Looking for a hand up..not a hand out.

As you know, I lost my job recently. While this is a good thing in most ways, financially isn’t one of those ways. I didn’t make much at this job to begin with….it paid my bills and that’s about it. I thought with what I had worked, plus my pto hours, I’d at least have another full paycheck. I was wrong.

I have filed for unemployment, and diligently looking for another job: I put in 53 resumes/applications yesterday alone. I’ve also been putting feelers out since the beginning of the month. There problem is that people hiring have so many applicants to wade through, it could be weeks before I get an interview, much less an actual offer.

My bills won’t wait for that. They want to be paid now. Especially my rent. Which is the one I’m most concerned about. The others can be put off for a bit.

Pride is a hard pill for me to swallow. It always has been. And asking for help kills me in ways I can’t describe. But I don’t just have myself to look after. I have two teenaged kids and four animals that rely on me too keep a roof over their heads.

It is because of them I do this….

I’ve set up a donation site for us so I can hopefully pay my rent and utilities until I can get some income coming in.

I know times are tough for everyone, and any support is appreciated. Even a little can go a long way.

Thanks in advance. And please share on your pages if you would.


Thanks again.



Of course they lied….Asshats.

So update on the job sitch. I was terminated today. They decided I was lying about pushing the big red button. Fucktards.

Sucks to be them.

On to bigger and better!!!!!

And no more nights!  WOOT!


Yes, I have decided this is a good thing. And also, for some reason, I have always handled the big shit well. It’s the little shit that kicks my ass…lol.

So getting fired (for the first time in my life by the way) has done a few things for me just in a day. Mostly kicked my ass to stop being so damn complacent and get a job that stimulates my brain. As much as I love being lazy—and I do love it—its not something I enjoy in a work environment. I need stimulation of some sort, some where. (Do not take that to the gutter. Crap. We are already there, aren’t we?)

Part of my problem with my disorder is too much fucking time on my hands–which makes me delve into the deep recesses of my brain. This is never a good thing. Not for anyone–especially those of us with mental issues. Keeping productive is part of keeping the disorder in line. So this termination was good for me.

Don’t get me wrong. As you can see from the letter, they basically accused me of lying. And that just pisses me off.  But whatever. I KNOW what I did and did not do. And I stopped trying to convince them a week ago. Fuck them for thinking otherwise. They lost a really good employee–one with really good work ethic as well. And we know that is hard to find anymore. So yeah…… Sorry bout their luck!  Someone else now gets to benefit from my skills and wit and charm.


Regardless–there is good in this. More good than I know. I will keep  you posted of that!  If you want to read the letter–it’s below.


Here is the decision letter they gave me:


Final Written Warning from RAA



Sometimes…all you can do is laugh.



When I am at work, one of the things I do is prep upcoming appointments. For the most part, this is tedious. However, some days it makes me laugh. One of the things I have learned is how freakin’ crazy some peoples’ names are. Sometimes I really wonder what the fuck were their parents thinking???!!!!!

Today, as I was prepping appointments, I came across a note in one of them. It is required by the schedulers to make notes as to the reasons for the appointment, previous radiology, prior authorization numbers, etc.

I don’t usually pay attention to this, unless I am looking for a specific thing. Today this just jumped out at me. I literally stopped what I was doing, stared, then burst into spontaneous laughter. I don’t know why this struck me as the funniest thing, but it did. So much that I had to share it with my radiologists….and you guys!

The appointment was for a CT abdomen and pelvis with and without contrast. The reason was that the patient was having issues with their liver. Their bilirubin was a bit out of wack, so the doc ordered a CT scan.  This is what the appointment reason read:


Billy reuben. Why does this make me want a sandwich?  Regardless, it made me laugh pretty damn hard. You always know when someone has not been in healthcare for long when they spell stuff this way. I LOVE this.

When I told my radiologists, one of them remarked, “is that short for William? William Reuben?”  William Rueben. Now that is just funny shit right there.

Needless to say, you probably had to be here for it to be as funny as it was……but I still thought I would share. All you peeps out there in healthcare should really appreciate this!  I know I do!

