Thursday 28 April 2011
Grr-faced
My housemate has a psychology book that she used when she studied psychology at Uni. I was reading about BPD in it. The thing that the author has highlighted most is how manipulative people with BPD are. I don't think I'm manipulative. It's funny how they can call me emotionally unstable, a self-harmer, someone who has chaotic relationships, and is reckless and I'm fine. But manipulative? Grr-face.
Sunday 24 April 2011
Whiny Whinge
I am sick of being sick! I know I am being a sook but my throat is killing me, I keep alternating between sweating profusely and shivering like a maniac, and my head is throbbing like a bitch. A hot bath helped while I was in there, and I am unable to sleep long enough to shake this thing once and for all.
To be honest, the worst thing is the loneliness. My house is cold and lonely. My puppy is roaming the halls, far too interested in sights and smells to pay any attention to me. Also, he has figured out that after four, five days of this, I lack energy to play.
I dunno if it's the illness or if I would be anyway, but I am depressed. Horribly, uncomfortably depressed. I don't want to get up, to go on. I don't want to go to work tomorrow, or in fact, ever again. I don't want to spend my life trudging to a job everyday, same old, same old. Yet, what's the alternative?
I am just exhausted.
/Whinge
To be honest, the worst thing is the loneliness. My house is cold and lonely. My puppy is roaming the halls, far too interested in sights and smells to pay any attention to me. Also, he has figured out that after four, five days of this, I lack energy to play.
I dunno if it's the illness or if I would be anyway, but I am depressed. Horribly, uncomfortably depressed. I don't want to get up, to go on. I don't want to go to work tomorrow, or in fact, ever again. I don't want to spend my life trudging to a job everyday, same old, same old. Yet, what's the alternative?
I am just exhausted.
/Whinge
Saturday 23 April 2011
There Was A Time..
Where I would wake up, wanting to face the world, excited for what the day would bring. This time was all cupcakes, roses, sunshine, little girls with golden blonde curls. I was not yet a teenager, but not quite a child. Even though my parents had split and I hadn't seen my biological father (R) in years, life had not touched me. We had just moved house and had made a few friends. My brother was fine then too. Here is a quick family tree for contexts sake:
Then everything went scarily wrong. I started to become a teenager which I hear is hard enough in normal circumstances. I, was about 2, K was 5, and D was 12. I was roughly 14 and school was hell. I was unable to fit in, I had few friends (save a few amazing people), and my parents were slowly losing their sanity. My step-father's closet alcoholism was brought to the forefront and our house became hostile. My parents were unable to speak to each other, or us, without raised voices and intimidation.
Then, my Mum seemed to hit rock bottom. She started sleeping around and drinking with intensity. She started working twelve hour shifts at the hotel where she worked as a cook, and she would work 5-6 days a week. This was stressing her out majorly, especially since she had to leave her children with her alcoholic spouse. While I can understand her situation and feel empathy for her, I feel worse for me. I was one of the children being left with the alcoholic spouse.
As much as I love my step-dad now, he was a horrible person back then. He would drink to excess every day. He would start upon waking and finish when he would pass out sometime in the wee hours of the morning. All the moments in between, he either spent at the pub or at home terrorising people he professed to love. Needless to say, this left little time for parenting.
This is when I stepped up, I guess. Reluctantly and not with any prior experience or skill, but I looked after my siblings. I looked after them when my step-father was at the pub, and my mother was working, or drinking, or at some random person's house. I looked after them when it so happened that both of the "adults" were home and arguing. I looked after them when my mother would leave after and argument, and my step-father would be the only one home, drunk and angry.
One day, I walked into the kitchen after another of my parents intense, furious arguments. My step-dad was in there, with his head in the cupboard where we kept our knives. I walked over to him to see what he was doing and I realised that he was sharpening knives. I also realised that he was muttering aloud, threatening to kill us all. He said it with such conviction that I thought he would do it.
He was always so inebriated that he was intimidating. He had little control over his actions, and would like to make his status known throughout the family. He hit my mum in front of us, and my brother, D, in private. He never hit me, I guess because I am a girl, but he was still intimidating. He would come home and yell for hours, pushing me around. One night he came home, drunk and stoned, and held me down with his knees on my arms to draw on my face. Apparently, he found this to be a fun game. I did not, and he wouldn't get off me until D walked into my room despite my yells that he was hurting me. Mostly, he told me a lot of stories. This wasn't so bad, I learnt a lot about my parents before they became my parents. Although through these stories, I found out how much he loved my mum and how much he resented us for taking her time and energy.
