Update – Feeling Horrible

Something’s wrong and I can’t figure it out. I went off the latuda because, although it helped my mood, it made me feel really creepy. I felt like my skin was crawling and couldn’t handle not doing something – although nothing was what I wanted to do. So now I’m on lamotrigine (building up my dosage). I’m apprehensive of side effects. The last time I was on this, I gained 25 pounds in one month, so was quick to get off it. Hopefully it was something else that made me gain the weight back then, and the lamotrigine will work this time. Aside from that, I have overwhelming feelings of dissatisfaction with my life. It seems to all be for naught. I can’t find success in anything I do. I’m not adding to anything. 

And then there’s losses. Last May, my dad passed away and I’m still not over it. In a few months, my son graduates from high school and moves out and into his new life. My mom is 89 and doing well, but life keeps moving and people will keep passing out of my life. I can’t seem to get anything figured out anymore. My head can’t wrap around simple tasks. I’m moody and don’t even realize it until it’s pointed out. I want to crawl into bed and never leave. 

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Feeling Tender (as in raw)

Wyoming landscape

Wyoming landscape (Photo credit: theclyde)

I’m half way through a two thousand + mile driving trip with my son. I’ve been away from home for over two weeks (and all the “missing stuff” that goes with being away that goes with that) because I flew back to my mom’s to help my son drive her car back to our place. She had just sold it to him. While there, we found she’d broken her ankle. I stayed longer to get her through surgery and into rehab. When we left to start our drive home, it was emotional for me, but I held it in because emotional is hard for her. And I’m an emotional person. My dad passed away two months ago, she’s 88 and in a hospital bed, and I don’t know when the next time I will see her will be. Then my son and I headed out. We get along great until we argue. During the first thousand miles, we did ok. But last night, we clashed. It wasn’t even the clashing that hurt, but he the tends to emulate (he doesn’t think so, so it may be subconscious ) the way my husband talks to me when I get angry. Coming from a 17 year old, it sounded condescending to me. And that’s what hurt my emotional self. For those of you who may not know much about BPD, we are extremely sensitive when it comes to emotions – like having an emotional skin that is sun third degree burned.The slightest touch to our emotions can be excruciatingly painful. Over sensitive to the Nth degree. For me, it’s not all the time, but when I’m in a phase/ mode of vulnerability or have been triggered. That was me last night, but I pushed some of it down, not wanting to break down in front of my son, letting him see how upset I was. In our hotel bathroom, I wanted to scream, punch the wall, cut – but I didn’t. I didn’t though. I just acknowledged it. In bed, I turned away from his bed and silently cried while thinking over our words to each other. That was when I realized he was talking like my husband and how THAT hurt to hear. Maybe I’m also upset about how my husband talks when I’m this way, and can’t quite face that either? I don’t know. I take things the wrong way a lot. I’ve been like that my whole life! I’m over sensitive to negativity, fear, emotions and loss. And it’s getting closer to my going back to work/new job start date. It all piles on. I miss my dad. I miss my mom and am fearful of her age and losing her too.  Feeling short of breath and there’s a sinking pit in my gut. There’s more to that list, but this post is already a lot longer than I planned since I’m writing it on my phone.

I am enjoying seeing the differing landscapes as we drive the long interstate (I-80) through Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming – and states still ahead. These areas always make me think if the pioneers and how they might have felt traveling through this terrain when there were no trails or roads. I admire them beyond measure.

Feeling Fragile

I’ve been with my mom for three weeks now, a week and a half since my  dad passed. All the other relatives have returned home, but I’m still needed here to support her and tidy up all the loose ends. Yesterday, we chose a burial plot for his cremains. We also went to visitation for a good friend of his who passed a week after he did.

All of life seems to be about death right now. Maybe that’s why I broke down last night and cried for my dad to come back and tell me it is all OK. I opened his bedroom door, hoping to see his ghost, but didn’t. I lay in bed, hoping his image would appear at the door with a twinkle in his eyes and a loving smile, but nothing was to be seen. I, his 50 year old daughter, cried and cried for the father I had lost.

It was his time to go, but I NEED to know that he was OK with it and how his life had played out. I had hope to have that conversation with him during his last days, but, although he was not in pain, breathing was so difficult as his lungs filled, he couldn’t talk because of the effort. At one point, when palliative care was decided (hospice), he asked me if it was the right choice. All I could answer was that we wanted him to be comfortable. I knew, and I think he did too, that nothing more could be done to try and heal him. His heart was failing as the valves leaked and constricted. He could no longer endure or survive surgery. How do you tell someone that the doctors can’t fix you anymore?

So after months of feeling better than I have in years, I feel like I’m about to crumble into a childlike heap of tears and emotions of loss and abandonment. But I can’t. I am needed as a pillar for my 88 year old mom.