Thank you for listening!

As you were.

Oh, and happy friday!  Enjoy your weekend!

Thinking–never a good idea for me

Today I was thinking.  A lot. And it didn’t even hurt!!!  I was thinking about why, on my 43rd birthday did this stupid illness come to a head and kind of take over my life. I have actually been thinking about this for a few weeks now….but lately more so than normal. Here is what I have concluded….

I believe that I have had this disorder my entire life. My mom and grandma have both told me that I was a very hard baby. I cried all the time and nothing ever really made me happy for long. I also remember a story my mom told me about something I did when I was young which also makes me think this disorder manifested way back when.

I guess I was about 6 or so. We lived down the way from this grocery store that my mom shopped at. This is when Brach’s candy first started showing up in stores in bulk. Some of you may recall the Brachs Pick a Mix bins. You could buy the candy by the pound and mix and match all the goodness. Well, in that particular store, the Brach’s display also had a small metal box with a slot in the top where you could put in a nickel and get one piece of candy to sample. This system was based on trust–I never actually saw this in any other store but the one we lived by.  Well I loved the red and white mints (I still do actually) and so when we would go my mom would always give us a couple nickels so we could get some candy. At some point, I had the brilliant idea that using a penny would work just the same, because all they had to do was hear the coin hit, right?  I was devious even then…ugh.  So I collected a bunch of pennies before we went each time and I would put in pennies and fill up whatever bag I was carrying. It took a couple times, but my mom finally caught on–she kept finding candy wrappers all over the house and in the trash and didn’t know where they were coming from. She searched my room and found purses full of candy that I had stashed. She finally got me to confess—or maybe my sister told on me, since I was using her purses and making her be part of my evil scheme—and made me go back to the store to tell the manager what I had been doing and return all the candy I still had left over. Well, I was not okay with this I guess. By the time we got to the manager, I was in a full blown teary sob fest. I guess I never was able to apologize because I couldn’t or wouldn’t stop crying. The manager felt bad for me with all my sobbing and dry heaving, and told my mom to just take me home, that he could tell I was sorry.  I doubt I was ever allowed to go grocery shopping with my mom at that store again….

The point to this story is that even so young, I was not able to admit my wrongdoings without having a full blown emotional breakdown. I still have this problem to this day when it is something I feel truly horrible about. I have learned, as the manipulative borderline I am, that instead of having to apologize, I will just try to not do things that require apologizing. Pretty brilliant, yes? Yeah, whatever. Too bad that doesn’t always work out for me……

Anyhow, back to my original point. Why I believe this disorder has taken control of my life recently.

From the moment I escaped the hell that was my childhood with my mother, I have distracted myself. Distracted myself both on purpose and on accident. I got freedom, so I went buck wild. While I was drinking or smoking weed or taking acid or snorting meth, I didn’t have to deal with my turbulent past or my insane mood swings or the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me at any given moment. Drugs kept me focused on fun and partying and hanging with people who liked me for who I was at that moment. They gave me a purpose. They made me brave (or stupid). I was fun, and funny and cool and liked. I liked who I was when I was high on any given thing. I felt strong and powerful and in control of myself and my surroundings.  I was focused. Nobody mattered but me and whomever I chose to share my life or myself with during that time. I became sexually promiscuous. I was attention-seeking and getting instantly gratified. What a life I thought that was……so much so that I did it for almost 10 years straight.  I was lucky though…in the fact that I never got any permanent sexually transmitted diseases.

