Suspended in a compromise.

We sent our gods away, many years gone by, because in our arrogance we felt no need for them any longer. We devoted our lives to a myriad of different sciences, to furthering what breakthroughs we've had to make us technological titans in medicine, machine, weapon, virus and creation. But with no gods, we had no compass. Now, me, I don't believe in gods, and that means I'm just a child of our world, raised with no reason to fear anything but my fellow man and what weapons that are wielded.

I believe we create our own gods and devils. How can I believe anything else? I feel a deep connection with the world around me and the people I encounter, moved to tears by things that other people don't even flinch at, marveling at the world around me. But I don't believe that there is a god in the way the religions I'm acquainted with paint. Just as I don't believe their picture of a devil. I believe in good an evil, I believe in cruelty and kindness, coldness and empathy. I believe we create our own gods and heavens, and our fears fashion us hells and devils. The angels and demons are the people we meet.

A friend, a kind person who is selfless, how is that not an angel of some sort? Human predators who torture and abuse others are as close to demons as anything I can imagine.

Maybe I'm putting too much thought into this. I've been told you can't analyze beliefs, you just basically close your eyes and pick a direction. But I don't believe that for a second, actually. I feel like you have to find something that calls to the core of your very being.

A Christmas or two ago a friend of mine gave me a tarot deck called the Faerie's Oracle and with it I have felt a connecting to an otherness that I only felt as a child, a deep sense of rightness.

After I was home this last time my mom informed me my Uncle Michael (passed away in '89) used to do tarot as well as had the same knack for it I seem to.

How can I not feel connected to this man who I met only in the first months of my life, too young to even remember his face? I don't believe there is a god linking us, I believe that somehow in the vast universe he shared some of his stardust with me, passing on a part of himself in the moment he first held me.

My mother tells me how very much he would have loved me, how we would have been inseparable, two odd little birds flocking together. Maybe the universe wanted to leave my mother a part of him, and since I was so young, so unformed I was receptive to what stardust he had to offer.

This is very, very tangential and I don't plan to revise or edit, as this is a place for me to just write and think and allow everything to flow out of me into a place where I can look back on it. Where I can experience my own thoughts again.

I'm a bit worked up because I had posted the first paragraph of this entry on facebook (I'd written it awhile ago and when I rediscovered it today it hit a note that I didn't want to ignore) and someone got very defensive about God as he believes him to be, and it just made me angry.

Why is his version any more credible or fulfilling than the one I choose to believe? Believe what you will, but do not force feed it to me. If you'd like to debate theoretically or something, I'm game, if you'd like to share your beliefs with me when I invite that sort of topic, by all means...But I do dislike this invasion into something that is, in essence, my space and the brash attitude he took.

I need to go eat something. I think my blood sugar is dropping and I'm just working myself up more.

“Love can sometimes be magic. But magic can sometimes... just be an illusion.”

Recently my life has been in constant turmoil, and now is no different.

First off, Mat and I have ended our relationship, and all I can think of is this quote. "Love doesn't die a natural death. Love has to be killed, either by neglect or narcissism. Those guilty of these two crimes of the heart always hide behind excuses convenient; too ashamed, lacking in integrity and courage to face the truth. To them, it is always something other than their own actions, desires and self-importance that dictate circumstances. For these people, so blind to truth, true love can never be fully experienced for they have never really given of themselves all that they are."
(Frank Salvato)

I am not well. I'm brave enough to say this to you. I'm broken and I hurt. My heart has been ground to dust under the heel of a self-centered man.

Over the past four years I have been treated with insane amounts of contempt, I have been neglected, and even abused. My heart has been played with and discarded. My soul has been kicked aside and trampled.

My mother has compared me to a Xena episode, actually. And while part of me wanted to smile over the show reference, the image that it left in my mind was...poignant. The story was of the Goddess Aphrodite... There was a man, and every time he kissed her, he stole some of her godhood, and she got more and more pale, her light ever fading.

And that has been me. I am exhausted and weak, I am pale and ill. I am wasting away in a home where I am blamed for loving, where I am punished for my faith, and I am afraid to forgive.

Now, be aware that for all my anger, I do not hate nor do I want you to bad mouth Mat. I am angry because I have been wronged. I am angry because I have been hurt. But I have earned this anger, and while I know your hearts have bled for me, he is not a bad person. He is a person who is undeveloped. He hasn't learned how to be an adult, a man.

Of course, the results of this crisis have left me in absolute desolation. I am destroyed. I am not ashamed to admit I have cried myself to sleep, nor am I afraid to admit I haven't eaten in 72 hours because I have been so distressed that I get sicker trying to eat then not. I am aware that I have cried myself sick, and that this is cause for worry. But take heart in the fact that at least I'm not hiding it from you.

I have cut.

