At the bottom. Not swimming, but drowning in the misery of the BPD.

I haven’t been posting, for a while.

Why?

I broke, fell apart, sinked to the bottom.

I don’t remember exactly what was I doing for the two past days. It’s a fog of memories.

Mostly I slept not to feel. Not to do anything….to myself.

I thought of ending it once and for all, I couldn’t bear it anymore.

So I took a pill after pill after pill, until I was totally numb and fell asleep.

Did it helped? No. I was looking for a help, my psych is on vacation, I called The Crisis Center,but it didn’t help too much.

They said, that I have to go to my psych hospital (second home,as I call it), but I did not. I don’t want to end there, again. It is three weeks since I left the psych ward, I cannot imagine myself being there locked up, again.

I was, I am still in fact, a wreck.

Going from feeling useless, failure, to self harm thoughts, to suicidal thoughts.

From crying to feeling nothing at all. Empty and numb.

I tried to talk to my family, but they did more harm than good. Our talk ended up in the verbal fight, as my mother, again, tried to be persuasive with her constant and annoying repeating words of how I am overreacting, and do I know how does it make her feel.

Yeah mum, I know. I have been your burden too long. But you have never ever said a word that could make me feel better.

My mum has an amazing power of turning my cries for help into her own misery.  If I feel bad, she makes it even worse, by making me feel guilty and responsible for all the problems in the world. Thanks, mum.

At this moment, I have no clue what to do next. Or better said,what will I do…next.

I’m sorry, but this battle is becoming to hard to fight it.

I feel I have no strength or reasons to fight.

The end.

 

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The Worst Hours In My Broken Life

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Strange unknown house. My not-so-good friend party, birthday or whatsoever. Didn’t bother me too much, the occasion I mean. I was there, that was all that counted.

Boring to the bone.
Waiting to leave, unnoticed, without asking and answering stupid questions.

I was lost in the crowd with unfamiliar people, drinking my mojito, third, fourth, who counts anyway, looking for the door.
Tried to push myself to the limit of toleration of surrounding noise. The moment I felt my thoughts messed up, my head about to explode, I was seeking the way out.
No goodbye to anyone, just wanted to disappear without the trace.

I walked through the crowd, head down. No one noticed me, I was invisible, the state which is able to achieve if you know how. Blended into surrounding mess, words, polite chats. Awful.

As I entered the hallway, darkness surrounded me. I remembered where the entrance and the front door were. But there was complete blackness around. No lights at all. I was completely blind. Put my hand into the purse looking for my cell phone..but nothing.

Fuck, I thought.Fuck, fuck. Where is the fucking light? The switch?! Anything!?.

My purse filled up with thousand unnecessary things.
Like all the woman’s bags, you could survive the World War III with the content of the bag. Felt the lipstick under my fingers, car keys, wallet, everything and nothing useful.

I broke with anger, yelling at myself, thinking about entering that gray party zone again..I was so desperate.

And then.. that sound behind me.

Like a soft whisper. Like a tip toe walking towards me from behind.

“Hello?”, I asked.

No answer.

Sound again, this time, breathing, slow, deep breaths, almost touching my neck.

I could feel chills down the spine. My hands started to shake. I wasn’t scared, I was horrified.

There was someone. Breathing behind me. I could feel his presence, the warmth that was getting closer and closer.

“What do you want? Who is it!?”. No answer. Silence, thick and heavy, you could smell it, the fear, the horror, you could slice it with a knife.

And then..there it was.

Hand on my mouth. Hand around my waist, felling pulled away.

Wanted to yell, I couldn’t, wanted to bite, I couldn’t, wanted to fight, I couldn’t. He was too strong.

Heard the door squeak as they opened. He turned me around like a doll, pushed me somewhere.
There were dimming lights penetrating the window blinds.
It was a room. Messy place. Smell of wine, cigarettes..
He pushed me again, hard, hurting my hand. I screamed this time, but who was able to hear me?!

I landed on the bed, trying to stand up, to get away, to run..I felt nothing but my heart beating way through the chest.

His arms took my wrists, hard. ” You’re hurting me! Let go of me! You motherfucker!” Words flowed out of me with no respond.