I did, however, end up pregnant a few times. Which was just another distraction for me so I didn’t have to focus on my real issues. This worked out well for me also. I did have moments however that would throw me into an emotional hole so deep I never thought I would get out… My kids were my miracles. They still are in that regard. They saved me from the life of a junkie. Because of them, I became a “responsible” drug user. A “responsible” addict. (this just makes me shake my head and roll my eyes now)  I was so focused on giving my kids a better life than I had—- nobody was going to tell me how to raise them, I was not going to let anyone hurt them, I was going to make sure they knew their mom loved them all the time.  Yes, I was still doing drugs, because I felt in control when I was high (irony alert). I made sure my kids were always clean, fed, housed, schooled, etc. From the outside, I was the perfect mother. This way nobody would think I was a user and try to take them away. It worked. Some people still don’t or refuse to believe I was high for most of my 20’s. On methamphetamine. Daily. There were some times I wouldn’t sleep for a week. Other times I would use weed to get me down enough to sleep normally.  Or as normal as you could get using dope to regulate a sleep cycle…. D’oh.  I always  made sure my kids were on a schedule, though. They had regular meals, naps, bedtimes, etc. For all accounts and purposes, I did what I was supposed to do. Nobody knew what was happening in the background. Which was just how I planned it.

Of course–even the best laid plans backfire sometimes. Mine didn’t. I never had my kids taken from me because of dope. I never had anyone question my parenting. Except my sister—who was terrified for most of their childhood that I would abuse them like I abused her. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. That would break down the system I had going on. Plus, it seriously gets expensive when you have to replace your own shit you broke from having a temper tantrum and throwing things through walls and doors and windows. I stopped that when I realized I couldn’t really afford to replace all that I had damaged.  And there was no replacing my kids. Don’t get me wrong–there were times, as there are in every parent’s life, that I wanted to beat the holy fuck out of my children. But I never allowed my violence to be taken out on them physically. I was as screamer.  Ha. I say that like it is better. It wasn’t. It isn’t. But in my mind, yelling at them was much better than getting physical with them. Don’t get me wrong here, I disciplined them. They got spanked, and smacked in the mouth here and there….because I am a firm believer in capital punishment…but I never went overboard and broke their skin or left bruises on them. Not on purpose. And never in anger.

When I decided to get off drugs—I did it of my own free will. Not because I was forced by a person or a court system or whatever. I chose it. I did it. And I succeeded. One day I took my kids to a friend, told them what I was doing, went home and detoxed for a week from hell. Then I went back, picked up my kids and we went on with our lives. It was easy as that. And yes, I mean it was easy. Once I make up my mind, that’s the end of that–whatever that may be. I am extremely strong-minded that way. Unless my emotions are involved. Then I am just useless.   Anyway–I stopped using and never used again. It’s been 14 years since I last used any type of drug aside from an occasional drink now and then.  I stopped smoking the same way.  Yes, I still get cravings once in a while for all my old vices, but not enough to worry me or stress me out.

So even when the distraction of drugs and partying was gone, I still had my kids to focus on. So I did. I made them my life. I struggled every day with my emotions and my mood swings, but I still managed to ignore it for the most part and fake my happiness. Of course when I would get stressed, it would be a bit extreme, but it was never like it used to be, so I figured I was still hiding it well.

And as my kids got older and more independent of me, I filled in the gaps with boyfriends. Boyfriends full of drama so I could have that to complain and bitch about–without the drama, I went to dark places with my emotions. I needed the drama to distract me. I never picked healthy relationships. I always picked guys who needed to be “fixed”. Looking back now, that makes me vomit in my mouth a bit—because for the first time in my life, I don’t want to fix anyone. I want them to already be whole…so they can help me be whole. Weird. Still getting used to thinking and feeling like that.

Anyway, I picked drama. And if you didn’t have drama, and I couldn’t make it up, I would have to go.  Which didn’t happen often. My emotions were so whacked out, I could talk myself into any sort of drama you could ever think of.  And convince you it was real too. I picked my friends that way. I picked boyfriends that way. The last boyfriend I picked lasted almost 9 years of drama. And it was more him than me….haha. So he fulfilled my need to distract myself from my own issues and focus on his crap. And there was so much. It made my life so miserable—and I thrived.  (yup, still vomiting in my mouth here)

Then all of a sudden this was all gone.

