Making a website!

So I decided the other day that I’m going to make a website. I’ve been spending most of my time working on it lately. I can’t wait to release it, and when I do, I’d love your feedback. Remember it will be a work in progress so go easy on me! Don’t hold back though if you have ideas or if there are things you want to see.

Hello Paranoia

I’m freaking out. I’m paranoid as fuck. I need ridiculous amounts of reassurance from my boyfriend right now. I asked if we were ok and told him I was very worried. He said we are ok but I can’t shake this feeling. I mean, I’m sure he would tell me if he was unhappy. That’s just his personality. But I still can’t get rid of this. I can literally feel it crawling through my body. This feeling. It’s like it takes over my heart and beats extra hard and fast to pump this paranoia poison through my veins and before I know it, it infects my brain and I’m all fucked up. I feel like I’m going to lose it.

What the fuck is going on!?

Rock Bottom

It sucks down here. I know I have a couple of peoplease waiting on responses from me. I will get to it I promise.

So last week I was eating as little as possible because I had no money and wanted to make sure the kids could eat what we had left. Well I got paid Friday and paid all of my bills except for mortgage and I’ve got 15 bucks left. Honestly I think my account will overdraw. How am I supposed to go two weeks with no groceries?

Then I got home and my expensive ass computer got broken. Like 5 keys came off. Hoping this glue helps. I should have stuck with my rule of no one being allowed to use my computer.

I tried to apply for emergency food assistance and go figure, the website is down. My boyfriend is irritated because he insisted on buying us some groceries and I’m clearly just not personable right now so he just left to get groceries. He isnt doing well financially either so idk.

I am so over this. Everything. It’s just not right that majority of my prayers have been begging for death.

Seriously. So. Fucking. Done.

Medication update…

So I went to therapy yesterday and told him about my latest med issues. Have I talked about it yet?

Basically, I’ve been having INSANE nightmares where men are coming into my house and are raping me and attacking me and pulling me out of my bed to the floor. They’ve felt so real that I’ve woken up, called my boyfriend in a panic in the middle of the night, and have actually checked my body for signs that these things actually happened.

He slept over the one night to see if I was awake or sleeping when this stuff was going on because I felt like I was awake. Well I had another mild episode of it and he said I was sleeping but was making sounds.

SO, I called my doctor to get in as soon as possible for a med change. Well she is on vacation and I can’t see her until Aug 9th. I got a list of local psychiatrists from my insurance, and NONE of them are taking new patients. My current doctor doesn’t get along with my therapist and so she won’t take any of his recommendations. So I called my dr’s office back and requested to see a new doctor that will hopefully be willing to work with my therapist OR will just listen to me. I know what I’ve taken before and what works and I just wish someone would LISTEN.

Yea, right now, I just want to throw my hands up, middle fingers in the air, scream “fuck you” to the world, and blow my fucking brains out and then see who finally pays attention.

“Oh…if we had just listened to her…”

When will it end…

I’m miserable today. I woke up alright and then I got out of bed and life decided it was already time to start shitting all over me.

So my car was parked by the mailbox. Not directly in front of it, but close enough that the mailman couldn’t conveniently just pull in and reach the mailbox. I went to go to work on Thursday, already running late, and my car wouldn’t start.

My sister’s husband brought me this charger thing and it didn’t work. Like the device itself wasn’t working. I’m fucking 5’2 a little over 100lbs and my boyfriend lives 40 minutes away. Unfortunately where I live, people would rather complain, than come offer a helping hand.

So this morning my boyfriend came and moved my car for me. In my windshield was a note.

“PLEASE”…Do not park this close to the mailbox…the mailman cannot deliver our mail…thank you!”

Seriously? I’ve been out there since Thursday with the hood open, trying to get something to do something so I could move my car. What the fuck I was supposed to do?

So, I decided to write back…

“So sorry to have ruined your day. My car broke down. Thanks for the captain obvious advice though. Thanks!”

So after the mailman comes today, guess who’s taping the note to the mailbox? (It’s a community mailbox type thing so all of my neighbors go to the one box and we each have our own actual mailbox in the giant box). My boyfriend just rolled his eyes at me. Unsupportive. But fuck! If everyone else is going to insist on being so petty over everything in my life, then so am I. I’m so over this place. Apparently me and my red hair just have to go. I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here. If I had to money to sell my house, I’d fucking go now and move in with my boyfriend, but I don’t have the money.

Fuck. My. Life.

To: Everyone

Hi to everyone who reads my blog. There’s something I’d like to talk about. I’m not typing this to start arguments or to make anyone feel guilty. Just as a head’s up.

My blog was initially created for myself as a journal. I realize it’s public and I never had a problem with anyone reading my posts, though I never thought it would lead to so many reading it and not only following it but commenting on specific posts and asking for advice, etc. Which by the way, I have no problem with that either.

When I respond to comments by “nons”, I do my best to be sure I don’t seem like I’m taking sides. I try to be cautious that I am acknowledging the pwBPD and what they’re going through, while also acknowledging how it is affecting the “non”.

However, I’ve noticed that when the “nons” start commenting to each other’s posts, I feel like things start to become a little insensitive toward people who BPD and how they’re being “crazy”. As someone with BPD, this can be a trigger for me. The last thing I want is for my own blog to become a trigger. Not only for me, but other people with BPD who may be reading the comments.

