So I have been thinking about all kinds of things. And, no, it doesn’t hurt. Mostly.

I went to my psychiatrist this week and she’s new. My old one moved on… 😦   Anyway, she basically wanted to hear my whole life story and in telling her, I realized some things.

One, I no longer feel anger when I talk about my childhood and all the bullshit me and my sister went through.  This was SUPER weird. I have been holding onto that anger for so fucking long…….I struggled with even knowing who I was without the anger. So, the fact that I can talk about it without getting angry, or even really emotional about it anymore is pretty astounding to me.

Two, I realize that I like who I have become and am actually proud of all the work I have put in to get to this point in my life. I know, not by a long shot, that I am not done. I know I have plenty of work to still do, but right now I am content with me and what I am about.

Three, I probably need a bit more counseling to control some of my emotional cycles. I haven’t even come close to cycling like I did a few years back, but I still get in those fucked up mind spaces and lose it on the people I love. Which brings guilt, which brings anger, which brings shame, then the self-destructive bashing begins.

So there is all that.

It was a good experience. Also knowing that I appreciate all I have done for myself is huge. I took a huge risk putting all my mental health issues out for the public and my family and friends to judge, but it has literally been my saving grace. So weird.

Learning about how many people can relate to me and my shit is amazing. Even moreso that so many people close to me have some of the same issues. I feel like my bravery has helped others be brave, and I cannot tell you what that feels like…. Great! It feels fucking GREAT! (just wanted to be clear in case you weren’t on the same page.. )

Even the holidays, which normally get me all stupid and depressed, haven’t really had much control over me this year. The only thing that irritates me is that I have to buy presents for everyone and I really just want to spend money on myself…. lol.

This will probably be my last post this year. I have to do better next year. My goal this year was to blog at least once a month, but I don’t think I managed to get there. So this will carry over to next year.



The Last Blog was a Lie..

So on my last blog, I wrote about missing Choney. That was a lie.

Ok, not really, because it was how I felt at the time, but luckily things change and that sentiment no longer applies. I don’t miss him at all.

In fact, I have turned a corner and I could care less about him and his demons. I do wish him well, but he never needs to be back in my life—friends or otherwise.

I don’t miss the drama. I don’t miss everything being turned around and being about him.

I like my life being about me. I am learning self-care and I am really actually enjoying it.

Go me!

I Miss Him

So it has been almost a month since Choney and the kids moved out. I would like to say it has been easy, but that would be a lie. It has been hard. Harder than I thought it would be. There is sadness and guilt and worry and frustration and struggle.

Though, don’t think that I am questioning my decision, because I am absolutely not. I know it was the best decision for everyone, even if it was hard.

The times when I am home alone and there is no noise and no drama, I feel peace again. I don’t get anxiety to the point of a panic attack when I come home because I know there will not be any drama. I know that the worst thing I am going to walk into is my dogs  having dragged all my couch pillows outside.  And I can totally handle that.

But I miss him. I do. I miss having someone to joke around with. I miss having someone to vent to. I miss having someone to fish with. I miss having someone to do things with. I miss his friendship. He was the one person in the world who I could be completely myself with in almost all the ways–good and bad. He understood when I cried about my car committing suicide. He understood when I cried at movies and shows even when they were happy. He understood my love and frustration with my kids. He got me. He tolerated my mood swings for the most part. He was a good friend.  But that was the whole problem, wasn’t it. I didn’t want just a friend. I wanted a boyfriend. I wanted a man in my life. He just couldn’t fulfill those roles. And it sucks.

I don’t miss all the other nonsense that he refused or was incapable of repairing.

I will never understand why what happened happened. I will never understand why he was ever okay with taking advantage of me and my generosity. I will never understand why he never took responsibility for his children’s or his own actions. I will never understand why he chose not to fight for the person he said he loved. I will never understand any of that.

And I have to be okay with that. Because I will never get an answer that will satisfy me. I will never understand what it is like to be that kind of person because I am not that kind of person. I never have been and I never will be.

And being okay with that is hard. Holy fuck.

Some days I do really well…others I really struggle. But I am doing better every day. I can see it and I can feel it. And that is all that matters–that getting better part.

I still miss him. I probably always will.

I don’t, however, miss his kids. Not even a little. They did too much damage to me and my stuff for me to ever go back to caring about them. I do worry about them, but I don’t miss them.  And I don’t even feel bad. I think that is progress.