I finally said goodbye the drama that was my ex…….though mostly because he finally grew up and stopped the drama and I could no longer summon the energy to make it up anymore.  And now my kids are almost all grown up. They don’t need me anymore like they used to. My daughter is 19, and being all independent and junk. My youngest son is about to be 18 here in three months and then what? I no longer have kids to focus on. I have no boyfriend to focus on. And no drama to speak of. And the fact that I don’t even want to find or make up new drama is a new one for me. I have finally exhausted myself to the point that there is nothing left but to heal……..and take back actual control of my life, myself and my emotions.

And I don’t hate it. Mind you, it does mean I finally have to face my own issues and really actually deal with them, but I don’t miss the chaos or distraction anymore.  And I think that is good.  I also think that is why my disorder has reared its head and took me over.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I am able to focus on just me and nobody else. I am able to focus on the needs of my inner child and the grown up I want to heal. I am finally able to really take the time that I have always needed to take and denied myself to be here for myself and put my own needs first.   And while this is all really good, it damn well scares the living fuck out of me.

I’ve never been alone. Ever. I have always had someone there in my life–living in my space, being my distraction–family, friends, boyfriends, kids,  etc.

Now it’s just me. Just me, myself and I.

And I can do this. I know I can do this. I have overcome  everything I have ever set out to overcome. I am strong-minded. It is time I remember that and start using that strength to my advantage.  I know I will have setbacks. I know I may have them daily. I know my emotions will cycle so fast I won’t be able to keep up. But I also know it will pass………and it is in those times of silence when I am able to regroup, rethink, and remember that this is going to be my biggest obstacle yet…..and I will overcome it. Slowly but surely. Alone or not.


Blogging for Mental Health Pledge-2014

badge by Piper Macenzie


“I pledge my commitment to the Blog for Mental Health 2014 Project. I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others. By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health. I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.”  

There is a great blogging site about all types of mental illness issues here called The Canvas of the Minds. It has many bloggers who deal with mental health issues daily–either because they are going through it, have gone through it, or know someone who is dealing with it. Regardless of the reasons they are there, they are inspiring and amazing and make those of us with mental health issues not feel so alone.

I have personally found some amazing people on there who are also dealing with Borderline Personality Disorder, and just knowing what they have achieved with their own illness really makes me feel like mine can be managed someday…even if today is not that day. While I wouldn’t wish this illness on anyone, I do like knowing that other people have dealt with the anger, frustration, helplessness, hopelessness and emotional cycles that I go through. I like knowing that there are people out there that I can look up to and be inspired by their struggles and stories and successes.

Mental health is an issue that needs to be taken seriously…whether you have your own issues or not. I know this has never really hit home as much as it has this year. When my BPD reared its ugly head and decided to take over my life four months ago in a very serious and detrimental way with the breakdown to end the farce that was my life up to that point, it really hit me hard that my parents shut me out when I needed them the most. I know they do not understand what is going on, and I know that they don’t really believe that mental disorders are a real, painful, harmful, and intense entity, but it still hurts nonetheless. Being told that I needed to get over it, suck it up, grow up, etc is/was not a pleasant experience for me…and sadly just inflated my abandonment issues to epic proportions. But as much as it hurts for them to leave me to deal with this alone—by not “coddling or encouraging me” as it was so eloquently put—I know I have to put that pain aside to deal with the very real issues that are sitting on my chest just waiting to crush me.

Honestly, allowing strangers to read and hear and see my pain has been much easier than I ever thought it would be. And for that, I thank you all.

Blogging for mental health means a lot to me in a lot of ways these days, and I hope that while being inspired now, I can eventually inspire others down the road. This journey I take is my own, I know this…..but it sure helps to know there are people out there who have my back–even if just in spirit!

A Letter to my People

Today I found a post on another blog that led me to a you tube video about BPD and it prompted me to write a letter to everyone in my life–both the ones currently in it and those who have passed through…

Dear friends and family,

Since being diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), I  have withdrawn into my own little world. There are things that are happening in my life and my head that are harder than even I have the words to explain. The thing that I am learning and struggling with the most is that this effects every single person I know and every single person I ever come into contact with. Depending on what my brain is doing at any given minute effects how I act or react to everyone and anyone. This is very hard for me. I have always been the strong one. The one that can “handle” things. The one that everyone comes to for strength and advice and release. The fact that I am no longer capable of being this for anyone, not even myself, kills me on the inside. I have faked it for so long, pretending everything is fine and dandy all the while dying on the inside—breaking down when I was alone, crying myself to sleep more nights than I can count, not knowing what or why this was happening to me.

