When did we lose our humanity and revert to creatures of hell's 9th level?

There is so much whizzing through my head right now, so many emotions flying around with all the force of a hurricane. I have always known my emotions are a terrible force to be reckoned with, but sometimes I forget until they turn on me.

And they have.

My emotions are tearing me apart from the inside out. And it is so utterly painful. I am so hurt. I loathe this state of being. I utterly loathe it. And as a result I sort of hate myself for being such a frequent visitor to this state of mind. There isn't anything I can DO about it, so logically I shouldn't beat myself up over it. But there isn't anything logical or reasonable or rational about it.

The fact is I'm so full of disgust.

It came to my realization that while I've lived in Washington, the number of people in my life out here who haven't treated me like shit, or hurt me is painfully small. It is a horribly small number.

I am surrounded by horrible human beings.

I acknowledge that I myself am not a picture of goodness and sweetness and wonderful fluffy things.

But I can also state with certainty and no arrogance that I always, always TRY TO BE GOOD. I try to be kind, and forgiving, and patient, and considerate, and understanding. I try always to be loving, and loyal, and faithful, to defend those who are not there to defend themselves.

So why is it all these people are so fucking petty?

If me, the head case who is spending her time in therapy, the head case who is all but certifiably insane...why am I the only one who I see making these efforts?

You people! With your health, and stability, with your independence and your strength. With all these things you should cherish and you throw them around and turn it into a joke! You spend your time, wasting yourself in petty behavior! You have families and love and support and you spend your time telling lies, making fun of people who need tolerance and not your cruelty.

You're so....despicable. What me and mine fight to have you toss aside like rubbish and make yourself into something detestable. You're so caught up in yourselves and your drama, your cheating and your lust. Your lies and your inconsiderate behavior. Your hate and cruelty, your racism, sexism, your disgusting behavior.

I'm so sick of being surrounded by lies and broken promises, secrecy and all that rubbish treatment of your fellow humans.

I understand no one is perfect, but how hard is it to be humane, to be kind? What the fuck is wrong with being KIND?!

But that doesn't happen anymore.

Instead people are behaving like animals. Sex means nothing, bodies are used as cheap tools to get what you want and if you don't match up to their ideals you have people who mock you and talk down to you. Gender is used as a weapon, sexuality is a thing to be turned into a joke. Cruelty is the norm and kindness is out of date. People blame the victims and if they can justify something in their head then everyone else is wrong.

Never mind the feelings of other people, never mind the reality of the situation.

I'm deciding I like people less and less, and I wish to spend less and less time around them. No one keeps their promises anymore, no one cares about anyone other then themselves, and if you make the mistake to care or ask for help...you're screwed. You get taken advantage of.

More and more I'm not here, I'm going away into my dissociation. More and more I'm trusting people less and less. I don't want to be around people because I just can't handle it.

There is so littler tolerance, so little acceptance, so little care or love or kindness...and I just can't do it anymore.

I have my limits, I have only so much forgiveness for the same cruelty and I'm out.

I'm so ready to be done with people.

I have therapy tomorrow and I can't tell if I'm looking forward to it or dreading it.

“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.

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.

Interlude: A moment of current crazy

What the ever living hell was I thinking, getting out of therapy?

I mean, before I moved out here I should have had Sarah find me a new shrink and just jumped from one doc to the next. Because me without therapy is turning out to be far more difficult then I could have possibly anticipated.

Don't get me wrong, I'm heartily impressed by the fact I haven't gone off the deep end since my therapy was terminated, but I've been on the edge more times then I care to recount.

Here's the thing: Therapy isn't just about getting you better, it's about keeping you better. It's all about keeping your skills sharp. So even if I was only going once a month, it has a safe feeling about it.

I've made good use of my close friends and my mom though. Calling all the time, ranting, raving, demanding to know if I'm behaving at all like a rational human being or not.

Words are insufficient...

I pass my days in solitude so very often, I go hours without uttering a word. And all that time where I'm on my own, where I am left to my own devices...It's the breeding ground for panic and despair. It's where anxiety grows and blossoms.

My mind is allowed to run wild, and come up with everything and anything it wants to.

Days have been spent pouring over my every minute failing, every mistake and wrong choice. Picking apart my entire life, personality, and psyche only to reach the same damn conclusion (which I'm told it utterly incorrect) of how horrible a human being I am.

Now, this isn't logical. I'm 100% aware of that. (I have this bizarre mix of using logic when it supports my absurd and wild self accusations, and coming up with things that are totally out of the realm of rationality when logic fails that...quirk.)

But then again neither is blaming someone for leaving when they have no intention of doing so...well, until I throw my crazy at them so hard they don't have much of a choice. In their shoes, if my boyfriend/girlfriend/friend/whomever-it-is-I'm-referring-to started pelting me with hail sized crazy, I'd probably need some distance too.

Look, I guess the point I'm trying to make here is that I'm so ready for someone to be there to smack me when I get out of line again. Hell, my mom's 2,000 miles away so she can only do so much to kick my ass into line. Sometimes what I need is a good old fashioned smack upside the back of the head to remind me to pull my head out of crazy-land and return to harbor in good ol' real-world.

I'm sure some people are highly offended about how I talk about Borderline Personality Disorder, and some people may take this as permission to joke and tease and play around with it.

Let me be crystal clear here: This is my life. This is my every moment of existence. Humor is how I survive when my own mind is trying to kill me. I have every right to address MY life, MY understanding, MY case of BPD with disdainful amusement and detached affection because I learned that if I don't embrace my own insanity, I'm doomed. I don't mind when my boyfriend addresses it the same way because, now, it's his life too. We share this morbid humor together because otherwise this would destroy us. We're foxhole buddies, so to speak.

But unless you have permission from someone, unless it is your own life, unless you have suffered through the deepest, darkest pits of hell along side that person, don't you ever dare make light of it. It is far from funny. Common decency demands that you make no jokes about homicide, war, genocide or any other form of destruction, so extend that decency to us. We are ravaged in the unseen corners of our minds by demons and monsters, violence and terror beyond imagination. Would you mock a prisoner of war, make light of torture, tease a survivor? If you would, then you don't deserve to call yourself human and I pity your pathetic existence. If this seems harsh, understand that I have been mocked, told I am weak, teased, and had 'light hearted, affectionate jokes' made by people who've never held me while I wept, stood by my side while I contemplated suicide, and stubbornly refused to leave my side while I suffered.

So, please, respect the realm of mental health issues, and please understand that this is how I make it through each day. And refrain of 'making light' of someone's brokenness, unless you've been given permission, or unless you're that steadfast companion.