I just realized …

I just realized I haven’t written in about a week. I have been busy reading other blogs, playing with my puppy (3 months old), making new friends here through swimming class. TODAY, my outlook is good. I’ve had periods of sadness, anger, anxiety … the gamut that usually torment me … but not for sustained periods. The blogs of others, especially  Jaen Wirefly’s (You Know You’re Borderline When …) posts on mindfulness and Gypsy’s (Through my eyes: Adventures in Boreline Land) reminder to think positively. Others have shared progress going on in their lives (Mandi) and just shared some humorous anecdotes about their family and children (John the Aussie). There are others and you’ve all kept me moving forward!

My husband now is employed, almost full time, although still no benefits, so that takes some of the worry off. He is not pressuring me to go back to work yet. I want to, but don’t feel the time is right just now. Making friends and building that support network, here in a new environment, is what I need to do first. The people in our community are very friendly and welcoming. I’m putting forth the effort to make friends, which I never really did before. I’m struggling with parenting a 16 year old boy – who is a great kid, but is still a 16 year old boy with all that that entails. Thank God I’m not a single parent!

Having more than a day or two in a row without the yuk is kind of scary, but good. I’ve been having days with short periods of distress that I’ve been able to stay with and not succumb to. I appreciate the good days and know the bad days won’t last forever. But I know this “thing” won’t ever leave me for good also, and that’s somewhat distressing – but is what it is and not an excuse to check out. I do have a son to set an example for. 

Advertisements

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?

New Post

I really feel I should be writing a new post by now, but I’ve been too depressed. I’m working on a poem/piece of writing about a room that helps you recover memories, but it’s not done. I’m trying to keep up with everyone’s blogs as best I can. It helps to read them. I’ve things I want to say, but don’t want to keep being a downer. It’s frustrating that this disorder that was suppose to dissipate in my 40’s has not only NOT done that, but has flared up and gotten worse than it’s been in years. There’s things I’m afraid to say to anyone, here or off the internet. So they stay in my head.

A Poem from Years Ago

I’ve been sick for most of this past week, but I still feel like I need to post something. So I’ve decide to post another of the poems I wrote 28 years ago. This one also exemplifies an trait of BPD, fear of abandonment. My husband used to go on trips for work. I hated him going away for a few days. So here is the poem.I would sleep in his shirt, feeling like his arms were wrapped around me.

Dave,

I have taken

the shirt

which you

last wore,

and that you

wanted to

take

on your trip.

Forgive me,

it smells like you

and keeps you near

while you are gone.

Memory Poem

As I was cleaning for a house showing tonight, I came across some poems I wrote for a college class 26 years ago (WOW!) I was far from diagnosed yet had experienced years of symptoms. My professor had conferred with me and suggested changes, but I couldn’t comply. Here’s the poem. We learned about forms that didn’t follow “traditional” poem formats. This was a memory poem. I guess it’s a repeating memory for me. I kept TRYING to show people how much pain I was in. No one ever got it. I’ll post a short story I wrote about dosing that was very explicit, but got me nowhere.  All to show I’m lucky to be alive!

 

Not So Long Ago …

 

There was a time

when life was painful

for me.

I don’t know why,

but I hurt – deep inside.

A look or word,

from someone I loved,

was enough to torment me

until I had to see,

really see, the pain.

For this I needed a wound,

a burn, to work at

whenever life hurt too bad.

It worked.

And I felt better, for awhile.

Eventually, it was not enough and

I found other ways

to deal with the pain

that was just life after all.

But I still carry the scars,

reminding me of that time.

Sometimes I miss the working

and what it is for,

although I now know

there are better ways.

Life goes on.

 

Self-harm

Self-harm (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Old Habits – Bad Coping Techniques

 

Friday was a challenge. All during therapy sessions, I kept wondering if insurance would cover me for any more days or if it was my last day. Finally, right before I left, I found out that I can have 3 more days, but they want them split up (MWF) rather than MTW. A step-down plan. Anyways, I was anxious about that and other general things on my mind.

Once that part of the day was over, I went to spend the evening with my parents. My dad (I’m sure he’s undiagnosed bipolar)  was in a down phase. It had obviously been a difficult week for my mom. Within minutes, I had made myself a stiff drink. It was the first drink I’d had in 2 weeks. I did make it last 2 hours, but it was still a break in abstinence. I was having a hard time being with them because of my dad’s mood, but decided to push through for a few hours, putting on my happy face.

This morning was a session with my psychiatrist to check on meds and fill out long-term disability paperwork. When I got home, I saw that no medical records had been attached, and now I’m worried about that. My appointment started and ended late, and then it took about 45 minutes to get my script filled because the didn’t realize I was waiting for it for about a half hour! All of thins had my morning off to a very late start. I was suppose to help with testing at my dojo, but was now unable to get there in time. It would have been almost done by the time I got there. So … more anxiety. Time to go back to my parents’ to pick up my son. Started off well enough, but then he and I started arguing. Partly 16 year old “I know everything and you don’t) attitude, partly my impulsive anger acting up.

I tried really hard to turn the afternoon around. I stopped myself from yelling or judging. I laughed and talked. I worked in the yard. We decided to spend some family time together doing errands and going out to supper. All went well. I didn’t have anything to drink with supper. We then went for frozen custard. It was really good! I thought I had succeeded. As we got closer to home, I started to feel very full. The custard topped it off and felt cool in my stomach.

I had decided by the time we got home. Into the bathroom I went. I haven’t been able to purge for a long time (possibly years) because of shooting chest pains I get when I try. But ice cream can be different. Slickery. And the coldness helps, I think. Anyway, I did it. I puked up all the frozen custard. I stopped before the burger I’d had for supper started coming up. I’m afraid that would have initiated the chest pains.

Now I have the shame of breaking abstinence in two areas. And no one knows except those who might read it here. Why? Why? I think I have a clue … the last two days  have been comparatively quiet. Calm has become difficult for me to tolerate. I sabotage it, returning to chaos. Or was it the conversation with Dave just before we left the house … what WAS it about? I remember holding in tears as I left. But, for the life of me, I can’t remember what he said! If I remember, I’ll add it in.

So, was it the calm or the comment? It may have been either, both, or possibly neither and something completely different. Here I am, at the close of Saturday, having coped in unhealthy ways twice in 24 hours. And the weekend is only half over.  I did find a poem that I wrote almost exactly 3 years ago …

Image

A poem I wrote on 3-29-09 that I came across tonight. It is something I needed to find.


First Post

Hi, I’ve just begun my recovery from decades of BPD that was never addressed. I’ve coped, at my family’s expense. That is no longer acceptable to me. We all deserve to be happy and to find joy in life. My hope is that it isn’t too late for me or those close to me. I’m desperately afraid of what demons I will be challenged with facing, be they experiences, issues or emotions. Right now, I’m feeling very lonely and apprehensive about stepping into this journey. But step forward I must because going backward isn’t an option and staying put is debilitating. So, here goes!

Lonely Wolf

Lonely Wolf (Photo credit: Ghetu Daniel)