But I'm working now on coping in a healthier way. I have also chopped off 5 inches of my hair. Oh yes.

Thank god for Xanax, and for my plane ticket home. I'm so grateful for my friends, and my family.

And this situation has really started to show me who IS and who is NOT a true friend. There are those I can count on to tell me truth no matter how much it will hurt, no matter what the consequences. There are those I know will defend me, who have my back and are trying to offer me every bit of help they can. There are those whose hearts sing to mine while I try to relearn the song of my soul.

And then there are those who are cowards. Who will never again have my love or trust. There are those to whom I am kind because it is the GOOD thing to do, and I am going to be a good person.

Because really, I don't know if sins are ever forgiven. I don't know if I am so good that I can really BE good, but I will try. I will try to be good. Because even a stunted tree reaches towards the sun. And even I will yearn to forgive, to love and to be loved.

And it's hard right now. It's hard to believe that I am loved. And part of that is my Borderline. The already present fear of rejection, the distrust, the paranoia...They already reside in my mind...and while I keep them in check, the behavior that Mat has displayed...

Well, I'm not sure I can believe in love. But cruelty, that I have faith in. To quote Jacqueline Carey "When Love cast me out, it was Cruelty who took pity on me." And that...That cuts to the heart of my life. And that makes me feel like Alice. I feel as though I have lost my muchness. (Yes, I am making an ABSURD amount of references. Because I am on my Xanax and my brain is a little fuzzy from all the cry. So accept it.)

And I am afraid. I am so afraid. Because...Mat wants me to move out. My options are very limited. And none of them particularly ideal. If I can find my own housemate, good. If I cannot...then I would be put into a shelter or transitional housing. My mom will have none of this and would rather come get me then allow that to happen.

Mat has said 'we'll figure something out' because he doesn't want me to be in a shelter either. But...I don't see how we'll figure anything else. If we stay living in the same house I can only see a couple outcomes...Either we'll fall back into our old patterns, and be miserable. Or we'll try and heal and get over things and because of the intense stress of the situation it will become violent over time.

This isn't exactly something I want out of life. I want to be happy. I want to be loved. I want to be respected. I want loyalty, I want trust, I want to be able to trust. I want all the things that I believe in my heart are human RIGHTS.

And I do not believe I will get that.

I am very, very broken inside.

Of all the things I miss the most, I miss the ability to run away

Of all the things in the world I wish I had, I wish I had the ability to walk away and not look back. To leave without pain. To cut ties and feel no remorse.

Aside from that I wish I had a shoulder to cry on, an arm to support me, an ear to listen, and the reassurance, that I am safe.

The Borderline is so hard to manage alone. And that is the worst thing. For all that I fear abandonment, it doesn't matter because I already am alone. I am alone in a way that no one else I know is.

Often I feel isolated, unwanted, alone. I feel lost, and unappreciated and hurt.

And how not? How am I supposed to feel when people forget, or don't care or just allow me to face this alone? How does one fight an army when they are a single person? I know we're supposed to face our demons and fight them, but do we have to do it alone?


My words are stolen from me, my feelings are not validated, my needs are not met. (Please take me away from here.)

I don't want to be this person anymore. I'd like to fall asleep and never wake up. I wish I could change. I wish I had the courage to be anyone other then who I am.

Grant me one wish, and let me forget everyone I've ever known. Let me step into the shoes of someone else.

Because I have faith. In those precious few who have never broken my heart, or shattered my soul. I have faith that they'd always find me. Because they can hear my pack song, and they will always respond. But I'm broken, and my pack song is lonely now. I'm drained of all my color, all the life is bleeding out of me in solitary tears.

I don't care if people think this is just the Borderline. The worst part of BPD is that we tend to attract some of the shittiest people into our lives. We attract the users and abusers and the skeezy jerks who take advantage of a good thing and drain it until it has no choice but to be tainted.

And that's me, now. I'm so drained, my defenses are so low that I don't have a choice anymore. I'm becoming cruel inside, the bitterness is like a decay.

"Love doesn't die a natural death. Love has to be killed, either by neglect or narcissism. Those guilty of these two crimes of the heart always hide behind excuses convenient; too ashamed, lacking in integrity and courage to face the truth. To them, it is always something other than their own actions, desires and self-importance that dictate circumstances. For these people, so blind to truth, true love can never be fully experienced for they have never really given of themselves all that they are."

I know there is at least one person who would say this pertains to me as well...But I know in my heart of hearts, and in the haven of those who do love me, who love me too well to lie to me to pad my ego...that I'm not guilty of this crime.

My crime is that I am insane. I do the same thing over and over again, praying for different results, and being broken when they don't come to be.

So here I am, trying to open my eyes and gather the courage to do what I need to do, no matter the consequences.