Bye Felicia!

So something extremely upsetting and random happened last night and today. My friend–or who I thought was my friend–messaged me last night and in the middle of our conversation, literally out of the blue, she came at me with some bullshit that floored me like nothing else has ever floored me in my life. I will not post what she said here, because other parties were involved in the accusations and it could be detrimental to everyone.

The reason I write is because after the conversation of which she could not provide any sort of details or proof of her accusation—just “I know because I know”, I decided to write her one last email and end the friendship. Yes, it was that damaging to me and mine.

This was a 15 year friendship–or at least I thought it was. It makes me really sad honestly. Though the things she said made me much more sad than ending the friendship.

People always claim to “know me”.  And some do. She says she did. But if she did know me, she would realize that the stuff she said was hurtful and bullshit for a few reasons.

1–I never, ever, ever, go to anyone in “desperate need”.  I have waaayyyy too much pride to do something like that no matter the situation. I am physically and mentally not capable of it..

2–I do not do denial. No matter how hard the situation, truth, reality is, I am not capable of burying my head and ignoring the problem. Believe me, I have tried. I don’t have that skill.

3. If what she stated was actually true, she would have been able to give me details of the situation when I asked certain clarifying questions. Yet…she couldn’t.

4. Even if by some measure of insanity anything she said had even the least bit of truth to it, why would you possibly bring that up 15 years later in a completely unrelated, random conversation?  What. The. Actual. Fuck?

5. You have me confused with some other family you were dealing with at the time. I am sorry for them and I am sorry for you.

6. Your last message to me was this:

  • “This is a huge misunderstanding. It was 15 years ago. I’m sorry I brought it up. I’ve never thought of you or the kids any certain way because of it. You called me extremely upset, told me about it, and we never talked about it again. I am not a liar. Nor am I trying to hurt you. Why on earth would I? Please think about that. I’m sorry, truly. Obviously our friendship is ruined. I don’t know what to say except I’ll always wish the best for you and the kids.”

7. So just that paragraph alone also tells me that again, YOU DON’T FUCKING KNOW ME. I don’t talk about things once and then never talk about them again. Especially something that, if it was true, would’ve been completely devastating to my family.  I talk about EVERYTHING repeatedly until I can make sense of it. Its who I am. It’s what I do.


So yeah—the end of a 15 year friendship.  Good riddance.

It’s Never going to End!

So if you have been following my blog or even my facebook posts, you will know how hard my life has been since I added people to it. Those people being my boyfriend and his daughter and four months ago, his son.

Before his son came, it was hard. I am the sole financial support for my family. He doesn’t work due to health reason–or excuses–or whatever. He is working (for the last three years) to get on disability. In this time, I have been taking care of all of our needs. He is basically a house bitch. Sad but true.

Also, we have not had an intimate relationship in almost two years. So there’s that. Fucking awesome.

So in my mind, since he doesn’t act like my boyfriend in any way, he is basically my roommate or more accurately, another child.

I decided to finally end the shit show that is my life by kicking him and his children out. He has til the end of this year to find somewhere else to go. This doesn’t sit well with him. He has been taken care of his whole life by someone; mother, girlfriends, prisons, etc. He has no idea how to be an adult, much less a parent. And I am sick of trying to raise all three of them. Him and his kids are damaged and needy and I am not strong enough or tolerant enough to deal with it anymore.

His children are worse than he is. Especially his daughter. She has lived a life of trauma and neglect. His son has as well, but has had a little more stability from their mother than she has.  Because of this, she has some serious behavioral issues. I am almost 100% convinced she is a sociopath. I also think she has Oppositional Defiant Disorder as well as Conduct disorder. After the story I heard recently from her, and the fact that schizophrenia and bipolar disorder both run in her family, I am pretty convinced things are even more serious than that.  Here is what we found out last night: (this is also what I wrote her therapist today as well as some inpatient mental health places)

So last night, Adrianna was on punishment and she was crying and I was exasperated. I asked her to stop crying and just tell me what is going on with her that she just refuses to listen. She completely broke down and told me and her dad the following:  she expressed that she feels like there are two people in her, the devil and an angel. She says she feels like she “lives in a red bubble”. She says she see’s red all the time, no more colors. She says she sometimes she see’s so much red that she cannot remember what the original colors are. She states that she cannot do the right thing because the devil is “too hard and too strong” so its just easier to go along with him. She says the devil likes being in trouble and likes making her do bad things. She says that she cannot stop doing bad things because he is too strong. She says she doesn’t want to do it, but she cannot stop herself. She said the devil makes her have bad dreams all the time. She says she has dreams of killing people and when asked how she feels about those dreams, she says it makes her feel happy to kill them. She says she dreams of getting “the big knife and stabbing them.”  She says the voices (devil and angel) talk to her all the time.

