Thursday, May 19, 2011

hard labour

Loneliness. Heartache. Desolation. Withdrawal. Call it what you will, but we all bare this burden at one point or other. There's no avoiding it. It's inevitably relentless. At times, it is insatiable. At times, it is too heavy to bare and yet, one must bare it alone. At times it is the least expected emotion, and other times, it is all too familiar. I'm beginning to see just how lonely I am. Whether I'm paired off with someone special or not I am always lonely.

I've walked a thousand midnight walks accompanied by millions of scrambled thoughts...and have sought out pieces of myself that I've left somewhere when I was happier, stronger, calmer and sweeter. And on each of those walks I'd hoped to discover I belonged there. That I belonged anywhere. Instead, everywhere I am and everything I do feels like I'm a distorted shape trying to squeeze into a square, trying to fit perfectly, to fit nested, to fit... period. Mind you, I don't try to fit in. I'm aware I'm wildly outspoken and this sends some people in the other direction. This is not what I mean by feeling I don't belong. This sensation is an inner battle. I try to find who I am in all the wrong places. In lovers, in friends, in activities, in media and fashion. I rarely stop and ask myself: If you stopped looking, what would you be left with? And the answer would be: myself. I would be left with the core of me, the true self.

Perhaps this post is meaningless and narcissistic. But I hope someone understands what I'm trying to convey here. I've never been very good at upholding my identity because my sense of self wavers so easily under times of distress. I've always believed that it is under extraordinary circumstances that a person's true character is tested and revealed. Maybe I'm built of weak character...though I don't believe that to be the case. Regardless of my foundation, I know I've got to gut it and make something of it. Something completely my own so that in the future I know what I'm made of.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

behind steel walls

I feel like an awful person. I feel as though I'm being punished for the pain I've caused someone else. I feel miserably uneasy with who I am right now. But I also have faith in myself that I will be and feel better. That I am capable of giving love properly and selflessly, but that I need to find this within myself first, before I can hand it out to anyone.

So for now...while I'm being punished...

I feel like an awful person.

Sunday, May 15, 2011


How do we know when we're ready for change? When are we ready TO change? In many cases, it's easy to walk away from something that is causing you pain or feels difficult or is too much work. It's too hard to wait for the change that will lessen the pain, that will ease the work load, and that will ultimately save what needs saving. And it always leads to the same outcome: something ends, something gives, or someone gives up.

How does someone know when they've been unhappy for too long and it is time they leave? Perhaps when the unhappiness begins to leak into other parts of their life...when they can no longer concentrate on a book they were enjoying only days ago...or when they've lost sight of who they are as an individual... or maybe even if the unhappiness infects them like a sickness and they feel it physically, like an ailment, that taunts them and pushes them to the edge. I wonder, and I ask myself, how is it that things can get so bad? And then I remember who I am. I remember the things I do to cause these scenarios to arise. I remember the things I do that lead me to the saddest and darkest places. I remember the things I've done that lead me to be alone, hating myself, hating everything I do to people, feeling like there is no redemption to be had or found inside of me or outside of me. This is an awful place to be. And when I sit in these miserable places, I recollect how incredibly well I work under pressure and that suddenly, I have an abundance of inner strength.

Why couldn't I have found this before a beautiful thing wilted in front of me? The answer is fairly simple: I stopped acknowledging that each person has their own set of values, needs, opinions and perspectives. I forget these things when I'm emotionally unstable and lost, because I can't see my own two feet and all I want is to be rescued. And when I want so desperately to be rescued I forget that I am responsible for myself and that while I need some people, they may also need me at times. And I forgot these things because I stopped working on myself and I stopped being the great person I believe I am. I recently read an article about women with borderline personality disorder written by a psychiatrist who is very objective on the subject, which is a very difficult thing to find as many psychs have had awful and impossible experiences with BPD patients... Anyway, he mentioned that most men find relationships with women who have BPD are filled with passion and emotion and fun. That the greatest part about their partners is they are compassionate women who feel everything straight to their core and practice empathy to an uncanny degree. I agree with this. But he also noted the fact that often times, when these women become too comfortable, too co-dependent, they forget how incredible they are as supports to their loved ones and make everything about themselves because they can't bare to carry the burden of who they are on their own. Suddenly, their lovers' interest must only be their interest in her, otherwise they fall into a pattern of insatiable insecurity and self-defeat. This is all too familiar for me. The psychiatrist made it clear that when patients with BPD are in therapy, they can usually move forward and carry on healthy adult relationships that are mutually respectful and mutually affectionate. Ah-ha! Therein lies my problem. I stopped therapy, or rather, for a long time therapy was no longer available to me. And then I began working and forgot that I had this terrible disorder that impedes my ability to have stable interpersonal relationships.