For my whole life I have struggled with certain things; anger, inability to express why I was angry, violent thoughts and reactions, inability to admit wrongdoing, problems controlling my emotions, addictions, self-loathing, self-harming, shame, fear, rejection, being alone, codependency,etc.

I have always chalked it up to a shitty childhood and repressed emotions regarding my mother and my step-fathers. I always assumed that I wasn’t worthy of love from anyone because everyone always left…and not just physically. My mom left me over and over–both physically and emotionally. She had her own issues–which I never realized at the time–when I was a kid and because she did not know how to cope with her issues, she took them out on others, the same way I have always done. It’s always been someone else’s fault. Everything I ever did in my life was blamed on something else—myself not being good enough, my mom hating me, my dad not loving me enough to fight for me, my sister being the favorite, my step-dads beating the shit out of us, not being good enough, nobody stepping in when we needed help, and on and on. It was always one excuse after another for me. I never owned up to my own part in my life. I still struggle with that.

There are many things about me and my life that most of you don’t know……….things I have been too ashamed or embarrassed or whatever to admit to until my recent illness was diagnosed and opened some doors that I never expected them to open. One of them being my willingness to share it with others——which is what I am going to do here. I am going to give you a glimpse into my life that not many know about so you can understand where I came from and why I am so intent on getting this under control so I don’t have to be ashamed of my past, present or future ever again… Please know this will be really hard to read for some of you. I am sorry for that.

I have my reasons for not sharing with those closest to me. The main reason being is that I have hurt everyone I know, inadvertently, one way or another in my life and to have to admit to you, a person I love, feels like knives in my heart. I run on emotion. I always have, so things affect me very deeply. This is why when I love someone, I love them with my whole self–which is also why when I get hurt by those I love, it destroys me in ways I cannot cope with. This is also why I have stayed in unhealthy relationships for longer than I should have because somewhere inside me, I figured it was me, not them. Since learning about my disorder, I have also learned that its not always me…..it is sometimes them. This has allowed me some freedoms I have never experienced before. Strengths to overcome some past hurts that I have been hoarding.

For me, this is a huge step. I’ve always prided myself on knowing when to walk away and when to fight for something. Somewhere along the way, those lines blurred and kept me stuck in unhealthy relationships with both friends and boyfriends. It wasn’t until I was left by someone I thought was my best friend that those illusions were shattered and those lines became clear again. And even though losing this person was the best thing that could have happened, it hurt like hell when it did happen. I didn’t understand it for the longest time. I blamed her. I was furious and sad and confused and lost.  However, as time went on, as it always does, it got easier. But I still never understood it. I still don’t and probably won’t ever know the true reasons behind it, but as I have learned about my illness and in turn, learned about myself, I don’t blame her one bit for walking away from the mess that I was and still am and will be for a while. In fact, I thank her for being smart enough to get out while the getting was good.

I have always been the one who has to learn things the hard way. You can tell me shit til you are blue in the face but I will not really hear you or believe you until I experience it for myself in some life-changing way. I know this is stupid. Trust me, I really, really know this. I could save myself a lot of heartache if I would just listen to those who care about me…. BUT, I am stubborn. And I don’t listen. It is what it is. However, I do eventually learn for myself, and I do eventually take the advice that was given me in the first place.