For the next year and a half while he was drunk and drugged and my mum was wherever she was, I feared for my safety and the safety of my family. I stopped sleeping, and basically went into survival mode. I took days off school because when I went to school, I would come home to 2-year-old I, and 5-year-old K, throwing things around the house. My mum was absent and my step-father was passed out. This was most frightening because we had a fire place.
During this time, my mum took in a new lover and my step-dad moved out. Across the road. Pointless, really. They fought just as much, I just had to look after my siblings more. I made dinner, bathed them, made sure K went to Kindergarten, made sure they went to bed. We were at my step-dad's during the week and my mum's on the weekends. She was rarely there on the weekends. She didn't work, it was socialising time.
This went on for about a year and half (as I said) with various specific incidents that I may elaborate on at some future date. Afterwards, I became caretaker. My step-dad slowly gave up the drink and mellowed out a bit. He sat on the computer all day, consuming to the depression that led to his drinking in the first place. My mum grieved. For her teenage years, I think, and for the time before the life that scarred her and her children.
Meanwhile, I was a mess. I was cutting, not eating, not sleeping. If I even went to school, I would sleep and hang out with the smokers behind the basketball courts. I started smoking casually (I was around 16 at this point), something that I never really found addictive. I was still cooking and doing minimal cleaning around the house. Now that K was older, I was helping her with homework, but still bathing her and I. I was getting mum to sign notes for school so that we didn't go without. So that teacher's never knew the difference.
And it has all been downhill from there.
Then everything went scarily wrong. I started to become a teenager which I hear is hard enough in normal circumstances. I, was about 2, K was 5, and D was 12. I was roughly 14 and school was hell. I was unable to fit in, I had few friends (save a few amazing people), and my parents were slowly losing their sanity. My step-father's closet alcoholism was brought to the forefront and our house became hostile. My parents were unable to speak to each other, or us, without raised voices and intimidation.
Then, my Mum seemed to hit rock bottom. She started sleeping around and drinking with intensity. She started working twelve hour shifts at the hotel where she worked as a cook, and she would work 5-6 days a week. This was stressing her out majorly, especially since she had to leave her children with her alcoholic spouse. While I can understand her situation and feel empathy for her, I feel worse for me. I was one of the children being left with the alcoholic spouse.
As much as I love my step-dad now, he was a horrible person back then. He would drink to excess every day. He would start upon waking and finish when he would pass out sometime in the wee hours of the morning. All the moments in between, he either spent at the pub or at home terrorising people he professed to love. Needless to say, this left little time for parenting.
This is when I stepped up, I guess. Reluctantly and not with any prior experience or skill, but I looked after my siblings. I looked after them when my step-father was at the pub, and my mother was working, or drinking, or at some random person's house. I looked after them when it so happened that both of the "adults" were home and arguing. I looked after them when my mother would leave after and argument, and my step-father would be the only one home, drunk and angry.
One day, I walked into the kitchen after another of my parents intense, furious arguments. My step-dad was in there, with his head in the cupboard where we kept our knives. I walked over to him to see what he was doing and I realised that he was sharpening knives. I also realised that he was muttering aloud, threatening to kill us all. He said it with such conviction that I thought he would do it.
He was always so inebriated that he was intimidating. He had little control over his actions, and would like to make his status known throughout the family. He hit my mum in front of us, and my brother, D, in private. He never hit me, I guess because I am a girl, but he was still intimidating. He would come home and yell for hours, pushing me around. One night he came home, drunk and stoned, and held me down with his knees on my arms to draw on my face. Apparently, he found this to be a fun game. I did not, and he wouldn't get off me until D walked into my room despite my yells that he was hurting me. Mostly, he told me a lot of stories. This wasn't so bad, I learnt a lot about my parents before they became my parents. Although through these stories, I found out how much he loved my mum and how much he resented us for taking her time and energy.
For the next year and a half while he was drunk and drugged and my mum was wherever she was, I feared for my safety and the safety of my family. I stopped sleeping, and basically went into survival mode. I took days off school because when I went to school, I would come home to 2-year-old I, and 5-year-old K, throwing things around the house. My mum was absent and my step-father was passed out. This was most frightening because we had a fire place.