She said one side of her brain is the devil and the other side is the angel.  

When I asked her when she felt those two sides showed up, she says that the devil showed up when her grandmother, whom she lived with most of her life, died three years ago. She says sometimes she can be nice and the angel will come back a little bit, but the devil half of her brain is more strong.  She said she was mostly the angel before her grandma died. She also said that she feels bad because she was so mean to her grandma (yelling at her, running away, locking herself in rooms, etc) and she never got to say sorry to her. She said that her grandma never hit her, but would call her Uncle Gary and he would come over and “beat her” for being mean to her grandma. She also blames him because he was the one who took her grandma to the hospital that she never came back from.

At one point I asked her if Adrianna was in there with the devil and the angel and she said no..that “Adrianna is just mostly the devil now”.  

I also asked her about why her behavior has gotten worse and she said “I’m not trying to blame it on Anthony, but since he got here he gets my attention, though I know he is still new here, but the devil wants that attention back”. I said, do you feel like you could hurt your brother, and she says “yes. I always feel like I could hurt him, even kill him”. She said if she ever gets to that point, she hopes her angel is stronger than her devil because she really doesn’t want to hurt her brother–she just doesn’t know how to stop the devil. She says she tries. She says when she stole money from me the angel didn’t want her to, but she did it anyway because the devil “comes too hard”. She also at two entire packages of cookies the other morning at 530 am before anyone got up because the devil wanted those cookies and she couldn’t stop him from making her eat all the cookies.  (She had asked about them the day before and was told no, FYI)

 We have no knowledge of sexual abuse, but she has been physically abused by her mother and her uncle. She does have one uncle (whom I mentioned above) who she only associates with beatings and blames him for killing her grandma.  

While we were talking, I noticed she was doing something with her hand. I asked her what she was doing and she said she had a cut. I said, why are you messing with it and she said because it feels good. I said do you do that often and she said yes. She said “when I have a cut or a bruise or whatever, she said I mess with it til its bigger because the pain makes me feel better.  She said it makes the red go away a little bit. 

She also told us she wants to go live with her grandma–even though she knows her grandma has passed away. She has mentioned she’d be better off dead and hates herself. She also thinks everyone around her wishes she was dead as well. I told her that we don’t wish she was dead, we just wished she would be good, but she says she doesn’t believe us. 

On a side note, just listening to her conversation, she refers to the devil as “him”, but doesn’t refer to her angel as her or him. I did ask if the angel was her grandma, but she said she didn’t know.
She also says when she does nice things, she gets some “angelness” back a tiny bit. But if she does too many nice things, and her angelness grows, the devil gets mad and makes her do something bad to push the angelness out.  

As the conversation (45 minutes of it) progressed, she started referring to the bad voices as her devilness and the good voices as her angelness.

We need help. We are scared for her and scared she will hurt somebody or herself.  I have reached out to Desert Hills and Bernalillo Academy for help. I think she needs to be in a psychiatric treatment facility. I don’t want anyone hurt. 

I spoke to one of our psychiatrists at work about it today and she also told me that if at any time, we feel Anthony or Adrianna or anyone else in the house is unsafe, we can call 911 and have her taken to UNM Childrens Psych for an evaluation.  I feel like this would cause even more trauma in her life than she has already had–plus she is terrified of police because of her dad and moms life before she came here.  That would be a last resort for us–but I will do it if it comes down to someone’s safety.

I asked her why she hasn’t told you about it and she says she is scared you will send her away. I told her that you are the person that will be able to help her the most, and that she needed to talk to you. She says she will but she doesn’t want to do it without us there–at least one of us. I am going to try to get off work on Wednesday afternoon to join you guys in the session. I think Adrianna would prefer me there rather than her dad. I think he doesn’t understand and kind of tends to make it worse. His reaction to this conversation was “how come you didn’t tell us about this sooner, this is some really sick stuff”.  I told him later how detrimental that could be…….because I know she cannot control those thoughts or feelings.  He also told me that two of his sisters are schizophrenic and one brother is bipolar. 