Paralysis in the face of crisis

My life is currently filled to the brim with doctor visits and appointments and paranoia and the occasional urge to beat my head against the wall. Of course, more frequently I'd rather beat other people's head through walls. I'm not actually a masochist after all.

I have the strangest flare ups in my stupid Borderline.

And I do mean strangest.

Like today, I wanted nothing more then to stay at home all day, hidden away from the world so I could just learn to breathe again.

After all, some days I just forget how to function. Today was one of those days. I call them 'reset' days. Because I take the time to just do little nothings that allow me a sort of meditation because I'm busy while I focus on my breathing. It's actually very calming. (You should try it some time.)

I'm very paranoid right now. I'm not sure if it's my intuition ringing a bell, or if I'm just very seriously paranoid. Sometimes it takes me a few days to tell me which is which.

In fact, I'm not sure if my intuition is related to my BPD. Because I have an UNCANNY ability to have dreams or nigglings in my mind when something isn't right with someone in my life. When someone is lying to me, or has...intentions that are less then stellar or fair for me.

But occasionally it's just the BPD paranoia. Sometimes it's just me not trusting people. Often, I don't trust people that aren't counted among my closest friends. Of course, I've never been given a real reason to trust humanity.

Why should I?

They have mocked me, they have terrorized me, they have abused me, beaten me down. They have slandered my name, and shown me an encompassing amount of disrespect. So to be fair, my paranoia isn't entirely based in fancy.

And to be fair the more time I spend contemplating what's going on in my life, the more I realize that I've almost always had reason to be paranoid.

I've reacted harshly, to be sure. But not always because I was wrong, sometimes it was simply because the emotions were a suckerpunch.

Sometimes, as a Borderliner, if I'm expecting the emotions I can do soemthiing about it. But if I'm taken by surprise, if I'm slapped in the face, so to speak, I can't get a hand on the reins of my emotions.

I think of them, sometimes, as a living thing. Something that is part of me, but still separate because I can't always control them.

And I know, I've heard it a million times: OF COURSE YOU CAN CONTROL YOUR EMOTIONS! :D

....No.

That's the thing!

"Borderline individuals are the psychological equivalent of third-degree-burn patients. They simply have, so to speak, no emotional skin. Even the slightest touch or movement can create immense suffering."

So my psyche has third degree burns. I have no emotional skin. No protection.

The slightest bump, the tiniest jostling is the equivalent of stabbing someone emotionally.

How the hell do I control that, when it hurts so bad, and all I can do is lash out because it's the only logical (yeah you heard me, logical) reaction to that sort of pain.

It's not fair. Not to you, not to me. Not to anyone. It's not fair to me that you can hurt me with the littlest upset. It's not fair to you that when it hurts me, I lash out. It's a painful process, and one that I try so hard to keep control over.

Just please, understand me.

I don't ask to be pardoned- just forgiven. I don't ask to be right- just understood. I don't ask to be loved- just respected. I don't ask to be coddled- just for some care in your handling of me. I don't ask to be protected- just to have a safety net.

Creature, creature that I see, you live too deep inside of me.

So recently I had another Borderline rage attack. It used to be that it would happen monthly, and now it's generally a yearly event. The fact that I've got this much more control then I used to, it's comforting.

Of course, the rage always throws me off for a while. It's weird. It's like having this feral creature that resides so deep in me that most of the time the only that gets out is a little snappy behavior, the occasional bitchy moment. Things like that. But when I lose control, when that rage takes over its almost like being possessed.

It cannot be stopped, it cannot be controlled, it cannot be changed, or derailed. It will overtake me and it will turn me into a totally different person. And it's so exhausting.

I screamed, kicked, clawed, twisted and turned and wailed. I bit and spat and hissed. I threatened and cursed, and growled. I fought like an animal caged. I was vicious and cruel.

And there is a small part of me that is so very relieved when it happened. Because my temper keeps me more cautious then I probably should be. It's a treacherous line to toe. Because if I allow the beast to reach out when it chooses, in small doses, I'm not sure that it won't gain too much strength for me to handle.

So instead I keep it bound, and when it lashes out, it is not the way it used to be. I remember now, bits and pieces of my rage, where before I remembered nothing. I can articulate what I need now, when before I could only scream.

Each day is a small, quiet battle that no one even sees. It's a vicious, brutal battle. It's waged deep in my mind, heart, and soul. So under the surface of my skin, there is a battle of epic proportions. And no one gets to see it, except me.

So here I am, battling a force of nature deep within my core. Something that is probably a thousand times stronger then I am. The fact that I'm still hanging on surprises the hell out of me.

I survive on the tiny victories. The little things. Not screaming when I want to, not throwing a punch every time I get mad, not demanding blood for my tears. It's the little tiny things that matter to me. The tiny little victories.

I wish I could convey to you how much it takes, how much I need those moments, and how terribly hurt I get when people take those away from me.