I have always believed in actions over words. Words hurt, yes…but actions can kill. By this I mean, when I was young, my mom married and divorced a bit. The two step-dads that stand out in my mind that very much affected the way I was, and am, are B and S.  BS. Go figure.  Anyway, S was the first. He started out as a really nice guy. And I thought he really liked us (me and my sis)…..however, he was abusive. Not as abusive as B, but abusive just the same. His belt was never too far away to punish us. (Just an FYI–we were never sexually abused. Just physically and mentally. Which isn’t better, but just wanted to clarify)  The weird thing about S is that I have some good memories from those times…….more so than bad actually. I think my sister has worse memories of him than I do honestly.  What I do remember is him leaving. My mom actually married and divorced him twice. The first time she left him when we lived in Florida because he drank a lot I guess–though I don’t remember the drinking or that leaving honestly. I just remember being in Florida one day and then back in Utah the next. While we were back in Utah, she got back with him again. This time, the only thing I remember about that is that he tried to kill her one night……

We were all sleeping and all of a sudden I was woken up. I went into my moms room and saw him choking her. He turned and she started screaming at me to get my sister and call 911. I remember screaming at him, I think. Or maybe it was her screaming.Then he called my name. I am not really clear on that. I do know I grabbed my sister out of her bed, out of a dead sleep, dragged her down the stairs and we sat on the counter. I honestly do not remember if I even called 911 or not. I know they came and took him, because he was not there in the morning. The next memory I have of this situation is sitting in the living room window, watching the police take his stuff out to him. They wouldn’t let him come in. I remember him saying my name over and over and telling me how sorry he was and how much he loved me and he was so sorry for what he did and please forgive him. I just remember staring at him through the window. I don’t remember if I had emotions happening or not. I just remember staring. I also have no idea where my mom or sister was at that time. The whole memory is of me at the window and him begging for my forgiveness. And I never saw him again. Oddly enough, he contacted me about 20 years later–and it freaked me out completely. I never did respond to that contact.

There is a point to all my rambling, I promise.

Words hurt–actions kill. Him leaving killed something in me. Even though I know WHY he left, and that his leaving was beneficial. It still killed me. I never trusted any of my moms boyfriends/husbands again after that. Which is still hard to make sense of.

The next husband was just a psycho fuck. He was one thing in public and another in private. Sadly, as much as he physically wrecked my sister and I, I never hated him as much as I hated my mother. Somewhere inside me still hates my mother. Yes, I have grown up and realized that she had her own issues—logically. But the little girl in me hates her for not protecting us. It was her fucking job to protect her children. If she couldn’t handle it, then she should have given us to our dad like he offered over and over and over and over. But she didn’t. Every time I left that house, she lured me back……back into the cycle of abuse that never ended. For anyone. Not even her. I say lured because I was a teenager. She was my mother. She would beg me to come home, promise me things my dad wouldn’t give me….and I would give in. Because part of me needed my mom. And every time I went back, the abuse was worse. And I hated her more. And I never stopped hating her for abandoning us. Because in my mind, that is what it was. Abandonment. She mentally checked out of that life and let him beat us to his hearts content. And she knew. And she did nothing. And I am still angry. Can you tell? I hated her for that. I have never been able to get past that abandonment. I don’t know if I ever will. Yes, yes, yes, I am working on getting counseling for that.

In some sense, it helped-I used it to be a better mother to my own kids. Though it did take me a few years to get to this point. There was not a chance in hell, nor a person on earth that was going to put there hands on my children unless it was over my dead body. I was NEVER going to allow someone to hurt my kids. Ironically enough, the only person that ever hurt my kids ended up being me………But that is another issue for another day. And don’t panic–I never physically abused my children–even though quite a few people were very terrified that I would–that’s how violent my temper was. I was and still am verbally abusive–especially when I get hurt or angry……….but we will get to that later.

Because of that abuse and abandonment, I became abusive. I used razor blades on my skin to ease my pain (irony there)….so I could feel something other than rage and frustration. I berated myself daily; told myself how useless and unlovable I was. Made sure I knew that nobody could or would ever love me—– because if my mom couldn’t love me enough to protect me, how could anyone else? Sadly, I did a really good job of convincing myself—because I am still working to overcome that to this day. I still have to consciously make myself remember that I am worth something…..sometimes on an hourly basis.

