If you could talk to my BPD…

So I had this thought. Tonight is another rough night. I’m desperately holding on and trying to be ok. I think at the moment, I could really go either way but I’m still sane and frankly very angry with my BPD right now. And I wondered, in regards to my boyfriend actually, “If you could talk directly to my BPD, what would you say to it?” Part of me wonders if that would ever help. I mean, if he just hauled off verbally and let it know exactly what he thought in a moment, well, like now, when it’s really getting in the way of things.

I feel like I’m being attacked by it and everyone is looking the other way. Really, no one can physically see it and so they don’t realize it’s happening, or how badly it’s happening. I mean, if you say someone literally attacking me, you’d help, right??? I guess in a way I just wonder if it’d help to feel defended against it. I don’t know.

I’m very angry. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of it keeping me awake. I’m tired of it ruining my relationship and other people’s lives. I’m just fucking tired of it.

“Losing it vs. letting it loose” (Pops). I keep thinking about that. I think that’s sort of the crossroad that I’m facing right now. I really do wish I could go to the hospital even though I vowed with everything I have, that I’d never go back there. I’ve been there twice and I really held a lot in because it was just a new and scary experience. Part of me though, wishes I could go and just let it all out. Not filter myself. Not monitor myself. Not fight BPD while I’m there because frankly, I’m too damn tired to fight it anymore. I just want to stop being strong and let it out. I know it’s not “appropriate”, but dammit if I’m angry enough to throw a chair against the wall, then I’d want to throw a chair against the wall. I wouldn’t hurt anyone, but I’m sure they’d prefer that over self-harm and I feel like finally someone would see just what it’s doing to me. I don’t feel like I’m being taken seriously. Point is, I need to let all this out.

Anyway, that’s just a fantasy. One that can’t come true because I need to be out here being a parent and an employee and everything else. Plus, I’m afraid they wouldn’t let me take Panda in there. What would I have? I used to just color in there. Color pictures. And write. A lot. There was one nurse I hated and I already decided if I ever see her again, I’m going to let her know. But only if she would try to talk to me again.

I tried distracting myself just earlier tonight. I counted the blinds. I named things I could see. I did a mental walk through of my house and described all the things I could “see”. The closet. The things in the closets. I only made it outside my bedroom door and my mind took over and here I am. But it worked slightly. The distraction technique. But still, here I am. Awake. Angry and awake. Angry, awake and racing.

What’s going on with nighttimes.

I’m pretty sure my boyfriend is going to leave me soon. He said he isn’t but I think he is. I mean, what’s he got going on to stay? Nothing really. He’s worried. That’s no way to be. This relationship provides nothing but worry for him and that’ll eventually make him leave. A burden. Burdens are things you get rid of. I’m a burden. This is a burden. He’ll eventually go for sure.

I’m going to email my therapist I think. He wants me to reach out and I think I may actually take him up on that. I know its too late to call, and I don’t know what I’d say if I called, but dammit I can ramble when I write. I don’t know if he gets it either but he should know how I can’t fucking sleep and how this shit keeps me awake all the time and how fucking angry and fucked up I am inside. I’m going to write another post about what I would say to my BPD.

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5 thoughts on “If you could talk to my BPD…

  1. Oh my, precious one, you’re up way too late. Starting to keep my kind of hours and that’s not good.

    “… no one can physically see it and so they don’t realize it’s happening, or how badly it’s happening.”
    Makes it harder to gauge or measure or assess.
    Hell, they ask people about physical pain and the best they can do is “On a scale of one to ten…?”

    Seeing as how we’re on the Emotional vs. Physical train right now, let me ask you a very simple question. Rhetorically, of course:

    exactly how long do you think you can go without sitting down and treating yourself to a good healthy shit?

  2. Quit your laughing.
    That was a serious question.
    If you could see the look on my face right now you would realize that, but I think selfies are really pretentious and wouldn’t know how to post one on someone else’s blog anyway, but….

    I’ve never been a big fan of hospitalization. Did it once, decades ago, and the only thing I took away with me was the time I got to spend just swapping stories and thoughts and feelings with the other Adolescent Wing-nuts who I was fortunate enough to meet. The hospital itself seemed to be concerned mostly with keeping me doped up and safe during the mandatory hold. The effort they put in during the almost two months subsequent didn’t match that of my fellow flakes.
    We were lucky we had therapists who actually listened and heard and tried to keep us all on track. Even they admitted the work that needed to be done needed to be done by us, and they let us go off on whatever path we each needed to travel. They were just there to point out the poison oak and gopher holes that might get in the way.
    Of course, it wouldn’t have worked if we kept those guys guessing.

    Open up to your therapist in no uncertain terms. Fling some imaginary chairs around the room if need be, and trust in the fact that he’s probably heard worse before.
    Meds can help. Anybody who tells you they can’t never had so much as a bout of hay fever or a pulled hammy.
    But therapy is only going to give back to you whatever you put in, and it’s not the time to succumb to guilt or embarrassment.

    Maybe see if you can get some Family Medical Leave from work, temporary Disability, and have your therapist look into partial hospitalization. I had to do that a couple of times over my last year or so at work:
    nine-to-three, five-days-a-week, two-week intensive groups.
    Home at night, my panda of thirty-six years at the time alongside me, the dogs to protect me, and having let enough loose during the day that it didn’t shackle me come sundown.
    “But work….”
    Yeah. I know.
    But work has to adhere to the terms of the legally mandated protection you have from both the Family Medical Leave Act and the Americans with Disabilities Act.
    And work doesn’t have the right to know anything other than your doctor says you need to do it.

    You need to do something and you don’t need to hear that from the likes of me. You know it well enough yourself.
    I don’t know if it hits you the same way my Depression hit me (and has decided to yet again), but sometimes the closer I got to the breaking point the more I looked forward to it:
    until I was close enough to look the son-of-a-bitch in the eyes I wasn’t close enough to kick him in the balls.

    One other thing, and I know you don’t like to think about it and it’s no big deal, but there are some things you need to hear whether you like it or not:

    Happy Birthday.
    Wish we could have you by for dinner.
    I’d even make my Smoked Chicken Breasts Stuffed With Cajun Sausage and Sweet Peppers with Honey / Amaretto Barbecue Sauce.

    If you’re still awake, get some sleep.
    I’m gonna go finish that Stephen King book.
    If you’re just waking up, I really, really hope you don’t get to work and have your desk covered with streamers and confetti.
    I used to hate that shit.

  3. You’re really not a burden at all. I don’t believe your boyfriend will leave you: At least, he really shouldn’t. BPD can be a terrible thing, but it can also be very beautiful, to others at least. (I’m thinking of Angelina Jolie’s characters in several films–Angelina Jolie had mental health problems and used to self-harm.) Many people are lifeless, spiritless existents. You really feel things (hence, enormous pain!). You have passion and fire and you really think about things. I have no idea if one can become a person distinct from BPD. When I’m down, I scream and scream inside and I hate it so much. But I don’t know if I’d really want to give it up if it would make me bland, boring, and soulless.

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