Dead End- Part Two, Or How To Deal With A BPD Patient

 

panda

Well, I am here.

I went to sleep, around 05:00 A.M. Gratefully and finally.

Woke up at 06:00 A.M. Ungratefully and feeling like a panda. Yeah,a PANDA.

Took a cab, because I was unwilling to drive by myself, ’cause panda’s don’t drive, do they?

Got to my psych, to find the waiting room crowded as it’s a Black Friday sale.

I just stood in the middle of the room, confused, and thinking what to do.

I consider myself as a really, really impatient person, especially when I feel like a panda, and after along night of horror movie with me as a main actress.

So, I just knocked on the door, pretending not to hear the people from the waiting room saying to me…stuff (censored, because I’m a nice and polite person).

I entered without hesitation. My psych was luckily alone, typing on the computer.

She turned around and looked at me with a looked at me as I am batshit crazy.

Well, I am. Batshit crazy. Or a panda. Choose yourself.

“What the hell happened?!”, she asked. I didn’t look in the mirror this morning, just a quick inspection to be sure that I don’t have messy hair.

That’s important, but the panda look is not.  You know, when your mascara is beautifully melted around your eyes giving you that special panda look.

“Well”, I said, “bottom down, didn’t sleep, wanted to kill someone or something, feeling like a crap, and being on the edge”. Telegraphic voice and telegraph speech.

“You sure look like that”.

“I know”. “So, what now?”.

That deep breath she took while nodding her head in disapproval was so comforting.

I was still standing. “Sit down”, she said.

“Don’t want too”.

“As you wish”, she replied annoyed.

“I can only send you right away to the hospital, for an urgency admittance, you know that?”

“Yep”.

“Do you agree?”

“Nope”.

“If you can, please help me without sending me for another three weeks of vacation in the mental ward”,I pledged.

Her smile was so sweet. I wanted to bang her in the head, although knowing she is completely right.

“Ok now…..have you done something to yourself? Planned to?”

“Sure. I was gambling with a couple of options”.

“Oh, Tina”. That deep breath again. “You have to be admitted. You look like hell”.

“A panda”, I replied.

“What? A panda?”, she asked.

“No, I’m not delusional, just sarcastic”, I whispered. “I thought you knew me by now”.

“Can we delay that admittance for a couple of days?I have things to sort out. It’s not that easy, you know?”, I said.

“It’s not easy to let go home someone who admitted self-harm intentions, I cannot do it just like that”.

Now I took a deep breath.

I knew how I looked. I knew what was happening tonight, I knew, but I just didn’t want to go…there, again

“Please”, I said. “I’ll be alright, I promise”.

The eternal silence with her looking at me,and looking, and looking…..

“Ok. Let’s do it this way. You have my number. You should have called me yesterday”.

“At midnight?!”. I was confused.

“Yes, at midnight, 3 A.M., whatever. We are changing the rules, starting now”. Her voice was full of anger. Oh, what a supporting feeling.

“You will get here tomorrow, for a checkup”.

“But…it’s Saturday tomorrow!”

“And so what? I will be here!”, she replied with growing impatience.

“Ok, ok..no problem, just to avoid that place, I’ll do anything”.

“I will prescribe you another med to the ones you already have. You know you are a complete mess, and we have to start antipsychotic again”.

Oh, joy. Again, a trip to the zombie land.

But I nodded with acceptance. I knew she was totally and completely right about it.

“You’ll start immediately. Go home, take off that panda look, and go to bed. Your cell phone will be by your bed. I will call you in the afternoon, and in the evening”.

Even my mother wouldn’t do something like that. She was never so…compassionate?

“You will?”, I asked perplexed.

“Surely and absolutely. Take a week of the work, take a week for yourself. Don’t answer to the calls, of anyone whom you think will disturb you. Just try to focus on yourself. On yourself!”.

I thought that alien replaced my psych.  This wasn’t her. She was usually cold, distant and totally uninterested.

“What happened to you?”, I asked. “You seem like another person, another psych. I have never met you!”.

She laughed.

“Tina, you are coming here so long, and you haven’t noticed anything? I do care. You problem is that you don’t feel it or see it”.

Yeah right, I thought, but in the same time I asked myself if she was in fact right.

BPD patients are hard to correlate with their doctors, often build a wall around them….I know all of that.

And I started to cry. That was an accomplishment for me. And a relief. I felt that somebody is supporting me. Really supporting me.

