Realities

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Yesterday, my husband and I took a walk across the Foresthill Bridge. It’s 730 feet high, the third highest in the US. At least one person commits suicide, by jumping from it, every year. At the midpoint, there were several names and dates scratched in the paint of the handrail. Each one named a person and the date of their death. It was very sobering to stand where they had stood and contemplate what had brought them to that same point on the bridge, with the intention of never walking off of it. Looking over the side was dizzying. They must have been extremely determined, and hopeless, to climb up and step out. There’s a call-box right there, imploring them to not jump, but reach out for help.  How many make the call? How many don’t? How many choose neither and return to their life with no one the wiser? They were very sobering, these realities. It was a cloudy day yesterday. Heavy with thoughts and emotions.

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IMG_2360I thought about all the times I’ve felt everyone would do better without me around. But I could not jump off that bridge, and I won’t. I will continue my search for strategies, methods, meditations, beliefs and actions to help me survive and heal here, on Earth and alive in my world.

Death can be very abstract until you see it up close and real. Those names and dates were real. And a caring, grieving family member or friend scratched them in the paint so that the person wouldn’t be forgotten. Nor their pain and desperation. Someone was the last person to speak to them. Someone discovered them, fallen. Someone had to pick up the crumpled, lifeless body. Someone had to find the family and let them know what had happened. And then there are those the person left behind. Those who knew of their pain, and those who didn’t. But they were all left with the loss of that person in their lives, and how they would take that knowledge forward into their own. I hope it made a difference.

Below the bridge flows the north fork of the American River, flanked by beautiful forests, tumbling to join with the middle fork in an area known as the confluence. It’s an area enjoyed by all kinds of people every day of the year. To see such beauty and energy so close to such sadness and desperation is difficult to comprehend. But in seeing and reflecting, I know which scene I want to reflect my life. I hope all those who choose to walk the bridge to the middle will stop and use the call-box. My next walk there will be to enjoy the view and beauty, before I continue my walk to the paths below where life is exuberant and ongoing.

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SSSSLLLLLLEEEEEEEEPPPPPP

Today I’m trying to numb out with sleeping pills. I’ve been applying for all kinds of jobs – nothing. Alsto trying to work with the county social worker to see if I can get any help. I had contacted my old psychiatrist for help and he politely said “NO”. I sent 2 different applications verifications in to the country social worked, and they were wrong. She found a link to what she thinks is the correct application for me to fill out and I’ve been working on it. First was unemployment insurance. Then that didn’t seem right so I worked on  the one for disabilities. When I submitted it, I got a message that I needed to talk to a specialist to finish it. I’ve now been on hold for a  LONG time. Getting worried. My social worker here needs the confirmation by 3:00 today. The people in WI will only be available for the next hour because of the time difference.

Red Tape: The Government Grind

I really want to go into a deep sleep and hope this all passes. Took 3 sleeping pills and now have a strong drink. Slept for a little bit before I got the call from the social worker. So now I’m in a kind of haze as I try to do this. Want to go back to sleep. Just keep feeling that now matter what I say, the answer will not be helpful. If I’m asleep, I don’t think about it. Well not exactly. I dream about needing to find a job with insurance. But I’m too over qualified for anything I think I can handle right now. It’s hard enough for people who aren’t struggling to make their way through all the red tape. How do they expect anyone who can’t focus or make reasonable jusdgements to do it?

I’m not feeling terrible right now, just SO tired of being like this and always living in fear of when my BPD will rear its ugly head and wreck havoc in my life and those of my family. There are so few people that I feel I can talk to honestly about it.  I never feel like I can alk without feeling huge shame – and feeling that they can’t understand me. I’ve heard the words “don’t do that to yourself!” so many times I can’t count. And I never trust that people really want to know what is gong on with me. It’s too uncomfortable for them since they really can’t do anything to help me with it. So much of it is internalized and only comes out at home – except for when I was freaking out and cutting while at work last year.

Still on hold …When this ends, I may need another pill. My sleep has been pretty crappy lately.

Big Question of the Day

Borderline Personality Disorder Awareness

Borderline Personality Disorder Awareness (Photo credit: Gemma.E.Taylor)

I just read this blog that truly explains BPD in a straight forward way. I hope everyone who reads my blog follows the link and reads it. https://authorjaenwirefly.wordpress.com/

The image illustrates some theory of famous ps...

The image illustrates some theory of famous psychologist Melanie Klein, advanced by John Steiner (1979). The theory is about how Borderline Personality Disorder develops and how it interacts with other disorders. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Not a good afternoon. I had emailed my husband the above link, forever trying to explain/help him understand who or what I am, but he never responded in any way. This evening, I sent him another email saying that even if he doesn’t want to talk about it (I will respect that) it would mean a lot to me for him to acknowledge getting the email and reading it, and following/reading the links. I am trying to respect his boundaries and asking him to respect mine – I think. Maybe just respect me.

Et bål

Anyway, this evening I was burning brush and thinking about the email I sent him and the therapy program I just finished and how disconnected I feel. I ended up taking burning sticks and burning over some cutting scars I have on the back of a leg. I was really mad when I first told my psychiatrist about them (first visit) and he didn’t look at them, and they should have had stitches. I’ve burned my arm and the scars are flatter, so I decided to burn the cutting scars and maybe they will end up being flatter than they were. I know the thinking isn’t rational, but that’s how it went. The burning stings for a second, but then doesn’t hurt at all. No matter how long the heat is applied. I feel very disconnected from everything when I self harm. Why is that? What is that? The disconnect last long after too. That’s my big question of the day I guess.