borderline personality disorder · bpd · dating · mental health · poetry · suicide · therapy

Outside borderline

I believe I have an internal alarm clock alerting me to when I haven’t posted on here past a week. So, here I am with another update.

I mentioned in my previous post that I had made some changes so that I could live my life a little better and get out of the crisis rut I had been in. Well I’ve dropped work to afternoons and part-time, maybe that sounds lazy but to me, managing the commute and work with my illness was too much and didnt give me the time I needed to do the things I want.

In 2016 I outlined some of my core values with my therapist. Spirituality amongst other things ranked much higher on the list than my job. I also have little to 0 interest in what I do. The idea that people enjoy their work and it’s in a field of their passion baffles me. I’m not expecting work to be fun and laughter all the time but I would like to get lost in what I do sometimes.

I’m awaiting interviews for a position closer to home. Like 10 minutes close, which I’m sure will help on the nights I don’t sleep because my brain randomly stays up, (NB pretty much every night). And if I’m not feeling well I’m sure I can muster enough for a journey to sit ill at my desk.

That alone has made an impact but I also decided to visualise how I want my life to look sans BPD. I would have more friends and a better connection with my existing ones. So that’s what I did. I reached out online, in person, I even met someone who I’m going for a coffee with at my bus stop. The fact that none of these people have BPD is refreshing. There’s just so much more to talk about.

I’ve also started posting and focusing on my poetry and spoken word work and this is on my instagram. People seem to like it! I always thought it was corny but creating something everyday gives me a feeling of satisfaction and expression. It appears mental illness has always been food for creativity. I’m even considering trying to get published!

I used to scoff at the ‘try new hobbies’ advice. How would I know if I’m good enough at said new hobby? And if I’m not, I’ll get fed up and quit before anything even started. But, I have had the idea of photography in the back of my mind for years. I just didn’t pursue it. I am now! I got some really good pictures in Spain and that gave me the encouragement I needed to go ahead. A friend’s given me articles for tips and is willing to give me advice when I need it. At the moment I’m image editing whenever I post poetry so it goes hand in hand. It’s a lot of fun, it’s like I have a curiosity for life again.

I don’t want to turn this into a drawn out post, but I just wanted to update. I’m awaiting my date and this is helping ease the nerves.

 

Kinda!

 

Xx

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borderline personality disorder · bpd · mental health · suicide · Uncategorized

Que pasa, homies?

Hello my dearest wordpressers. I have been awol for a little as I have been doing something I sort of lost along the way of my recovery – living. Sometime during this year’s crisis period I had a type of metamorphosis. Going to Spain and enjoying almost every moment of it cemented these ideas even more. Yes, stability is fun and all, but my method of stability left little room for me to be spontaneous, creative or to find what my ideal life would look like. I had touched on it in therapy with my psych but we didn’t get to truly uncover it as I would be talking about one guy or another and also trying to stop myself from drowning in the weight of my suicidality. 

Stability for me meant working 5 days a week, going to my 9 – 5, going out with friends on the weekend and doing a little volunteering. Apart from some of the ups and downs that came along with dating, that was about all I was doing. Sounds great right? Not for me. Whilst this lifestyle suits a lot of people, there are also a lot of individuals this doesn’t suit. I just happen to be one of those.

I had initially booked the trip in a move to continue becoming more independent. It was a great idea as it did me a world of good. Getting to the airport, navigating language barriers, travelling to another city once I got into the country and budgeting my holiday as I didn’t have as much money for the trip as I had hoped (due to the time off from said crisis) really helped boost my self confidence. I truly felt like an independent, self sufficient woman at last. My BPD did not get in the way of becoming who I want to be. It never will. 

The interesting thing was my response to my social anxiety. I was attracting a lot of attention in Spain as I kinda stood out. However, after a day or two of feeling out of sorts about it, I realised I could either let it ruin my time, or I could ignore them and continue on with all the fun I was having. I mean what else could I do? I couldn’t ask them to look away and I couldn’t yell at people for being so rude and glaring at me. Social anxiety didn’t get a chance. This has now translated into my life back in the UK. Sure, I could feel nervous and remain a quiet, withdrawn individual hoping nobody so much as glances at them and draw no attention OR I can pay them no mind and get on with the business of living. That is what I have decided to do. That’s not to say it’s magically disappeared – I still have my moments.