I also took that rage out on my sister…..I hurt her. I took after her with knives and bats and whatever I could find, because I honestly wanted her dead. She was my mom’s favorite…which now, was fine…because I was pretty fucking evil then. But, because I had nowhere to release my inner pain and fury that wouldn’t get my ass kicked by my stepdad…..my sister became my target. There were times that I know, then and now, that I would have hurt her or killed her. I know she had someone looking out for her, thank GOD, because I would not have been able to live with myself had I harmed my sister enough to put her in the hospital or in her grave.  I know that sounds horrible, but pain and fury ruled my world. I was so trapped in my own head, that no logic ever got through. I was horrible and mean and defiant. I was evil. And it took me many, many, many years to realize that was not the real me.

What is weird is that I never once stopped to realize that it wasn’t just me that was dealing with that abuse. I was so wrapped up in my own shit, I couldn’t see past my own pain to see that my sister was just as hurt and angry and abused as I was. I know this. I knew it then. I witnessed it. I tried to stop it. But I couldn’t get out of my head to see that I was hurting her too. All I saw was that my mom loved her and not me. And she was an easy target.  I know, this is absolutely illogical and insane. I GET THIS. Now. And the guilt and shame and regret I have lived with since the day I left that hell will never go away. As long as I live, I will be sorry  for taking all that out on my sister when it was in no way her fault……..or fight.

Ironically, when I finally left that house of horrors, my sister had to deal with it all alone……and not once, NOT ONE FUCKING TIME did I ever stop and wonder if she was okay. I was free. I was finally free from all that crap…..and I did not realize until years and years later that I did the same thing to my sister that my mom did to me. I abandoned her. I left her there all alone, without protection, to deal with the monsters in that house. I did exactly what was done to me to the one person that ever had my back in those days. Even through all the abuse I heaped on her, she still had my back. She still fought for me. She still loved me. AND I LEFT HER THERE. I LEFT HER THERE.  If that didn’t remind me what a piece of shit I was daily, nothing did.  Denial is afuckingmazing. So are the drugs and alcohol I proceeded to add to that guilt and denial for the next 15 years….

Anyway, I could go on for days, but I won’t. So there is a small glimpse into the guilt and anger and pain and betrayal I deal with every day of my life. This is why emotional anything triggers me to a cycle of negative self-talk, hating the world, being anti-social and thinking the sky is falling. It is part of the disorder. Unfortunately, one of my biggest triggers are loving people. Which sounds stupid. It really does, even to me. But me loving you, in my mind, gives you the power to hurt me. And being hurt terrifies me like nothing you can even imagine–because I equate hurt with fear and  abandonment. (I learned this recently) So I push people away and love them from afar. It’s easier that way. That way, when the hurt happens–real or imagined–I can deal with it from afar. I don’t have to feel it completely. I can justify it, make it less than it really is.

This doesn’t mean it doesn’t effect me. Because it does. It really, really does. I just hide it well. I’ve learned to hide a lot of things well. Mostly myself. Though as I get older, this is getting harder to do. My friends probably know me best of all, because they don’t seem to judge me as much as my family…but they still only know what I choose to show them. I am sorry for that. In fact, most of the people I know wouldn’t recognize who I am with other people. My friends see a different side of me than my family does–some of my family see a different side of me than other parts of my family do, and on and on. Honestly, my kids see probably the realest me I know how to be. And surprisingly, they still love me. Which baffles me every day….

What I choose to show people of myself is what I can handle. If it is something I cannot handle–whether it makes me feel bad, sad, hurt, guilty, angry, whatever–you will not see it completely. Because so much of me is tied to my emotions, I know there are things I cannot control when it comes to them……so being a big baby is how I cope. You all know I cry over every fucking little thing ever………..which goes so much deeper than you ever realized. Til now.  Ugh. It’s like laying my soul bare. I am not so good at this. Unfortunately, i think it’s necessary and time.