I feel that while Adrianna has sociopathic tendencies, she also shows signs of Conduct disorder and Oppositional Defiant Disorder.  However, the fact that she is hearing voices in her head telling her to do bad things just makes it more confusing. Regardless of the diagnosis or lack thereof, she needs more help than we can give her. 

I will also tell you that me and her dad are no longer together, and they have to find another place to live by the end of the year. Adrianna is aware of this and I think she is scared of that as well.  Honestly, this is not something I want to deal with anymore, however because of the trust that Adrianna has in me, I also don’t want to let her down like everyone else has. I am the only stability she has ever known in her life and while I would rather just let her father deal with this, I don’t think he is capable.  

So there is a lot going on right now. 

Please let me know what you think and what you think we should do here. 

So yeah……….call me freaked the fuck out.

However, I also can relate to what she is saying. I remember feeling like that when I was young. Maybe not so extreme as seeing red all the time. But I felt like I could never be good or good enough. I used to hurt myself to feel better as well. It makes me really sad for her. I have dealt with mental illness all my life–for years I had no idea what the fuck it was–and it isn’t easy. It is confusing and frustrating and it makes you feel worthless. I still struggle with that. I still struggle with maintaining my sanity and not lashing out and being shitty to people. And I am 47. She is 10. Can you image how scary it must be for her? Ugh.

I have been thinking about it all day. And I have come to the conclusion that I am never going to be rid of this in my life. Choney in no way, shape, or form, can handle this type of thing. He cannot handle her already–and with her being this fucked up, there is no way he will be able to deal with that. In all honesty, I feel like after he gets out on his own, it will just be a matter of time before he ends up getting back into drugs and losing these kids to the state.

I am the only stability that child has ever known. She is angry at me right now, but I am the only one she trusts to do what I say I am going to do. I have never said something and not followed through with her. Before she came to my house, her dad would tell her he was running to the store and would be back in a little while—-and then not come back for days or weeks or months in some cases. Her mom was the same. So she learned not to trust them at all. Even three years later, after her dad has shown her that he will come back, she panics a little when he leaves.  Not the case with me.

Because of this, I feel like if I abandon her and them completely, it will just prove to her, in her mind, that nobody loves her and everyone leaves her. And she has been through enough trauma in her life. And me turning her out of my life will just make it worse.

On the selfish side, I am sick of dealing with it and her and them and its not my responsibility to fix these people. I didn’t do the damage and I am sick of worrying about it all the damn time. I am sick of feeling guilty because I cannot take care of them. However, to counteract that thought—ain’t nobody worrying about me in the situation. So I have actually let go of the guilt, but I still worry how much damage I am going to do to those kids by stepping out of the picture.

So I feel like I am stuck. Once a-fucking-gain.  KMN.  But I am not sure I am willing to leave her father to deal with this. I feel like that would almost be worse.

I need to find a happy medium here.

Your thoughts and suggestions are more than welcome.



Today at work, I saw my old counselor. Seeing her brought up so much in me, I figured I would just vomit it onto my blog.

My very first feeling when seeing her was extreme, from the deepest recesses of my heart, gratitude. There are not enough words to thank this woman for hearing and seeing the very worst parts of me and not judging a single one of them. I cannot explain how it feels to have someone know all of the worst of you and still look forward to seeing you. Yes, I am aware this is her job, but today, she was genuinely thrilled to see me and you could see it in her face.

I actually used to cringe at the thought that I would run into her in public–for the fact that she does know my deepest, darkest thoughts and feelings. How fucking embarrassing. But it was so far from my expectations.

My second thought on seeing her was joy. She went through so much with me. She gave me the tools I have and use today on a daily, sometimes hourly basis. She was essentially my everything in those hours that I spent with her. We cried, we laughed, we got angry and we talked. And talked. And talked. And it helped.

I also felt longing. Longing for that relationship again. That sounds really stupid when I write it because I am the one who essentially terminated my counseling since I had come so far and done so much and made such progress, but I miss having a non-judgmental entity to vomit my bullshit on. Yeah, I have friends, but its not the same. They listen but they want to help me solve it. I don’t always want to solve it—sometimes I just need someone to listen to me vent.  I have one friend who is good for that and thank God for him, but sometimes I feel I just put too much on him. So I hold back. I never held back from my counselor.

