Stop it Already

I am not a morning person. I have never been a morning person. I will never be a morning person. 

Stop fucking talking to me. 

Please and thank you.


My Stockings are missing…..

My stockings are missing. There are bottles of drops and vitamins on the table. Two beanies. A coffee cup of water. Dirty socks. A container full of wood. Where in the fuck is my train set? Why is there a fucking log next to my couch? Seriously? You don’t know where the games go?  Why are you wearing school clothes to sleep in? Why do the cats not have food or water? The dog’s water has funky shit in it. There are non-rinsed dishes in the sink. Are you fucking serious right now??? I just fucking got up!!  FUCK MY LIFE. And seriously, where the mother fuck are my fucking Christmas stockings???????

This is my life. I fucking hate it right now. I hate every single little part of it. I have never in my life hated my life like I do right this second. I cannot even explain how much those random little things make my fucking brain explode with frustration and fury.

That is my brain. Helpless to the infuriating emotional, psychotic cycle of fury of BPD. Unmedicated. Uncounseled. Unleashed.

I. Cannot. Cope.

I was literally gone for one evening by my fucking self. And chaos happens. Why can’t you step up and take care of things. Why does it always, always, always fall on me to make sure every god damn thing is in order every god damn day????  I am sick to fuck of being the responsible one in this household of five. FOUR adults live here. FOUR. And yet, everything still feels like it falls to me to make sure shit runs right.  You cannot make an 8 year old change into pajamas? She’s FUCKING EIGHT!!!!  Oh, you told her to change? Well my bad. I forgot 8 year olds are super fucking responsible and just jump on everything you tell them to do. My fucking bad.  Oh wait……..

Follow the fuck through. Do you even know how often I say this in my daily life to my SO? I have lost count.

I. Cannot. Cope. Anymore.

Why? Why am I the only one? You are here every day, all day. And you cannot even manage to make a fucking 8 year old wear pajamas to bed. I just do not understand anymore. Am I stupid? Are you?  Please help me here. Make me understand why these simple little tasks are so fucking overwhelming for you.

I KNOW why they overwhelm me. I know with all my little borderline personality disorder heart. I KNOW.  But do you? Have you not lived with me long enough to know that its the GODDAMN little things that make my fucking head explode? The little, simple things that do not get done that make my whole fucking brain implode upon itself? Do you not even have an inkling of a clue? After a fucking year? Seriously.

I. Cannot. Cope.

I know I am crazy. I do. I promise. And I try. I really, really try to let shit go. But when it piles up and I can no longer see the light at the end of the bullshit, I lose it. I lose it in a gloriously huge, emotionally destructive way. Its what I do. Its part of who I am. Its the part that will never leave me. The part that will not or cannot be contained or controlled with medication. It overwhelms my coping skills. It encompasses every emotion at one time. It is like a giant Tsunami of bullshit that I cannot escape from.

And unfortunately, neither can you. If you choose to stay in my life.

I know you love me. I also know I love you with all that am and every fiber of my being. The thought of you being gone makes me physically hurt. But there are limits.  Limits to what I can deal with and limits to what you should put up with. Love is not enough. It never will be. It never can be. You cannot love me through my disorder and hope things will turn out great. You cannot love me through my fury and hope I will calm down. You cannot love me through my emotional rollercoaster and hope there is a end in site. Because there isn’t. There never has been. There is no end to what I have going on in my brain. It cannot end—-because it is part of me. A part I loathe, but still a part.

It will never leave. Believe me. I’ve tried everything.

BPD is as much a part of me as my heart, mind and soul, life is going to be rough. And because you love me, there are requirements. Requirements to loving me. That is a shitty fucking sentence. Love should never have requirements. FML.

However, loving me does. Because of who I am and the disorder I have, the people in my immediate life are required to step up and make sure the little things are taken care of. All those things I mentioned in the first paragraph. Those are little, stupid, useless things that nobody in the world probably freaks out over. Except me. I do. I always have, I always will. I can only ignore things for so long.  Then the dam will burst. And destroy everything in its path. And as sad as it is, the reality is that I have absolutely NO CONTROL over it–no control AS it happens and no control WHEN its going to happen.

Take deep breaths when you feel the fury coming they say. I say, fuck those breaths because I am so over-stimulated and so overwhelmed that taking deep breaths is like telling me to breathe under water. IT IS NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.  I have no fucking control. I don’t know how to stop it when it is on me. I cannot just make it stop on a dime. It has to run its course or I have to get jolted out of a cycle. Most people don’t know how to do that—kick me out of a cycle. And I cannot teach you. Because I don’t even know myself.

And I hate myself because of this. I hate that the little things make me a fucking psycho nutcase. As much as YOU hate it?? Times that by infinity. That is how much I hate it. And I have to live with it in my head every single day, all day long. You only have to deal with when the dam breaks.

I am not making excuses. I want to. But I am not. This is a real thing. Read back over this blog. See how scattered my thoughts get. Imagine that tenfold in your head. Now welcome to my madness.

I am sorry for it. I am sorry you have to deal with it. I know nobody would ever choose this. I am sorry that you feel like you have no escape or that you love me too much to leave. I am sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. There aren’t enough words or sorrys to convey the level of regret and guilt I feel that others have to deal with this with me. I cannot make you understand the level of pain it causes me to know that I am hurting those that love me the most because my brain is out of wack. I cannot ever love anyone enough to make it okay for them to have to deal with this.

But because you stay, I need you to step up more than normal. Make sure things are in order. Make sure the normal, every day rules are followed up on. Make sure things are in their proper places. Make sure you are diligent in taking care of this life, this child, this house. Because if you don’t, life is too much for me to handle.

I wish I could really make you understand that…..

To Blog or not to Blog….

I have been contemplating about blogging about my life lately–and I am on the fence. The reason I don’t want to is because I feel like all I will be doing is whining and who the fuck wants to hear me whine????  This is why I feel like I should not put all my shit to paper so others can wallow in my misery with me.  I know misery loves company and all–but I am way too miserable lately to enjoy the company. Ya feel?

However, the reason I feel like I want to blog about everything is because I KNOW that I always feel better when I get my shit out of my system and then can re-read it with a more objective (kind of) and less emotional eye.  Does that make sense?

I feel like I am damned if I do, damned if I don’t.


So I am going to think on it some more. If you have an opinion, feel free to share. I could use some input here!

Grassy ass.