So, why is it therapy plays such a major role in the salvation of someone like myself? Well, for one, it lifts most of the weight off my friends and family because I'm turning to them less frequently. Mind you, I will always want my friends or partner or family to trust that I'll be open with them, but I tend to keep the dramatics at a low when I'm in therapy. I save the theatrics for the professionals. I also become more aware of my behaviour and thus have more control over what I say or what I do, and how I say or how I do things, long before I do them. Whereas lately, I've just been a sporadic nut who can't think straight before she leaps.

Now that I'm entering therapy again, I'll update my progress on here as I did last year. In the meantime, I'm going to Value Village tomorrow, they're having a 50% off sale and I'm ready for some retail therapy. Luckily my new place is not so far from a pretty decent location.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

I am not a crook

Write a song. Jump a cliff. Pop bubble wrap. Doing the stuff that gives you kicks. Happy people do these things. They're at the mercy of themselves. I want to be at the mercy of myself instead of something else, someone else. Even in my weakest moments, I want to be in control of my emotions, my reactions, and my behaviour. I want this so desperately, perhaps too desperately. I'm so in love and yet I sabotage that love. I'm so happy to have strong friendships, and yet, I meddle with those, too. I have family who have seen me at my worst and continue to see me right through until I've brought myself back up again. I am a fortunate girl but feel I have no fortune.

It's been some time since I've been so boldly awake and aware of what's happening around me. And I've realized that these events don't happen TO me, but rather most of them happen because of me. I am not a victim even though I feel victimized. If I am a victim, I'm only the victim of myself. My own worst enemy. The tyranny of this disorder has worn me down, along with the people I love and look up to. How could I let this evolve so majestically? Where did I lose my mind? I must gain perspective. That's all I ever needed to do. Perspective before spoken word. Because my words can be cruel, tiring, and trying for those who must receive them.

This post is cut and dry as I have no creativity in me at this time, and that makes me very sad. But everyday I open my arms to it, ready for a eureka moment when I can put pen to paper and write something beautiful and meaningful. I know I shouldn't wait for something to happen. I know that I must find the creative bones by digging and holding and releasing and grieving and thinking and pushing. To be honest, I'm exhausted. Anyone with borderline personality disorder can vouch for the fact that everyday is frightening, sometimes to a paralyzing degree. Someone says the wrong thing to you and you feel rejected, betrayed, abandoned. So you react accordingly. You may yell, you may cry, you may make snide remarks. But when you treat the people you love that way you put yourself in an awful situation and that is the cycle of guilt. You say or do those awful things and almost as swiftly as the words leave you do you wish they never left. You realize you've hurt a loved one. You want to make it better. So you cry harder and enable worse self talk. Telling yourself you're a bad person, you don't deserve love, you should hide away from everyone, and ultimately, you tell yourself you ought to be rotting six feet under. You swear that you'll never treat that person the same again. You'll try harder. And yet you can't catch yourself before the emotions take over your mind, your speech, your behaviour.

I wish I never stopped therapy. I was so much better when I was working on this disorder. I was so different. I was myself. And myself is a pretty good gal when she wants to be. I was capable of thinking clearer before speaking unforgiveable things. I was capable of soothing myself without constantly searching for external validation from a lover, friend, or parent. I was secure.

I've been to the hospital again and I am very hopeful. I'm optimistic. I have a different plan this time around. A long term plan. I won't come back here to this dreadful head space...and if I do, I will be armed with the right weapons to defeat the demons. Because I believe in therapy and I believe in myself when I really think about it. I won't be in this position again. I can't handle being this person anymore. Too many times have people had to carry my mess with them. It's important to have my own legs, but to know that once in a while there are people out there who will lend you theirs, but only once in a while. There's no such thing as a saviour, only those who can help make the unbearable moments more bearable.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Plant me, please

what do you do when breathing feels too much like an obligation you don't want to succumb to?
what do you do when you've paced back and forth, the length of the isle of Manhattan, and still your nerves are dancing restlessly...

what do you do?

what do I do?

I try to slow myself down. Breathe, I tell myself. One more hour and it'll pass.

and the hour passes.

It has not fled.

what now?

wait it out, I say to myself, it will weaken.

but it only gets worse.

my own strength is hiding from me, playing a joke, seeing if I'm smart enough to discover it once more. but this isn't fair. I'm too vulnerable to catch up to it. I'm too fragile.

I just want my strength to help me pull through.

why won't it help me? why must it play this game?

do I do this to myself? Or is this illness controlling me now?

Do you see in this post the amount of question marks? I could go on. And then I'd feel even more helpless. Perhaps the key is to stop asking. But then I don't know what to do with my mind. The moment I halt all analytical activity I become completely weightless, taken away by the smallest breeze, and then lost.

I just want to be on the ground again. I want my feet on the ground again.