Day 9: Night and Day

Question of the day…Do you have mood swings?

Somewhere one of my friends is cracking up at that question…and my mom…and my ex…etc. The big answer there is hell yes! In a matter of hours I can go from being happy to angry to depressed to excited to who knows what… People have always commented on me being moody, but now it all makes sense.

More often than not, people are used to me being melancholy or looking angry without a heck of a lot in between. I’m usually not angry but apparently look it. I’ve learned that’s known as “resting bitch face” which cracks me up. What I seem to present, however, is not the happiest of combinations. When I do smile, people freak out. It scares them, much like when Wednesday Addams smiles. It’s just weird.

We’ll take today for example. I woke up pretty happy, had cuddles with my kid which is the greatest thing ever, spent the morning fairly content, got angry at a brief message, recovered, got to work ditzy and tired, laughed, cried, got bored and annoyed, got busy and annoyed, lost myself in crafting happiness and then after a brief encounter with DG that I hoped would be lighthearted and funny like old times, sank instead into the pit of heartbroken despair…all before 2 O’Clock.

Now I’m crying again over a loss that I feel should never have happened, or maybe a gain that should never have happened. I’m not sure which. I’ve gone back and forth from happy to miserable a few times today and I think that unfortunately, misery has won the day, until I can distract and think otherwise with hope and excitement. I’ve got work to do and I’m doing it, yet in the back of my mind is that small voice with the stamina of a hurricane that keeps reminding me that I wasn’t enough to hold someone’s attention, that to the one I loved,  I wasn’t worth the time or effort. I need an arrow to kill that voice; it’s ruined more than one day recently.

I wish just once that it was a supportive voice that cheered me on, but I think the owner of the current voice killed her. Her name was Hope. I rather liked her. She’ll come back soon and the pendulum will swing the other way and I’ll be on top again, doing something else I probably shouldn’t just because… that’s what it’s like in my head and that’s why my moods are less than stable.

As it goes, the rest of the day is a crap shoot. My homework for the week is to be ambivalent. To feel two ways at the same time about something. It’s a challenge but I have it down right this second. Love and hate, hope and despair.  I’m learning it’s the nature of this Borderline thing to go to extremes one way or the other. To think after all this that I’m on the lower end of the scale when it comes to this disorder makes me wonder if this will get worse or better and what people go through on the severe side. I can be ambivalent on that score too feeling both blessed and cursed…especially cursed right this second.

I’m sure when I swing back the other way I’ll be all about the gratitude. I can’t know when that will be. It’s pointless to plan ahead not knowing where you’ll be but as one of my heroes, Scarlett O’Hara was fond of saying…tomorrow is another day.

Days 4 and 5: Apocalypse Now

The friend I described losing yesterday once described me to someone as hating life. That’s not entirely accurate. I love life. I do, though I may not beam it every second. I love a million things about life, like a good thunderstorm, clean sheets after a bath, cheesecake, movies, tea…but on occasion, and I’m sure he couldn’t understand this, it gets to be all too much. The feelings overwhelm and the world turns to a cacophonous cloud of noise that makes my skin crawl…like right now.

That’s the reason I’m combining two questions into one post and writing them a day early. It’s a raw moment. I took a big downturn today and I thought that maybe being completely honest in this state might be helpful in some way to someone somewhere.

The questions respectively are: Have you ever attempted suicide and have you ever written a suicide note? I’ve decided to combine them because two posts on this subject would just be too much. As of now, I’m having an anxiety attack. Panic more like. I’ve had to stop a few times because my heart is pounding so hard I can hear it. I’m not sure if it’s the subject matter or the fact that I’m feeling badly again over the loss of people I’ve cared about. It truly feels like I have a big hole in my chest…but moving on…

There have been many times I’ve come very close to ending myself. Why do I admit that? Why talk about such a dark subject at all? Because I’ve managed to thankfully make it past them. When I had nowhere to go, no job, and a baby to feed I came closer than I ever have. I remember the utter hopelessness and isolation I felt. I felt completely worthless and overwhelmed. It was raining non stop for days. I remember just sitting in the car crying harder than I ever had and trying to decide whether to bring the baby inside the church and leave him so he’d have a chance. No notes. Not ever. It was always a private thing.

In the end I managed to talk myself out of that idea and conquer the overwhelming feelings. Like every time before it, I’m so thankful I did. So many joys I would never have known came in the years that followed.

