Waking up exhausted is the worst feeling in the world. I had a solid sleep, enough hours. Yet my body refuses to move. I cant do this. I cant do this. I’ve already had quite a bit of time off from being physically sick. How do I manage to get through the commute, work and the journey home when I feel like I can’t even get up from my bed? I lay there. Time’s ticking, I’ll be late if I don’t move. It still doesn’t stir me. Do I take a day off? I won’t get paid if I do. Plus, the guilt leaves me feeling worse and then the extreme side of my brain wants me to believe that I won’t be able to face them all when I do go in tomorrow. Then, I don’t want to face them tomorrow either. I should just give the whole thing up, quit. I want to work part-time, it hurts me to say that. Then I don’t have enough for all the recovery related things I do want. Books, therapy, times out. All things I can do now (just about) thanks to working full-time.
Just get up, just get up and get ready, I’ll work half a day if I can get away with it. I get up, go through the motions. I feel like shit. Nothings happened, I feel like shit. On the train, looking at me, no one would be able to tell, hell, I even managed to put on my favourite lipstick. I look out at the tall buildings, wonder what it would be like to jump off of one. Would it really feel freeing? What would be stopping me? I think of my sister, of my neice, my mum. But I’d feel like crap leaving them. What if I said sorry first, maybe leave a message? I decide I can’t do that to them. It doesn’t stop me imagining the scenario.
Why after over a year of therapy, is it still so hard? The one ‘symptom’ that doesn’t go away. I look out at the buildings, with their patchy paint, the litter on the grass, the grey clouds, the dull-looking houses, I’m unimpressed, I always have been. I feel like a zombie, I bite my lip and look around to stop tears on the train. I get into work, I smile, I say hello, ask my colleagues how they are. No one has any idea anything is wrong. I’m too good at hiding it. I get on with the meeting, I get on with my work. I used the script I wrote to put forward my position to my supervisor. She understands that my working differently, doesn’t mean I made a mistake, she says it’s ok. My mind had made it such a scenario once again, and once again the reality proves that with a little communication, it really wasn’t a big deal.
Having achieved all I could be bothered with, I sit at my desk, tempted to read more on BPD, on BPD survivors, it’s all I care about. I lie to my manager and say I need to go home early to babysit, I don’t, I just need to get out. It was a victory today just to manage to show my face.
Perfectly timed, my sister came round. I spent my evening with the family. I didn’t isolate, I enjoyed it, it relaxes me, I know it’s healthy, the ‘right’ thing to do. But I know the nagging feeling is still there, waiting for me. I’m still so exhausted, exhausted when all I’m doing is lying on the bed chatting. Looking at me, they too have no idea something’s wrong.
This is what it is, to be high functioning. To have a life as normal to others as it could seem. To want a normal life, and yet, to be a mess on the inside. A clawing, raw mess, wondering how it is that each week is like running a marathon. Exhausted on Monday morning through to Sunday, only to find on Sunday that the quiet down-time isn’t relaxing, it’s a time to be extra vigilant. To self-care and occupy my mind so that I don’t do anything stupid. I’m in pain, but my options are out, I know too much about my old coping strategies to use them. Sex? Maybe I could try that, he’s hot, he’s hot, why don’t I do that? Oh yes, because that would make you feel like double-shit afterwards. Cut? I remember how that feels, how brief the relief is and how devastating the after effect is, looking at it heal, realising you succumbed once again, to such a shitty coping mechanism. All I choose to do right now is blog, and read more, I read about BPD, I discovered a writer talk about using identity forming worksheets. My identity is a shambles. I don’t know if they will cheer me up or help me tonight but all I can do is face this demon head on. I’m fucking exhausted, but on the outside, it doesn’t show.