This disorder makes me irrational and fatalistic and irritable and frustrated and every little molehill becomes a mountain in my brain. I am not capable of making decisions anymore–especially ones that are tied to my emotions. My getting rid of my pup for example. Could I possible waffle any harder?! Sheesh. But my perspective changes from moment to moment and when things are bad–in my mind–they are extremely bad. On the flip side–when things are good, they are really good. It’s almost bipolar in the extremes. I definitely go through ups and downs, depression and mania, impulsivity and irrationality, logical and illogical–all the sides of the coin.  I am a black and white thinker. I am all or nothing. I don’t know how to see the gray areas. They make no sense to me like they do other people. It is either this way or that way. No in between.  I don’t know how to find middle ground.  Even when my moods are stabilized with medication—which they will always have to be— I still don’t know how to function in the gray area. I can go from joy to fury back to joy in three seconds flat.  I will piss you off, then feel bad, then expect you to get over it as fast as I do. I will snap at you and not understand why you are leaving. I will push you away and then get hurt because you left.  There is no rationality to my thought processes anymore. I wish I could make you understand…..

I am sick of living like this. I don’t want my whole life to become my illness to the point that I eradicate my entire support systems-my friends and my family. Because I cannot do this alone anymore. I need your help. I need your understanding and your patience. I need you to know that I don’t mean to hurt you–any of you, and that when I do, I feel horrible about it. I know this affects you and I am more sorry than you can ever even begin to imagine. It is not something I have under control right now, It is not something I asked for, and it is definitely not something I do on purpose nor with malicious intent. If you have read or know anything about BPD, you know that isolating is one of the things we do well. And sadly, one of the things that is sometimes very necessary to regain some control. I know that is hard for my close friends and family to really understand. I do not mean to hurt you. I really, really don’t. I love you all. I always have and always will.

Someday I hope to understand why this illness chose this time in my life to take over, especially since I am quite sure I have had it since I was very small. Nobody really knew what it was then–it was just labeled as my shitty behavior, my rebellion, my attitude problems, etc. I always thought it was just a form of anxiety disorder or PTSD in response to my abusive childhood…but now I know that was only a part of it. Possibly even a trigger.

But finally I can put a name to my demons……which is good. Because knowing what is wrong means now I can fight back…..and as all of you know, fighting is what I do best!

So to all of you whom this has hurt—both people still in my life and those who are no longer in my life—I am truly sorry.

This is, unfortunately, a very real, and very damaging disorder–for everyone.

Here is a great video to watch—it helps explain it way better than I can……

Counting my Blessings

Lately, my moods have been pretty regulated. I am just on Prozac right now, as I am still waiting on someone, anyone, to get the Zyprexa prior authorized.  However, just the Prozac seems to be working okay by itself. For which I am more than grateful…as I am sure all those around me are too.

All that quiet in my brain reminds me how much I love the silence and also gives me a moment to remember my worth–something I never do when my brain is having a breakdown.  I forget, in the throes of the chaos, what a good person I really am. I forget that I am caring and funny and generous and loyal and forgiving and fun and loving and just plain cool as fuck.  I forget that I am so much better than I give myself credit for.

I also forget to count my blessings…….and I have a lot of them to count. So essentially that is what this post is going to be about… And for once I am not going to do the double edged thing I do and downplay them after I have stated them. I am just going to state them and enjoy that and move on to the next one.

  • I have raised three amazing kids. Alone.
  • I have prevailed over every obstacle in my life thus far.
  • I am healthy.
  • I am strong.
  • I am loyal.
  • I always bounce back.
  • I have survived addiction(s)….and beat them.
  • I am very good at forgiveness.
  • I have people who love me.
  • I have very good friends.
  • I have skills–lots of them.
  • I have morals, and values and standards.
  • I have learned not to settle.
  • I am worth the effort–in all aspects of my life.
  • I have a roof over my head, food in my belly, and a bed to sleep in.
  • Even though I learn the hard way–I always learn my lesson.
  • I am creative.
  • I am funny.
  • I am  a good person, friend and mother.
  • I am stronger than my past.
  • I am also stronger than my illness.
  • I am smart.
  • I love with all my heart and soul.

I am blessed.  And that makes me very happy.