw that my parents were hard at work putting together a tall, pink, Barbie dream house.

Instinctively I put my hands over my eyes while frantically trying to tell my grandpa that we needed to put out the cookies.  He assured me that it would be done and to go back to bed. It’s funny but I knew. I knew before I saw it but I pretended that I didn’t and let my mom walk me back up to my bedroom while they finished their stuff.

She tried to grill me on what I’d seen, but I just replied that I saw nothing and kept asking about the cookies and the fireplace. I remember feeling like it was my fault everyone was so unhappy, like my son did last night. He kept asking if it was his fault, like somehow seeing the truth was a bad thing. Did I ruin it? Is it my fault?

I know somehow that no amount of explaining will make a difference except to make sure he knows that it isn’t his fault. He didn’t ruin anything. He’s a little upset today but I’m going to make sure to be as open a possible so he knows it is always ok to seek out the truth and to not feel responsible for ruining anything by doing what he needs to do.

Nothing really changed for me on that night other than I remember it. I’d known, I just hadn’t seen. I think my son is the same. I just hope he feels ok about it eventually.

Day 21: Disclosure

How many people know about your diagnosis? Well, for starters, everyone who’s read my page!

Honestly though, I really don’t think I’ve come out and told  people. It’s a little hard to bring up in every day conversation. “Hey, everybody, I’m emotionally unstable! Isn’t that something?”

Not that I wouldn’t do that, because I totally would if the occasion called for it, but so far, it’s been a little unnecessary.

This Borderline thing has been a hypothesis that I brought to my therapist. I read a description of it while reearching how to deal with something different and the book made me cry so I figured I should look at it. My psychiatrist asked if I’d been diagnosed with Bipolar II when I told him of my latest shenenigans. He’d never seen me other than depressed but when I told him that I was looking at Borderline, he told me it was difficult to differentiate the two until a long period of time had passed as they are similar in a number of ways, all under the same umbrella as PTSD and a few others. We need to consider them all, therefore I don’t think I’ve been all out diagnosed. My therapist is working with me on it since I seem to be fitting a lot of the profile and I’ve asked a few of my close friends for their opinion. To everyone so far, it’s made a heck of a lot of sense. There have been many “Oh! Of course!” expressions floating around. It does indeed fit rather well, but as far as telling people? I haven’t even told my mom. I certainly haven’t told my dad. They’re just both aware that I’ve been having “problems”.

Even at work, my bosses are aware of my panic disorder. I never went into the severe depression with them, though I believe that’s obvious to everyone. After that it all seemed unnecessary information. They know I go to therapy and psychiatric appointments. As long as things improve, I see no reason to delve. I didn’t omit it out of shame or worry. Quite the contrary.

I came out with my panic diagnosis because I felt that people I interacted with every day needed to know. At first I didn’t want to be treated differently, but after a while I realized that I indeed needed to be treated differently, with a bit more patience and understanding. Hell, everyone does, I just have an excuse that works in my favor on that level. I haven’t felt the need to update anyone. The people who need to know do. I’m not against bringing it to the attention of more people once I’m sure. If anything, I think there needs to be more awareness and understanding and less judgment.

There are a few people that wouldn’t understand. I know that. I’ve told one who consistently judges me for my reactions just so they will know that sometimes (all the time) it’s been beyond my control. My emotions are huge. Things effect me deeply and I react in an over the top way. I’m working on that. It’ll take years. I’m not pulling anything, trying to create drama, trying to manipulate the situation or people, it’s just the way I feel. The more people understand about that the better off I’ll be I think.

In the meantime, I get to experiment with a pile of pills that make me better or worse. Lately, it’s been worse. I can be dry as a Looney Tunes character before the big gag hits or as over the top as a drag queen who’s just been read. I have a wide berth with my level of animation. The pills complicate when they’re wrong and we’ve yet to hit the right ones. So, to any of my loved ones, know that it’s hit or miss given the day and circumstances. Lately, I’ve been coping and odd things bring up high emotion. I hide it as best I can when I’m out. At work I have crying fits that I’m waiting for someone to walk in on, but so far so good.  If that time comes, I’ll spill the beans.

I’d rather sooner. A clear cut set of criteria is always easier to work with than a cloud of mental “problems”. The second sounds worse. Even if I get a room full of freaked out expressions, there’s something to work with. I’m used to getting looked at like that anyway. I just hate to lose my air of mystery…

Day 19: Interlude

What are some lyrics that describe what you’re going through right now?