The other interesting thing is that I noticed my anxiety is a lot worse here in London. The trains and the commuting specifically. I feel caged on buses and trains and the struggle of avoiding arguments with other commuters and trying to put up with all manner of inconsiderate behaviours. I’m much happier when I’m in open, free places where I’m exposed to nature. I don’t mean going to somewhere with an occupation of 0% of the world’s population (although at times that is SO tempting), I just mean I want my surroundings to bring me some level of calm, not anxiety. I think there is a lot to be said that statistically the rate of BPD occurrence is higher in cities.

I did a mental brainstorm of what would happen if I stopped worrying about my plight of infringed singledom and more about my life as a whole. How would it look? What kind of people do I want in it? How would I be spending my time? Which movements do I want to be a part of? What kind of job would I have, where and how long would I work?

I have made, essentially, changes to all of those questions and all areas of my life. So far this has helped tremendously and I intend on continuing to do just that. 

More on that in the next post as I have so much to say about it – just wanted to update. I hope you are all well and full of joy x

borderline personality disorder · bpd · mental health · Uncategorized

Please, Don’t do it.

In a bizarre twist of fate, or perhaps it is the way of life, I find myself in a place that feels like pure bliss. I had booked to come to Spain in the New year as part of my self growth but that did not stop me from seriously contemplating suicide just last month.

If you feel that way, please don’t. I have been strolling through a beautiful garden with medieval ruins, climbed stone steps to what looks like dungeons and visited palaces and cathedrals. And yet, the thought keeps creeping up on me

’I wouldn’t be here to see any of this if I had killed myself.’

It’s a surreal thought to have.

I’ve had depression many a time, I may always have my times with depression. But when you seriously think about ending it altogether, the moments that come after can feel almost as if they don’t exist. It’s like a dream. As if I did die and all the good times are just my imagination. But they’re not. That’s the important thing to remember.

life can turn around so quickly.

I am so happy I stuck around. I have been strolling around free in the heat, full of wanderlust, I’m dressing beautifully with makeup so much so that I appear to be a local attraction to the residents. A gypsy called me ‘muy bella’ today. And another read my palm.

I have seen the beautiful mosques and cathedrals and I haven’t felt so carefree in so long. There are beautiful flowers, so many of them I didn’t know existed. It reminds me, tells me to stick around so that I can visit more places and discover many more flowers and trees. I feel closer to God and I am awestruck by the beauty of His creation.

Let me be clear, I am not magically healed, I still have bpd, I will still have lots of mood swings. But, life can still be beautiful. We just have to wait for those moments.

If you’re feeling alone and hopeless, please, stick around. Things will change, and if they don’t, there will be happy moments that will make you feel so alive you’ll forget about all the pain.

xx

 

borderline personality disorder · bpd · mental health · suicide

The aftermath

TW: Self harm, suicide, suicidal ideation, eating disorders.

I haven’t been in since my return to work last week. I managed to go in part-time and started eating again. By eating I mean — who gives a fuck whether Weetabix is not that healthy? I haven’t had Weetabix in like, over a year. You know what food is food, and the less I eat the more it feels like my brain pathways constrict and I start to get deeper into the tunnel of rigidity. I decided to free my brain up day by day and now I’m eating again. I’m still underweight but I’m eating, like at least 2 meals a day kinda eating.

Alas, all seems to be going well one would think. But if it’s not mental illness it’s the physical and I came down with a cold like thing in the middle of this glorious summer in the UK such so that I have been waking up drenched in my own sweat every night since, nice? I know right. Lovely. I then have the joys of my hormones kicking in and amplifying my cramps and depression. I have the desire to cry into my chocolate and ask anyone who will give me a hug, for a hug, preferably one that lasts the whole day. I had a splendid, on the outside, kinda day yesterday.

On the outside.

Picture — sitting on the trampoline in the garden on a summer’s day with my cute sweetheart of a niece laughing and smiling. Grilled chicken and chips for dinner. mmmm. The sun’s shining, I’m not at work. I can’t stop thinking about self harm. I call the Samaritans. This guy was trying his best I know, but he wasn’t that helpful. He kept giving me practical solutions like ‘have you told your Dr’ no, that’s not the point, the point is I’m calling you because I need to tell someone and for them to just absorb it because everyone says it’s better out than inside my braincells where it keeps swirling and swirling.

I knew it didn’t really help. I got through the day as best as I could. I felt like I wanted to be erased from life, I want some kind of MIB type pen where everyone could forget about me so it doesn’t hurt them when I cease to exist.

I spent the last hours of the night holding a razor. But I didn’t want to cut. I look at my arms, I like the colour really, it’s kinda a golden brown. I don’t want to do it, it doesn’t help. I know it doesn’t. I go try holding my breath under cold water like DBT said. Nah, not enough. I start jogging around on the spot and stretching in my room to get my blood pumping and hopefully burn off some of this self destructive desire, not good enough.