“Oh, come on now, it will be alright. The fact you have made it to fight yourself and come here in the morning, that’s a sign of a strength and will. You are strong. You can manage it. I am here. We will get you out of this episode, together. All right?”.

I wanted to hug her, so I did. I never ever did that to any other psych before. I felt like someone took a heavy load of me.

She accepted the hug, I felt it.

Suddenly, the peace and the feeling of hope emerged.

It takes so little to make your patient trust you and cooperate.

It takes so little, my  dear psych docs, for the BPD patient to accept you. It takes just a little of a support and understanding. So little, but so much at the same time.

I felt like floating while exiting her office. I knew someone is watching over me, and will be there. That was a tremendous step forward for me.

So, now I’m peacefull like a baby.

And I didn’t even took my meds yet. I will.

I will follow the rules this time. No rebellion like before, because she gave me what I needed.

This time, she gave me what I needed. Not the meds, but the understanding.

Thank you, my dear doc A.

You saved me from myself, and saved me from the vacation in the happy place of the mental hospital.

So guys, it seems I’ll stick around. Not going on a vacation or a longer trip to the Unknown.

I did it. I managed it, and overcome myself.

I am a strong woman, indeed.

Go to hell, you BPD. I will beat you, I know I will!

Yours truly, Tina.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Dead End

 

end

Triggered and thrown into the abyss.

With stupid words. With stupid acts. With stupid people that surround me.

 

I should have left my cell phone in the sink and pour the water in. To drown it.

 

I lit up a cigarette.

 

Smoke vanishes in the air. Just like me. Vanishing.

 

What do I feel?

 

Common question. Without an exact answer. All of it. Everything. Oh my, you stupid BPD.

Anger, grief, sorrow. If I could cry (which I just cannot for a long time now), I think I would flood the city.

 

 

Instead, I’m sitting empty, alone, looking at the wall.

Smoke in the air.

Coffee.

Me. Wanting only one thing.

 

 

This story should finally reach the end.

 

Perplexed plot, insane characters, twisted turns, unbelievable chapters full of despair.

 

Smoke in the air.

I took all of my meds, as prescribed. With a touch of more Klonopin to numb me even more. It’s not working, as usual.

 

If I make it through the night, if I finally get asleep (which I also cannot), I promise myself to see my psych tomorrow.

 

I feel another couple of days or weeks coming, in the, oh so well-known,  surrounding with white walls and full-time insanity.

 

If I make it.

Smoke. Vanishing.

 

 

“..Laecheln…… sanfte Rueckkehr….
….Traenenlos versinkend……
…..Schau zurueck friedvoll…
….Wenn die Daemmerung erwacht…

……Vieles bleibt vergessen…..
……Verschwommen und zerschellt…..
……An den leichten Momenten…….
……Dem Wellenschlage gleich…….ueberm Meer…”

 

 

The Serenity Of Remorse

girl

I will set free two, maybe three words,

To slide down my cheeks.

 

I do not want to steal the future time anymore,

I will rather leave,

And keep the honor guard

For the dead thoughts.

 

One day I will escape utterly,

And leave an empty void for the last wish.

The autumn sky will be hidden by the gap of emptiness,

And death.

 

Then, with the move of an experienced gambler,

I will pull the rope around the neck,

Of nonexistent, faint body.

 

I will let two or three words,

To flow with the content down my cheeks.

 

Thus, comforted, I will go to meet Him,

To appraise the remorse of the revealed pledge,

Sliding slowly down my face.

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.

 

An open letter from a BPD to a non-BPD

In this video, originated from an open letter of a BPD sufferer who healed through DBT, the BPD is presented in a way that everyone could understand what is BPD really like.

Also, this is a great contribution to take away a BPD stigma from the society.

Please, watch it.

🙂

 

 

 

The Coffee, The Pen And The Gun

#TRIGGER WARNING!#

 

coffee and a gun

 

I had a cup of coffee, then two

I took a pen and wrote some notes on the paper

About the future, about the past

I wrote a letter to someone who will care enough to read it

I even draw a picture of the world as I see it

Just a black sheet of emptiness.

 

I don’t like guns

But I feel safe when I have one around

As being attacked too many times in my life

I always bear that feeling of threat incoming towards me.

 

The coffee, the pen and the gun.

I used only two of them.

The third stayed untouched.

 

For how long?

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?

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.