Funny coincidence. I was just realizing that I keep listening to my divorce song this week. It’s a painful reminder but apt. Yes, I know, I’m still going on about being “friend-zoned” but it being at the level of Severus Snape, I think I’m allowed a little bit of wallow time. Everything else seems to be clearing up. I’ve mended some issues with friends, gotten along better at work, have some new support, a new car, gifts to wrap, but sitting there in the middle of it all is the damned rejection that’s eating away at me. If I read the word “friends” one more time I swear I’m going to be driven to gouge out a major organ. Yes, nothing is supposed to have changed. As we always have been, we’re friends…(ugh!) but there’s still mourning the death of my hopes and they were mighty big ones.

I’ve been waiting forever to find someone who fit so well with me. We made big plans. I meant them. I’m starting to wonder if there were any true feelings on the other side of this. Given how easy this has all been for him, well…I do wonder if anyone is ever going to have pain for my absence, if anyone will ever miss me. Anyway, it all fell into place so well in the beginning and now I have to watch it all spin down fate’s unforgiving drain. It’s all my fault. This “condition” I have makes me really hard to live with. The fact that what’s supposed to be such a small shift has sent me so far off the scale with suffering is a clear sign of the extreme effect. It’s the huge fear of abandonment that’s the center of this disorder and it’s been tripped big time. It may not even be about him, but the fear that was engaged by the event itself. After it passes, I may be able to sensibly say to myself that it’s all fine, that nothing has truly changed and get on with my life as it has been, just sans false hopes. So, on to the song…a condensed version because there’s no need for repeats…

During every big “relationship change” I’ve had, it’s always Evanescence that captures perfectly my feelings. “Missing” is the go to song. It’s apt from beginning to end. Every time. This time. It’s on repeat right now…

“Missing”

Please, please, forgive me
But I won’t be home again
Maybe someday you’ll look up
And barely conscious, you’ll say to no one
Isn’t something missing?

You won’t cry for my absence, I know
You forgot me long ago
Am I that unimportant?
Am I so insignificant?
Isn’t something missing?
Isn’t someone missing me?

Even though I’m the sacrifice
You won’t try for me, not now
Though I’d die to know you love me
I’m all alone
Isn’t someone missing me?

And if I bleed, I’ll bleed
Knowing you don’t care
And if I sleep just to dream of you
I’ll wake without you there
Isn’t something missing?
Isn’t something

Even though I’m the sacrifice
You won’t try for me, not now
Though I’d die to know you love me
I’m all alone
Isn’t something missing?
Isn’t someone missing me?

Day 18: Opinions

Do you worry what people think of you?

Yes and no. Don’t you love a definitive answer?

This used to be the subject that ate me up from the inside the most. My projections of what people were thinking of me would paralyze me. Negative feedback made me miserable for days. In high school, I learned to keep my opinions to myself for fear that they would be twisted and used against me. It all makes sense now, of course, now that I now what’s going on with me. This programming stretches back a long way.

When I was in school, I remember from the first day feeling judged. It was really hard for me to take. Maybe because at home I didn’t feel incredibly safe or valued, I wanted, like most kids, to be accepted and liked but for me, the rejections cut much deeper. I have had a very bad habit of taking absolutely everything personally and every word, sideways look, or awkward tone made me question myself and my worth.

I don’t know where I learned to value everyone else’s opinion over my own, or in fact to not allow myself an opinion. The thought that other kids were saying bad things about me, laughing at me, staring at me, or anything else slightly uncomfortable would make my whole world feel like it was crashing to the ground. As the years passed, it seemed to get worse. Paranoia does come along with this as well. For a while, if I heard anyone laughing, I’d assume it was at me. Some kids were indeed quite cruel to me, and I began to see everyone as dangerous and threatening.

That is all the “yes” part.

The “no” part is starting to come together. Yes, I had a bit of a back slide the other day at the butchers. Since then, I’ve learned that they’re all incredibly cool about it all over there, but the thing is, it doesn’t matter if they are or aren’t. After my initial knee-jerk reaction, I managed to talk myself out of it. It was short and didn’t cause me nearly as much distress as it used to. I’m starting to claw my way back to being myself despite others’ opinions. Everybody has one and they’re usually based on incomplete information. Most of the time it’s based on someone’s personal projections. Nothing at all about me or my worth.

Now, of course, when it’s someone I care about deeply, that changes the story. Of course I care what my loved ones think and when they reject me it carries a certain kind of sting. In the cases where I know where it’s coming from I can take it all with a grain of salt but when I don’t it’s still painful. Rejection always is. I’m still feeling more than a little sting from my last rejection. Actually “sting” is the biggest understatement I’ve ever uttered, but it’s a part of life. Lately I’ve been having to deal head on with rejection and I think it may be for a reason. It will help me find the people who truly value me for me. That’s something that I should care about far more than the opinions of “everybody”.