I lay in bed, razor prepped, cotton pads on the floor. I still hold out for another hour. Eventually, I caved.

Today, I’m much better. But that’s usually the way the aftermath goes. It’s almost as if it never happened. I’m tired, in bed and recuperating but I managed to get out, be productive, email my manager about the reality of my current situation and tidy up around the house. I forced myself to have a healthy breakfast and now I’m going to binge eat, continue crying and watch a psychological thriller. Nothing like a psychological thriller for a mentally unstable sickling.

Ahh…..the joys.

 

 

 

poetry

Sunflower dreams

‘Come, paint a picture with me darling!’

While we play Michael Jackson’s ‘Do you remember the time?’

How fitting. 

And I think in that moment, I captured all of who you are. 

My hands trace along the curves of your neck, your spine and play with your hair. You are a meadow in the sunshine, along with the dandelions — the wishing flowers, the ones I used to hold when I was a child, and I would hold my breath and wish, I would wish for you. 

You are a remarkable sign of God’s creation. I know now why men sing of Angels and nymphs and the folklore followed by the pouring of wine in the Mediterranean heat. I want to take you along the pebbly streets, to bite half of the olives you eat. Drink from your glass and watch you while you sleep.

I still have the photo of that day, as we danced, and laughed and paintbrushes stroked along canvas telling the tale of our romance as though no-one had ever told this tale before. We knew how it would end, how they all end. But in that moment, we were everlasting. I look back at our love drawn art and feel pride surge inside me.

Never had I created a thing more magnificent than the love that I shared with you.

borderline personality disorder · mental health · poetry · Uncategorized

The events

I am a culmination of all of my decisions, the actions I have taken over the years.

Everything that happened, everything that was meant to happen whether I liked it or not, has led me to this point. And who am I now? I wish that I knew. All of the blood, all the tears shed, and all of the tears I wanted to shed but couldn’t as I spent my night heaving in the bathroob tub waiting for a sound but nothing would come out. I am the times my heart sank when my heart was broken, and boy had it been broken, beaten to a pulp by false promises and joy and visions of a hopeful future, of a future where I no longer feel the pain that has plagued me for so many years and nights that it has become almost like an old friend, an intimate companion, one that I never asked for.

I wonder if I am proud of who I am becoming, I wonder if it matters at all. Whether it was my destiny to feel things on the inside that no one on the outside could possibly comprehend.

It’s summer now, I can feel the sun, I used to love how it felt, how it warms my skin, tanning my already tanned skin. Now I feel nothing. It simply is, the sun is shining. But it doesn’t matter. It never did.

I lie awake at night and contemplate my state. The slow realisation that this is it. Life, what a fickle thing. People rush, rushing to do this, rushing to see them, rushing to escape their minds, running away from their real problems. They don’t really know what they want from life, and that’s scary. I’m just honest enough to admit it. I know I’m crazy, I know I think too much, but what I’m thinking about isn’t a lie.

I want to know, I need to know where I go next. I want to know the point. My fragile existence is crumbling, under the futility of it all. I let go of self-gratification a long time ago. It doesn’t feel right, allowing myself joy in the midst of all of my pain. Dishonouring what has happened to me.

I have grown weary of men. I am exhausted by culture. Ideas based on pride and arrogance have cost me, cost me greatly. Especially when the price becomes love lost.

 

bpd · mental health · poetry · Uncategorized

Zoloft

I wake, I swallow.

I sleep, I swallow.

White pill, white pill. Not my addiction.

I feel like I’m cast along a river always at the edge

before the waterfall.

I’m in the psych’s office. Am I meant to be here?

’You’re hiding behind technicalities, tell me – who are you?

Deadpan gaze. I wish I knew.

Up the dose, up the dose.

Let’s see how long this lasts. I’m holding onto life from a tablet.

My life story? No thanks, give me drugs. I’m not fussy, pick one. As long as it fucks with my brain, more than he fucked with me.

I’m telling my life story, I can’t help it if you don’t hear it.

‘Panic attacks’ the doctors smiling at me.

Sounds about right, add it to my list. Lists of disease. They whir through my brain, I stay up at night, dream about shit and I mean, literally.

I’m trying not to think about it. Now come the lyrics, ‘they’re constantly playing in my head’.

’I’m not going to be giving you anything today.’

‘When I was young I was sexually abused,’ I finally confess.

‘By who? I need their names.’

Tell me nurse, in which part of the puzzle does that fit?

I’m not talking. I’m swallowing. It’s easier. It means less.

Come Zoloft, put me to rest.