That’s probably why it helped so much.

Even on my blogs, I know it seems like I put everything out there………but I don’t. For all the blogs you see, there are five more that are not available to the outside world. They are my deepest, darkest, most intimate thoughts, fears, loves, hates, feelings, etc. Those are things people will never see.

Its been 5 months since I graduated from counseling, and it feels like its been years.

My point to this is that seeing her brought up a lot of feelings in me–most of them good. Some of them not so great. Regardless, it made me remember all the progress I have made, both with her and without her.

So for now, in this moment, life is good.

Too Much?

So when I blog, I start feeling and thinking, probably too much. As I do in all my life, I am “too much”. Everything is always “too much.” I feel “too much.” I’m too emotional.  I’m too loud. I’m too moody. I’m too distant. I’m too insecure. I’m too arrogant.  I’m too angry. I’m too quiet. I’m too withdrawn. I’m too obsessed with things,  etcetera, etcetera. I get too passionate over silly stuff, like hello kitty or fishing or whatever it is I am currently obsessed with.

Or, on the flip side, I am not enough of something. I don’t care enough. I don’t talk enough. I don’t validate enough. I don’t appreciate enough.  I don’t listen enough. And on and on…

It’s all black and white in my world. I have always been the “all or nothing” type of person. I can’t do halfway. I either do it or I don’t. Period.

And I don’t know how to feel less or more. It is just what it is. I am either too much or not enough.  Welcome to my nightmare.

A lot of people view being borderline as some kind of shameful disease, and are embarrassed by it, ashamed.  I don’t. I used to, but once I embraced who I am and learned tools to deal with life better (not that they work all the time) I am accepting of my disorder and I am absolutely not ashamed of admitting it is part of me.

It’s not easy to live with. The fact is that tiny emotions rip my heart out sometimes, and sometimes I cannot allow myself to feel anything because the consequences of that terrify me.

There is a good side to this stupid disorder. I love that I feel “too much” of the good emotions, even if there is a bit of a trade off in regards to the “bad stuff.” I’m so passionate, and I’m not sure I’d change that for the world. When I love someone or something, I love it with all I am, with my whole heart and soul. On the other side of that, when I don’t like someone, that is super hard for me to change. For this reason, I don’t keep people I don’t love wholeheartedly in my life.  The exception to this is my dad and stepmom. I love them beyond words and feelings, but they trigger my emotional instability pretty hard. Loving them like I do brings too much emotion and I am not equipped to deal with that. There is actually a thing in BPD that makes things way, way too much. Way over my normal too much.  I wish it was different because I can’t explain how much I miss them.

I switched my meds a few months ago and for the first time in years, I can say I feel normal(ish) and actually mean it. By this I mean I can regulate and control my emotions pretty well—I can stop and choose how to react instead of just reacting. Though that may be a combination of my meds and the tools I learned in counseling. Either way it works for me right now.

Being borderline doesn’t define me, and it doesn’t deserve the stigma that is attached to it. I am a human being, and it is hard to explain my behavior and how much of it is my disorder. They will never know what it’s like to feel as much as I do.  And sometimes even I cannot distinguish between a real feeling and a dramatic BPD reaction.

This is why I write. It allows me to figure out if what I am feeling is my truth or my BPD re-activeness.  I wouldn’t be functional without being able to write.

I saw some comments on a BPD support group today and seeing people write how they were thinking they had BPD because of how badly they treated people in their lives. Is that what people think of us with it? That we are just shitty people who treat others with no respect because of our disorder? I guess so. Too bad they don’t understand that when we do those things (not purposely), the guilt that follows is intense and all-consuming—and with me, puts me in a cycle of guilt, shame and self-loathing that is really hard to get out of.  Especially since I hate, hate, hate apologizing for being shitty. It makes me feel stupid and embarrassed and I just try to avoid it completely.

Sometimes people are just assholes and you don’t need any type of mental health diagnosis to be a dick.  Stuff like that just pisses me off. Don’t use a mental health disorder to justify your shitty behavior. This is why there is a stigma.

Regardless, I am human and with that comes flaws. Unfortunately, BPD makes those flaws enormous. UGH.