I had one worse one, right before my breakdown. I was at work, once again feeling overwhelmed and undervalued…invisible. The only way I can truly describe it was despair. I felt heavy, pulled down and the room I was sitting in suddenly seemed darker than it had been. There was once again that feeling of having a hole in my chest but simultaneously a pain like being speared through the heart at the same time. I was ready to disappear. Everything was too much but one thought was enough to bring me out of it. My son. I thought about how I’d never see him or hold him again and how he’d never be able to understand. I survived that day too and again, I’m so lucky I did. Some days he’s the only thing I have to look forward to, but one reason is enough. He’s always been more than enough.

So now that I’m once again in pain and having a panic attack over the loss of a friend and someone I loved completely, I realize that having those anchors is vital. Whatever it is for you, hold on to it for dear life. There really will be something you’ll be glad you didn’t miss.

Day 3: Don’t Let Me Get Me

Question of the day! It’s another tricky one too. Do you self harm? If Yes, how?

My immediate, knee-jerk, black and white answer would have to be no, I’m not one to practice self harm as it’s usually portrayed. That portrayal is most often seen in the highly misunderstood practice of cutting. From what I understand, a lot of people with BPD do practice cutting as a form of relief, which may sound weird to the person in the street, but a little understanding goes a long way and I’m starting to get it.

Being no stranger to the S&M community, I have seen it done as an offshoot and understood it in those terms, but as far as urges to do myself harm, that I only began to understand recently when I began to have compulsions to somehow get my pain out physically. It was an entirely different little monster. I haven’t begun to cut or anything of that nature personally, but I think that we tend to do ourselves harm in a number of ways. The compulsion was strong and out of nowhere. It surprised me like nothing else, but getting some of the pain “out” when I was feeling particularly bad did actually calm down the feelings.

The other thing is that while I’ve considered myself on an “upswing” or what I usually refer to as my “drastic” periods when I want to rearrange all my furniture, dye my hair, get tattooed, and  say screw it to most of my normal concerns for the sake of living fully in some impulsive way, I’ve actually caused some real detriment to myself which could be considered self harm, or at the very least, lack of self care.

The first thing was that I went off my diet. I’ve been pretty strictly off wheat and grains which has helped me in so many areas including massive weight loss and elimination of aches and pains. When I fell off that wagon, eating every bad thing, I also fell off every wagon I ever climbed up on faster than a cheetah on fire. Nothing could stop me. I started drinking again (though not to extreme), smoked, stopped a lot of the self care that I knew I should do like exercise. That’s what I consider an upswing, because I suppose, during these periods I’m actually…happy. I’m content even though I can begin to see the fallout of my choices.

So, I suppose my answer is actually yes, I do practice self harm, but by that definition, everyone does at one time or another if not to that extreme. My coach once told me that I should look at self care like taking as good care of myself as I do my son. I can tell you if I did that, things would be a lot different. Knowing that difference would be wonderful is still not enough yet to get me off the bent. It’s part of my personality. I’ll get sick of it again…like I was this morning when my pants didn’t fit. It may be time to climb back up onto that wagon if I can. Hopefully the tide will go with me…

Day 2 : Friendship

Day 2 of the 31 days of BPD. Question: Why did your last friendship end?

Ok, trick question. I had two go south at the same time, but I suppose that only one is truly lost as far as friendship goes. It’s ironic. I’ve been very suddenly and thoroughly depressed over my loss of DG. I know it’s for the best. I know the timing stunk. I know that if we were meant to be together, heaven and earth would have aligned to make it so, or one or both of us would have. I’m just, dare I say it, heartbroken.

On the bright side of that coin, we remain “friends”. Sort of. Things have felt strained at best which is why I lumped it into this category like a sack of dead wombats. (Yeah, I don’t know where that came from either…) I’m still making him a holiday present and sending a card. Just because it’s been tough and hasn’t worked out doesn’t mean my feelings left so I’m trying to maintain and hopefully rebuild.

So, comes the other painful loss which is less all out painful, but it was still someone whom I trusted and put stock into. It fits this subject because he turned his back on me suddenly and completely (like you would a sack of dead wombats). He went from being supportive one minute and the next, he was announcing rather dramatically and publicly that he was out. Apparently this was due to my “negativity”. Now, I don’t know anybody who is chipper and happy all the time…and to blame me when I really can’t be seemed just plain petty and mean.

I suppose his excuse will be that he doesn’t want to subject himself to my depressive attitude or my moodiness, and to be fair, that’s fine. It’s his prerogative. (Why did I use that word? Bobby Brown earworm…enjoy that!) But truly, leaving is about the worst thing you can do to someone who has severe abandonment issues, like BPD sufferers who push people away just to keep them from eventually leaving. It’s that strong a fear and it usually ends up happening in spite of us. Most of the things we do create the very things we fear.

