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.

And what more needs to be said?

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.
-Neil Gaiman.

“Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength.”

Borderline Personality Disorder Awareness

Oh the irony. So May is BPD awareness month. May is also my birth month. I do have some tiny amusement over this.

Anyway, right now I'm working on getting people in my life to help me end the stigma. I'm trying to figure out who all will buy a bracelet, and then once everyone numbers in, I'm going to order bracelets.

I can't find premade ones anywhere anymore, so now I'm going to do it myself.

After all, this is my life. I don't really have a choice in it and I know it's had a negative impact on the people in my life. So maybe if we can all raise awareness then perhaps we can end the stigma, end the fear, and bring about more healing.

Education, I think, is the best way to spread compassion and understanding.

How can I expect people to know and understand me and my issues if I don't do the work to get it out there?

I guess that is my biggest thing. No one is going to know what's what if I don't get the tools for them to learn.

I mean, sure, in an ideal world if you hear someone you love has an issue you'd go out and learn everything you can and become the biggest advocate EVER.

But I'm not an idealist. I know better. I know people have their own issues as well. So if I want them to know, to understand, then I gotta give them the building blocks to do something about it.

So here I am.

Working on those building blocks, working on spreading understanding, compassion, knowledge and ending the stigma.

I want the next girl or boy like me to not have to explain to everyone what BPD is, I want therapists to not be afraid of revealing the diagnosis, I want BPD to have the same reach as Bipolar. So that when a BPDer gets into a relationship and admits to their illness, they don't have to deal with the same shame and humiliation I had to when the only reaction I got was a blank face.

I want there to at least be a passing recognition.

Because this isn't going away.

We have to do something about it.

So here I am...and I hope you'll be here with me too.

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.

A link.

Here you go. A link about multiplicity.

Mind you: Everyone is singular and different and so this is just...well, it's a layman's guide.

http://www.karitas.net/blackbirds/layman/whatis.html

Please read it.

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.

The only thing between you and me is the wall I jealously guard

The last couple of days have been a curious series of events. And I'm not sure how to feel about any of it. Actually, that isn't even true. I know how I felt.

I've been swinging violently from the highest of highs, to the most absurd rages. Just total anger for no real reason. There isn't a real reason for it, things are actually going fairly well in my life.

I've recently hooked up with an old childhood friend, Mat and I have been arguing very little, I've been doing people's hair, I've been out and active fairly regularly.

But maybe this is the problem. Maybe it's that I've stepped too far away from where I'm used to residing.

I was going to make today's blog entry about makeup and clothes. About the different masks and armor I have worn to protect me from the people who surround me. And I think I'll touch on that.

So here's the thing...I've always been different. I've been everything from a drama queen to a quiet lurker. And in school I had a very small group of people who stuck by my side, for the most part I was disliked, treated with disdain. Treated like a carrier of the plague. I've always been different and awkward. For many reasons.

First of all, in my childhood my family were Jehovah's Witnesses. And let me tell you, being raised in the equivalent of a cult (especially in a small town in the Midwest) is one hell of a way to turn a kid into an outcast.

But on top of that, I'd been home-schooled until I was of 5th grade age, but stayed behind a year because I just didn't get everything, and my social skills were lacking.

And the crowning sign that screamed 'DIFFERENT!' was that I behaved differently, I expressed myself differently.

My teenage years were hell. Picked on, teased, bullied, attacked, ostracized, and spoken down to... Ignored, unwanted. You bet.

I wasn't ever asked to go to parties, go to dances, or even to dance when I went. I wasn't asked out by people. The few boyfriends I had between middle school were guys I asked out, and its an embarrassingly small number.

So, when the actual outcast thing started to kick in, I suited up every day in my 'armor'. First it was the goth clothing.

A slouchy looking set of bondage pants (almost always in black), some sassy, dark t-shirt (occasionally a tank top or long sleeve), huge hoodies, and either massive boots or skater shoes. To be fair, occasionally I woke massive, angry looking boy-styled bondage pants too. Always full of chains and straps.

Then I discovered the jewelery. Angry looking leather bracelets, rings on multiple fingers, chokers and chunky necklaces.

My hair was dyed every color under the sun, each other more outrageous then the last. And I almost always wore it down, unless my depression got so bad that I let my hygiene slipped and I was gross. Then it was yay pony tail.

When I wore makeup it was either elaborate and uncanny looking, or it was smudged darkness around my eyes, and a pale glow to my skin, with too dark lips.

With my headphones on my head and a dark backpack low on my back, a sullen and almost violent look brewing on my features, and an angry gait you've got me in highschool.

I wasn't happy, I was bullied and treated like shit. But I lashed back out at the people who called me names. For every time I was called I freak, I yelled out that they were sheep. For every time I was called a bitch, I sneered out that they were pathetic. They'd get in my face, and I'd get right back in theirs. I wasn't gonna take it laying down, after all. Plus, it was a good way to take out some anger.

I recall in my freshman year, some senior got right into my face and called me something. I didn't hear it, but I heard the tone, the one they used for every time I got called bitch, slut, freak, fat, ugly, stupid, cunt, whore... And I stepped toe to toe with him, and told him, in no uncertain terms, that his life meant nothing to me, and if he died a horrific death, I wouldn't even laugh because he was worth so little to me, I doubt I'd acknowledge his demise. His face drained of blood. And I walked away.

But under all that anger at their treatment, I believed them. And that was why I was so angry, why I'm still angry. Because I can't look at my body and not feel let down, and even disgusted. I am frequently heard saying that I'm better looking with my clothes on.

After those years, I believed I was ugly, fat, stupid, unwanted, horrible, and even that I was a tease.

And this isn't okay. Because to be totally honest, there is very little that can convince me otherwise. On my best days, when I see myself all I think is, "Well, I'm not ugly."

Here's a Youtube Vid I found...I think it's very powerful. It brought me to tears when I watched it because...I got it.


But now...

Time to SWITCH directions!

So even though things have been going well, there have been a number of anger outbursts, and I'm so exhausted.

See here's the thing...when I have a bad spell, though it sucks, it's actually fairly mellow...I've got a long period of time when I feel like shit and I hate life...but it's consistent.

When life is good, I have more anger outbursts, and I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, so when it does...I'm devastated.

I'm so fucking tired. So tired and just wrung out that I almost cut today. For the first time in AGES....

I'm holding it off. Hopefully I can until the desire passes, or until something distracts me, but here I am. Another fucking battle.

And even though tonight I will fall asleep, I'll wake up to the same fucking battle tomorrow.

I'm so tired.

I should go try to sleep. It's like 3 in the morning.