I couldn’t breathe as he simply lie down on me. He, heavy as a rock, lied, and hurting me, I tried to move, with every muscle, with every drop of my remaining energy, freaking out.
I just couldn’t. Not an inch.

“I was waiting for this, for so long….”, whispered in my ear, distant, cold, unknown voice.

I started crying. This wasn’t happening Not to me. Not to me. Not to me!! It was just a dream I repeated to myself, just a nightmare, I should wake up any second now. Any second, I thought…

But i didn’t.

I felt him. Completely. Tearing my clothes away, mumbling something in a distance..

His face, barely visible, not recognizable, and mine, filled with terror, met inches away. I could feel his breath on my face.

“You want it. You wanted it. I know”, he said.

“No!!!” Screaming didn’t sound like my voice, more like a sound of the hurt animal brought to slaughter.

I felt hopeless. Felt tied down. Defeated. Wanted to give up.
My mind wandered somewhere, far, far away.
I thought if it must be, please God, let it be quick.
Tears rolling down my face, I was trembling with frailty. So vulnerable, so fragile.
So not me.

Then…

All around came the light, hurting my eyes. Someone came into the room.

“What the fuck!”. Remote voice, through the fog of misery.

He jumped. Literally jumped out of the bed.

I lay down for a while, unable to move. Felt someones hands helping me to get up. To get dressed. Wiping my tears.

As police came, and ambulance, I don’t remember a thing. I spoke something, do not remember what, shaking.

Driving to the hospital, the lights of the ambulance car and sirens.. distant. Felt as nothing of this was happening to me. Felt aloof and empty. Just an empty shell. Every inch of my body hurt. Body? That was not my body anymore.

Three days later, 18 stitches later, numberless consultations and answering..I went home.

He was brought to prison, that much I know. And got out for a minimum number of months. Physical assault, good beahviour.

Unlike his, my prison and burden never left me. I buried it deep inside, where no one can see it. It digs up his way out sometimes, but I beat it.

And now, this is me. Beating it up now, in this time, but not when I should do it. Because I couldn’t think then.

I was old me again..after a countless months.

An that is what I call my triumph, to overcome myself.

Parents, who the hell invented them in the first place?!

 

Short and sweet this will be.

Like would master Yoda say, you own path go must. Ignore the stupid as better you can do.

That’s a comment to a conversation my mother and I had today.

Like two monkeys, not understanding what the other one said.

 

I could also speak Chinese, it would make no difference to her. She has a tremendous way of understanding me.  She just doesn’t,  but she thinks she does, so it turns in a one big argument conversation without the conclusion or ending.

I feel drenched and angry. Facepalm for her winning again,and leaving me feel like a crap.

 

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The pills

 

 

The pills

Little ones, big ones
Yellow and white
Making my breakfast bitter
Following me through the day
Reminding me
It is time for a yellow one
It is time for the both of us
It is time.

I do not need a clock.
Pills are my daily guidance.

I hate them so much
That I even can’t look
At the Smartie’s
In the store.

It’s a Mad World, Indeed

 

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow

And I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I’m dying
Are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It’s a very, very mad world mad world….”

 

Isn’t it a truly Mad World?

Beautiful song, awesome lyrics.

Like it? Do you find yourself in the lyrics as I do?

The Traffic Lights Of My Life

 

Abstract Street

Why are the traffic lights of my life always red?

Even when I want to go, yellow stops me, in the moment, and doesn’t let me move an inch.

I stand, I expect, hope exists, but is getting smaller.

I’m not going back where I’ve been back, I want to go, go, forward

But the green light does not come on.

Is it a sign?

Do I have to stay where I am and face all memories from the past before I move on?

Again, go through all the mistakes and harsh words, wrong acts, reckless thoughts.

Why?

Who decides where I’m going?

Am I not the one who has the right to get up and go?

Why anyone thinks he is entitled to ignore my traffic lights??

I am completely faced with the consequences of what I have done.

How long will this purgatory last?

In eternity?

Too long.

Please, whoever looks at it all and knows all, the one who gives himself the right to decide instead of me, please, ask him in my name to let me go.

I have suffered enough, and red is not my color anymore.