The big problem I have with this sudden departure was that there was firstly no warning and secondly, it’s completely hypocritical. He’s not positive a majority of the time. None of that matters now. He couldn’t accept me and If someone can’t accept you for who you are, then they aren’t your friend. I can accept that we probably just fed each other’s negativity and that wasn’t a good mix. I’m just lucky that I’ve got the ability to see things that way now instead of going into a deep depression that turns the pit of my stomach into a bottomless one and assuming all people will reject me.

On the bright side (Yes, I do see them! Silver linings occasionally as well! I even sometimes..*gasp* even make jokes!) I have had an outpouring of support from people who have shown me that they do accept me. I’ve been happily surprised that by opening up, which I’ve been so afraid to do for so long for fear of rejection and abandonment that there is actually love and acceptance on the other end. I’m still an invisible disaster for the time being, but now I can no longer cry in self pity at the end of It’s a Wonderful Life. I truly do have friends. Maybe not a town full, but they’re there. All I had to do was open my eyes to see them.

Day 1: Anger

So, I’ve taken on the “31 Days of  BPD” blogging challenge not only to let some of the people in my life know what is going on with me, but as a form of getting to see my own “stuff” right in front of me so I can work on it. Today’s question…

Think of the last time you were really angry. Why was that?

So, anger. It’s true that I can get angry at the drop of a hat…or upset…or depressed…or exuberantly impulsively excited. That’s the thing. I see things that a lot of people don’t. It’s not a superpower or a boast. Actually, most days it works to make me miserable. A tiny micro-expression that shows disapproval or impatience, a slight change in tone, posture, any microscopic inconsistency in a story, none of it gets past me…yeah, that’s heaven. I can find the discouraging spot in anything and boy do I wish I couldn’t. (I’m sure most of my friends and family wish that too.) I do it all unconsciously and I can’t do it if I try to. I know I’ve lost friendships over it,lost close relationships due to insecurity, spent days circling in misery over something that didn’t even mean what I thought it meant. Great, now I have Inigo Montoya’s voice in my head as I type. Anyway, it’s not a pleasant thing for anyone involved.

So…

The other day I went to the butcher shop. It’s not a thing I normally do and the reason may be a bit strange to most people, but I wanted to see if I could get a heart. I want to make a specimen jar. My kid is fond of calling me the Evil Queen because I remind him of the one on Once Upon a Time (I swear it’s only the hair…and the angry face, maybe.) It gave me an idea. I thought it would be cool to collect hearts.  I like weird things like that as do many. It didn’t seem odd to me. The butcher I spoke to seemed cool with it, but the next day when I came back to get something totally unrelated from said grocery store, I got the eye. Actually, I got the multi-eye of judgment from the entire meat department. I don’t know why it bugged me but it instantly did. Instead of being able to shrug it off or assume that maybe someone told a joke, while they just happened to be staring right at me, I got mad. Yes, really mad. I could have dealt with being a Firebender and shooting fireballs at that moment (most moments), but thankfully I don’t have that particular skill. There would be a lot of regret for laying waste to things. *Oops! Teehee*

This day, it started more as a disturbance really. I was annoyed, but then as time went on, I really became short, blunt, agitated. I slammed things, I yelled, I was a true joy to be around… By the time I got to where I was going following the store, I was in a state.

Now, that is a slight thing to get so angry about. I know it. It might not even have been about me, but it might have. I imagined that they were judging me and disapproving and that’s a big trigger. Instead of getting depressed, I got mad. That’s the thing with this. I’m reactive, severely reactive because when I feel something, it runs so deep it rattles me. I don’t feel anything slightly. Everything is a big deal, especially when it’s painful.

Now, in retrospect, do I care really if the butchers think I’m a freak? No. In that moment though, it sucked. On the bright side, I recovered from it quickly. Normally something like that would make me brood the afternoon away and give me a hole in the pit of my stomach. My mother commented after about a half hour that my mood changed from bad to good like night and day. There’s another big indicator, it’s good or bad, not a lot of grey area…Hmmm,, only a Sith thinks in absolutes. Perhaps, like Vader, I’ll have luck in overcoming the Dark Side. The faster recovery part is progress.

Now, the good news is that I noticed it and pretty quickly. I noticed that it was an overreaction. People have always said things like I exaggerate, I’m too sensitive, or I brood. I’m the Eeyore of the group. I suppose that’s a hallmark of what I’m beginning to deal with. I read somewhere that Borderline sufferers are emotionally like burn victims, sensitive to the slightest hint of anything. It explains all of those comments and makes them slightly less hurtful. I can only hope that people understand and stick better as I make changes.

Like Luke, my kid knows I have good in me. In the end I’d like to be sitting next to Obi-Wan, glowing on a log enjoying some dreadful Ewok chanting instead of succumbing to…what the heck happens to the bad ones?