Is this, then, my test of recovery? Will I hold strong now, only to fall apart once I am home and she is safe here? I hope not. I don’t want to fall back into that pit. I want to live and flourish in life. I have new friends who support me in ways I never experienced. I know I have to feel the pain, the loss, and know that it doesn’t have to consume me. I can feel it and be OK. I can, I can. I guess that needs to be my new mantra.

Feeling Pretty Good – or am I deluding myself?

Hi everyone. I realize I haven’t posted in about a month. Nothing wrong, just busy with life and feeling better than I have in a very long time. Have I reached a state of some sort of balance? I sure hope so. I still don’t have a job, but the search continues. 

With my BPD seeming under control, I’ve begun examining my weight issues. I haven’t been thin for twenty years … I don’t seem to be able to “diet” so I started looking at emotional underpinnings of my weight. What might happen is I lost weight and was thin again? Scary thought!

I’ve always had a fear of abandonment – that my husband would decide that he no longer wanted to be with me, and then I would be ALONE. I was doing a writing assignment that asked what I might be afraid of if I lost the weight or what it might be protecting me from. I talked it through with a friend and had some realizations: 

When I was thin, men paid A LOT more attention to me. During a time when things weren’t very close between my husband and myself, this lead to a situation I’m not proud of and felt very guilty about. SHAME. Would that happen again? Would it bring about the abandonment that I fear so strongly? Would he not want to be with me? Or me him? God, I hope not! I love my husband deeply and sincerely. Either way, they are thoughts that are difficult to voice and even harder to try and answer. 

I also had an experience this past weekend that I didn’t like seeing … my full body in a mirror (as opposed to just my head and shoulders in the bathroom mirror.) I was at a yoga and meditation retreat on Sunday. An hour and a half of gentle yoga, 45 minutes of mindfulness meditation, lunch, repeat. As the day was ending, I saw myself in the mirror and was horrified at how huge I am, not just compared to the others in attendance either. My mind’s view of myself is so different, night and day. I should have been clued in by how much flexibility I’ve lost and how much harder some things are to do these days. But denial has been deep. I could barely hold back from breaking into tears at what I saw  – the truth. And the truth hurts. 

Even though my mental state is better than it has been in years, I have build up a, literally, huge wall around myself over the past twenty years – since treatment for bulimia and coming clean to my husband about myself. So now what do I do? I want my body to reflect the person I see in my mind’s eye, not a wallowing body of whatever I may be hiding or hiding from. But how? And who will support me in THIS journey? 

As I discussed the writing question, mentioned above, with my friend, she challenged me. She observed how analytical I get about myself. It’s an endless chatter in my head that I haven’t been able to stop. I can do words really well. I’ve mentioned that to more than one counselor. I know the things to say. It’s the doing that I have trouble with. 

Anyways, that’s where I’m at right now. Thanks for reading and helping me get back into my blog. 

I usually try to include a picture with each post. I don’t want to add another one of me though. This one is of an orchid rock rose growing in my garden. I think it’s beautiful. The petals are like tissue paper and only last a day. 

Image

 

Closed Doors

Here is an attempt to write,  jogged by a post by Jensinewell “Walking Through Doors” and how we often forget what we were looking for once we have changed environments. My comment to her post was that I have to stop walking through doors because I can’t remember anything. She suggested staying in one room to see if my memory improved, but which room?

The Memory Room

My mind is full of memories:

heartwarming, heartbreaking

lessons learned, taught, memorized, forgotten.

Snapshots of my childhood

reality or stories told too often?

Years pass and memories layer like shingles on a roof.

Protection that gets added to, even as it decays over time.

Corners chip, debris erodes, layers  buried.

Some are lost in storms, unnoticed for the moment, ’til needed.

A damaged section causes grief and needs attending to.

But where is it?

That Memory, that shingle

that has been

damaged,

forgotten?

The Memory  Room is there to fill in all the gaps;

from the grocery item you didn’t write down,

and forgot as soon as you walked out of the house,

to the exam question that  you studied so hard for,

and lost the answer to as soon as you started the exam.

When  list making or studying is done in the Memory Room,

those memories are never forgotten.

They are written write into your long term memory

as if they were your genetic makeup.

So take care what you choose to learn in there!

But there is yet a deeper side to the Memory Room

for memories of the past.

Sit in the room and be still, but not alone,

and all of your past will come back to you –

you cannot pick and choose.

Oh, that you could.

For that is what I fear –

that there will be something

I don’t want to see,

or possible worse,

nothing at all.

What then?

I need some feedback on this explanation for my husband. PLEASE!

emotion

emotion (Photo credit: photo.anger)

I’m trying to clarify what’s going on with me for my husband – how he seems to perceive it vs how I perceive it. But I’d like to get some feedback from you who follow my blog to see if what I’ve written makes sense. Please help me to clarify this as much as I can for him. He loves me and I love him.