BORDERLINE PERSONALITY CHARACTERISTICS THAT MAKE YOU AWESOME

bpd2

 

As I said in the title, the negative BPD characteristics make you at the same time, awesome.

It is just a question which side will prevail, negative or positive, in a specific situation.

I Am My Own Worst Enemy

LINKIN PARK- GIVEN UP

 

I relate to this song in every word that has been written, singed, read, written, felt.

 

“Stuck in my head again

Feels like I’ll never leave this place
There’s no escape

I’m my own worst enemy

I’ve given up
I’m sick of feeling
Is there nothing you can say

Take this all away
I’m suffocating
Tell me what the fuck is wrong
With me”

The Borderline Walk On The Line

CAT

The Border that divides me,

From being well and being me.

 

I fear of “recovery”, because I do not know,

If I will recognize myself  in the mirror.

 

Maybe I am just made to be this way.

 

On the Border between pain and even more pain, walking the line (Thank you Johnny Cash).

Paint It Black

“I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and I must have it painted black
Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts
It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black” -Rolling Stones.

 

 

Darkest of darkness I have ever seen,

Turned into a crack filled with the pitch-black starless space.

 

I merged into it, floating on the surface desperately,

While I was unwilling,  and slowly, consumed absolutely.

 

I turned into black, the darkness pure,

The Soul, the Heart and the Mind full of the gloomy fury.

 

Is there blackest than the deepest black?

Could the darkness I’ve become,

Turn into the substance more mournful than it is?

 

Do not wake me up,

Until the whole black mayhem is scrubbed away.

Do not make me feel,

Until the colors reappear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hey, how fast things can fall apart!

 

 

 

Hey, hey, hey….how I hate this BPD.

 

I felt like shit for the last couple of days, but today it has escalated enormously.

 

I had a  meeting arranged, which I couldn’t miss, because, hey, job is a job, and I have a work to do.

I pushed myself to the end, passing my limits to get out of the apartment, get to the meeting, smile, do the presentation, talk, negotiate, make a deal.

 

Hey, hey, my boss will be happy!!

Fuck him.

 

I got home exhausted emotionally and physically. Exhausted, but yet tremendously nervous and anxious.

 

My body wanted to sit, but instead, I was cleaning the bathroom.

My mind wanted to sleep, but hey, I had to do the laundry.

 

Because, when I sat down, hey, what a disastrous mess started in my head.

“This is not good…fight it back..fight it back..”.

 

So I cleaned the apartment, I did everything I could just to stop myself from thinking.

But hey, eventually, I had to sit down.

 

I wanted to hit the wall, to take the razor, to scream until I drop.

Popped up one Klonopin to settle down a bit.

Nothing .

Hey, let’s make that two. Three. Four. I stopped counting at ten.

 

I felt dizzy, somehow sleepy, hey, I know that feeling, been there, done that a million times before.

But inside of me….everything you can imagine was happening at the same time.

 

Hey, do you know how does it feel, to feel all you that you are able to feel at once,  and so intense, that it hurts?!

I hope you don’t.

 

I really hate this BPD.

Hate myself. Hate everything.

If this life had a meaning, I would have found it a long time ago.

All I do now is a struggle, not to do IT again and end up this hell.

 

Six suicide attempts, first when I was just ten years old.

The last one was a close enough. I have been reanimated, because I stopped breathing, my heart stopped.. and fuck it, there was no tunnel with a light at the end.

Maybe the lights turned off, just for me.

 

Hey, I really hate this BPD.

 

Maybe the next time, someone will be so kind to change the bulbs in the tunnel, and turn the lights on.

I would appreciate it, thank you in advance.

 

 

The Beer, The Impending Doom And A Glass Of Whiskey

 

“And on my deathbed I will pray to the gods and the angels,

Like a pagan to anyone who will take me to heaven;

To a place I recall, I was there so long ago.

The sky was bruised, the wine was bled, and there you led me on.”

 

Surrounded by people I call friends, surrounded by people I call relatives, holding onto my beer, firmly.

 

Voices all around me. Making noise and not sense. Attacking me.

 

I hate gatherings. I hate being surrounded. I do not feel good. In fact, I feel awful.