Yes, I make jokes in real life about being “crazy”, but that’s how I cope. I make jokes about myself. Inside, I’m hurting. I hate that I’m “crazy” and I hate that I have BPD, and I hate how it ruins my life and the lives of others who may just want to love me.

So, please be careful of what you are writing. If you want to have a conversation among each other where you can just get stuff off of your chest about people with BPD, please don’t do it here.

There is a website called bpdfamily.com and I have read how ridiculed and degraded people with BPD are. I know we are not easy to love. I understand that some of you may be very good people and have truly good intentions and it’s not fair that you are getting the brunt of our disorder. We crave and fear love all at the same time. We are a challenge for sure. But please don’t forget that we are suffering and while we do and say things that may hurt you or push you away, we do deserve to be loved. Just like everyone else.

So to summarize, my blog is first and foremost, a place for me to vent what I am going through. If it happens to entice you to want to learn more or ask questions or share your experiences, that’s awesome. Let’s just be mindful.

Thank you.

Here…again…

So it’s been a really long while since I’ve written a post. I’ve gotten some comments on other posts and have had some thoughtful and intriguing back and forths with some others looking for advice or information. BUT…now I’m the one who needs help.

I’ve been here, in this place, too many times. And even though I haven’t written in quite some time, it doesn’t mean I’ve been doing well. I just haven’t announced it. I’ve been busy finding the wrong guys, wasting time on them, trying to move up in my job and buying a new home.

While some of those are same old same olds, some are new and “good”. So you’d think. So I moved into my first home (that I’ve bought), in about May. I rescued a dog at the same time. The dog just so happened to have been a pit bull. I won’t go into details because, well, I’m working really hard at trying to make long stories short, but also because I just don’t want to talk about it.

The point is, my neighbor hates me. How do I know? Does this sound like the words of someone who likes you? “I’m going to be the nosiest bitch of neighbor I can possibly be until you move out.”….? And guess why she hates me so much? 1) I rescue pit bulls. 2) I’ve got red hair. OMG!!!! Secret is out. No, it’s not natural red hair. I have my own unique style. I pretty much mind my business but am also not interested in fitting into any type of mold that anyone else thinks I should fit into. I did that for too long and now I’m just being me. Turns out, a lot of people really hate that. Especially my  neighbor.

So, she’s basically made it a point to do whatever she can to make my and my kids lives, miserable. That aside, I met a new guy about 2 months ago. We hit it off right away and for the first time in my life, I thought I found a good one. I do think he is a good one, but he doesn’t understand me. Not only that, but he’s sort of insensitive, and I’m hyper-sensitive at times, and unfortunately, lately, with my mental instability, we’ve been clashing. I was just at his house and we were hanging out with his neighbors which I actually love to do. I’m not much of a social person, but his neighbors are really nice and I am very comfortable with them. Well my boyfriend (possibly now ex-boyfriend?) thought his one joke would be funny, when it reality it was totally at my expense and was very embarrassing. Humiliating. To top it off, I got an email from the president of the board where I live, that my dog was howling because he was alone. Oh my god! For real? My dog barks? WHO KNEW!? Heaven forbid my dog would ever bark. I kindly answered her email reminding her (as she also stated in my email) that we just got him a week ago and he is adjusting and unfortunately this is part of the process.

So, all in this one moment, I have my boyfriend humiliating me in front of his neighbors, and I’ve got my own shitty neighbors that I hate coming home to each day. I’ve got no safe place. NONE. I’ve got drama with my neighbors in my own home and I can’t even go to my boyfriends to chill out because he’s putting me on the spot.

Ok, so he didn’t mean it. He didn’t have bad intentions. That doesn’t take the hurt away. I JUST got done having a talk with him yesterday about my “issues” and asked him to please be cautious of how he talks to me. I don’t even know what to do. I do believe in my heart that he is a good guy. But FUCK. Why am I always the one to forgive and forgive and take the shit. Why am I not good enough? Why can’t I be loved? Why is there no man out there, who sees me, and gets to know me, and just makes it a point to treat me with care. All of the time. Why can’t I find a man that would NEVER make a very sensitive comment about his girlfriend, at her expense, to others, just for a few laughs.

I don’t want to make it sound like he’s just some asshole. He can be an asshole. He’s a funny guy. He just hit a nerve. And now, we’re broken up? I think.

I honestly want to die. During my 40 minute drive home, I bawled. Bawled, sobbed, yelled to God AGAIN. I don’t understand, God. What do you want me to learn? Why do you keep allowing me to feel hurt and pain? If God doesn’t even care about you…what do you have left?

So here it is. I want to die. I’ve wanted to die for majority of my life. I remember being a child and wanting to die. Under 10 years old. Fantasizing about it every night when I should have been sleeping. And here I am, how many years later, fantasizing and even begging God for the same thing. The pain is immense. I’m tired of carrying this weight. I don’t want to live alone anymore. My mom and I don’t always see eye to eye, but I feel like I just want to go “home”. I need taken care of. I’m not ok. I just want my kids to make it to 18. Then I can go.