Here’s how it seems that you see me – please correct me if and where I am wrong. And then I will attempt to explain how I perceive myself to you.

Here seems to be what we’ve both observed: I don’t do well with calmness. I need to keep my plate full to overfull.

* You told me that I seem to seek out things to get upset about. And if those get resolved, I find other things.
* I need to be upset. I need to feel like a martyr

* I take little things and make them into big things.
* I pick on Peter, or you

* I take things too personally
* I don’t see how little wrongs are in the big picture ( I can’t tolerate them) all or nothing
* I obsess
* I look for things to be wrong

* I don’t seem to want to be happy

_____________________________________________________

OK, Here’s what it feels like from inside me … pretty  creepy some times

* ANGER upsets me: mine, yours, Dad’s – anyone’s. Loud voices, doors slamming, screams. It doesn’t have to be directed at me even. But I’m always afraid it will be. It can be in a movie, a book, taking place in my vicinity, caused by me, aimed at me,  …

* I feel very anxious about … everything … my work (that I can’t do it right, have become incompetent ….etc) moving, making decisions, choices I’ve make that have impact where we’re at in life now, how I’ve been as a parent, wife, daughter, what I’ll do after we move.
* I love you very much and most of the time I feel that you know best about everything. However, there are moments, when my thinking gets twisted and I lose sight of that and only see what I’m upset about, and can’t see the good for the bad (so to speak) It’s called black and white thinking. This doesn’t happen often, but like my anger, is like a switch being flipped. impulsive.
* Sometimes, when we’re arguing, I may seem to drift off and to seem to be taking what you’re saying very seriously. What it is it that I can’t connect with what you’re saying so I dissociate from it. This doesn’t happen often, only when I’m really upset by what’s being said  like when you said you didn’t think you could stay with me. I just couldn’t register that.

* Nothing seems top be able to remain “little” in my mind. It’s not that I TRY to take little thing and make them into big things, it’s just that by having them around as “issues”, they hale me avoid myself – what are actually the real big issues. Same with picking fights with Peter and you. keeping it away from myself, – I’m not the problem. When I really am. What my problem is is how emotionally sensitive I am an how difficult it is for me to control y emotions. That seems to be why I try and divert everything away from MY emotions and onto someone else’ or some other situation.
* I keep thinking that if someone or something forces me to come face to face with myself, without the ability to run away from  it, I’ll be in a sink or swim situation. And I hope it’ll be a swim. Sit me down, force me to face my demons, my feelings, finding out that I won’t actually die from them. I just don’t seem to be able to see things as they really are. I try to, but it’s always distorted.

* When there’s nothing going on to keep me preoccupied, it’s a very uncomfortable feeling. I don’t know what to do! That’s where impulsive behavior can come in, I HAVE to do SOMETHING to have some kind of feeling. If I don’t, other feeling seep in that can be uncomfortable to deal with. And when they do, my behaviors can become even more out of control to try and push those feelings down (cutting, burning, yelling/anger erratic driving – ask Peter)
* I need to learn to tolerate them and listen to the part of my mind that says it’s ok. This move may be a part of that change in me.

* Right now I find myself hyper sensitive to emotions of sadness, loneliness, and fear of loss. I’ve always been afraid of losing you even though you remain with me. Abandonment

Letting Go

Crying..

Crying.. (Photo credit: Anders Ljungberg)

Today has been a day filled with anguish. It began yesterday when I was quick to anger and picking fights with my son. It continued today. I thought I was catching it, but I wasn’t. He pointed it out and I became overwhelmed with sadness at what I was doing to our relationship, subjecting him to my emotional roller coaster of anger, sadness and manipulation. All he wanted at that point was to have nothing to do with me for the rest of the day. Thanks BPD! I was sobbing as I drove  us home from my parents. Once home, he went on a walk with my husband. I wandered the yard crying and rearranging hanging plants. I decided to bring in the spider plant that my husband gave me when our son was born, 16 years ago, and hang it in the kitchen. As I hung it up, the pot broke and it crashed to the floor. I sobbed for half an hour as if the world had ended. The plant hadn’t even come out of the pot, just part of the plastic pot broke off! But my emotions were off the chart.

It might not seem like a big deal, but it’s a typical response to a small incident. Over the top. that’s BPD for you. It comes and goes.  You just never know when it’s going to be there though.

Cry out loud

Cry out loud (Photo credit: Up Your Ego)

So I come to my blog, which I’ve come to look at like a support group. It’s grown, slowly, but it’s growing. And today I see that my following in down by one. Sigh. Abandonment issues now arise. I don’t know who chooses to follow me or why, but to see someone choose to stop following me makes me feel like I didn’t do it right. I let them down. How? I’ll never have any way of knowing and logically I tell myself that it’s not about them, but writing for myself. But I still feel like I let them down and didn’t do it right. You know what I mean.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.