 

In my head, the movie begins:

I am standing up on the table, throwing the bottle to the ground. The sound of broken glass makes everyone to look at me.

And then I start to yell. To each of them I tell everything I wanted to tell for a long time, but I didn’t, ’cause I was polite.

But not tonight.

After I told what I had to say, I break at least two tables and chairs. One chair is thrown into a window.

I can feel glass flying right into me, sticking into my flesh, the warmth of blood leaking slowly down my body.

And if that’s not enough, there’s always a Glock to finish the situation.

 

But the beer is not cold anymore.

And I’m on the verge of an incident.

Laughing next to me, my friend poured accidentally a glass of wine, ruining her perfect dress with lovely flowers.

To me, the dress looks so much better now.

 

I am getting of the table and walking away without saying goodbye.

I hear my name being called, but I’m not turning or responding.

 

The car, the road and me.

 

“Save me from myself, save me from myself….”, repeating into my mind like a broken record player.

 

After few cuts I’ll be fine. Pouring a full glass of whiskey makes me almost happy. The sound and the scent of the glass filling to the top.

Killing the beast is not easy, and I will do all I can, to make it go away.

 

Triggered

Well, the same “movie plot” as my life. Unfortunately, though.

I wish that I could share something positive about psychiatrists, therapy, DBT, but there’s nothing positive I can say so far.

The pattern just repeats itself in a form of a bad experiences with everything mentioned above.

BPD sucks, it is stigmatized to the bone.

It’s enough to go to the psych appointment and when they hear BPD I always hear that “uhhhhhhhhhh” sound.

It freaks me out so much, that I had started laughing the last time I was at the first appointment.

The psych asked why I was laughing, because he didn’t say anything, he was just reading my med documentation with that “uhhhhhhh” sound.

I replied: “You are all the same. When you see BPD,you are quitting on me before we have even started”.

No appointments had been arranged for the future visits. 😀

Girl walks into a psychiatrist's office . . .

I had an appointment with the psychiatrist today.

gun-phone

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…

View original post 574 more words

The 4 Ego States (Modes) of the Borderline

Interesting topic. And a true one. I found myself in every four of the modes. And currently, I’m a detached protector. It lasts for a long time now. For me this is the best way to keep myself functional. And to be honest, my psych could not ever bring me into the Vulnerable Child.
My shield is too hard to be broken.

Beautifully Borderline

I read this article and OMG this is me. I tell people all the time (those who know about my BPD), that I go through emotional cycles. I’ve described these very “modes” in the cycle that I’ve noticed within myself. I didn’t necessarily realize that they were very real and consistent among those with the disorder. I’ve pasted the significant section below, but here is a link to the article itself if you’d like to read the whole thing.

http://www.toddlertime.com/dx/borderline/bpd-rathbun.htm

To assist the therapist in maintaining appropriate engagement with borderline patients, a psychologist at Columbia named Jeffrey Young has developed an interesting way of categorizing the ego states commonly seen in borderlines. In his experience, the borderline patient will normally present four ego states, which he calls MODES:

1. The patient normally presents for therapy in an ego state which Young calls The Vulnerable Child Mode – in this mode…

View original post 567 more words

Finding the peace of mind, or how to beat depersonalization and anxiety – this is my way of doing it

 

Peace of mind can be found, in the silence of the night, cat purrs in your lap, rubber bands slapping on your wrist, vanilla ice cream eaten with a big spoon, hugging a tree, rolling down the meadow on the fresh green grass.

I have tried all of the above.

But, still, the method that gives me a complete sense of peace and puts me back into relatively normal state of mind, is the car driving.

Loud music, open windows and air freely whooshing through the car.

When I drive, I am me again.

And I drive without the destination. I just drive, into the Unknown. Sometimes I’m on the road for hours, sometimes I do just a quick speed test on the side road without any traffic. Burning tires is my speciality.

Cars, speed, music, open road in the night, they are my healers, my biggest supports.

I do wear a band on my hand sometimes, but no slapping on the wrist can be compared to this kinda feeling.

I do not need to drive today, though.

Vanilla ice and a large spoon. And a movie about impossible love, my favourite in the past few months : “The Code 46”.

My evening is going to be just….perfect.