During this time, my mum took in a new lover and my step-dad moved out. Across the road. Pointless, really. They fought just as much, I just had to look after my siblings more. I made dinner, bathed them, made sure K went to Kindergarten, made sure they went to bed. We were at my step-dad's during the week and my mum's on the weekends. She was rarely there on the weekends. She didn't work, it was socialising time.
This went on for about a year and half (as I said) with various specific incidents that I may elaborate on at some future date. Afterwards, I became caretaker. My step-dad slowly gave up the drink and mellowed out a bit. He sat on the computer all day, consuming to the depression that led to his drinking in the first place. My mum grieved. For her teenage years, I think, and for the time before the life that scarred her and her children.
Meanwhile, I was a mess. I was cutting, not eating, not sleeping. If I even went to school, I would sleep and hang out with the smokers behind the basketball courts. I started smoking casually (I was around 16 at this point), something that I never really found addictive. I was still cooking and doing minimal cleaning around the house. Now that K was older, I was helping her with homework, but still bathing her and I. I was getting mum to sign notes for school so that we didn't go without. So that teacher's never knew the difference.
And it has all been downhill from there.
Friday 22 April 2011
BPD in Detail
It has been a low day today. I woke up frequently throughout the night which isn't new except this time, I continuously woke up due to clogged up nasal passges and a bark worse than my dog's. I can usually handle physical illness (complaining is a coping straegy!) but this is getting me down. I think this may be mainly mental though. I have the feeling that even if I were healthy as a horse, I'd be down.
I have been thinking more about BPD and it seems to make sense. I have been reading more about it. These are the criteria outlined in the DSM-IV:
1. frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. Note: Do not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in Criterion 5.
This is me. Plain and simple. Terrified of abandonment. So terrified that I will invent signs that you are about to abandon me. Then you get to see me lose my shit and cry and beg you to stay while you are sitting there wondering what is going on.
2. a pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation.
Ahh.. now this is a talent. I will take the example of my Mother Dearest. Some days, I adore her. Somedays, she is the strongest woman alive and I can forgive the mistakes she has made in the past because she has had a hard life. But most days, she infuriates me and I wish for her to be cheerily burned at the stake. OK, that's a bit far but you get the picture.
3. identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.
I guess this is true. My self-image seems to change with mood. When depressed, I am the scum of the earth and no one should have to endure my company. When euphoric, I am amazing and spend hours entertaining people with my witty banter.
4. impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating). Note: Do not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in Criterion
I lost my virginity to a total stranger. Enough said.
5. recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior
I used to cut and I often fantasise about suicide. Sometimes I still get the urge to cut but I haven't in just over a year now. I used to cut several times a day when I was a teenager though. The trend here seems to be stress. I have always cut the most at the most stressful times of my life which says a lot, I think. For me, cutting has always been a release, a coping strategy.
6. affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days).
This one I am not so sure about. I do seem to feel things more intensely than others which shows in how I react to other people and their actions. But my moods always seem to last a lot longer. Granted, they can last hours but sometimes, they can last weeks and months as well.
7. chronic feelings of emptiness
These have plagued me for years.
8. inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights)
I often feel intense anger for no or very little reason. I don't get into physical fights but I often start verbal arguments with the Boy (how does he put up with me?) when I get angry. My anger is mostly internal though. I will get mad, want to hit something and then calm down eventually. Unless you know me, you won't know that I am mad. I get very quiet and start to rant and rave in my head.
9. transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms
I wasn't aware of this until I saw the psychiatrist because I was only vaguely aware of what it was, but I dissociate. I leave my body for what can seem like hours and feel.. odd. I know that I am speaking but it doesn't feel like me, and it seems like someone else is controlling me. When I feel like this, I don't feel like I have control over my body, my words, my thoughts. I also used to have a lot of flashbacks, they are less frequent now though. They always seem so real. I genuinely believe that I am in another time or place and I get so anxious, I worry that my head will explode, and then I'm back. These things scare the absolute shit out of me.
So I have come to the conclusion that the psychiatrist may have been correct in her analysis of me, and that DBT may help. Argh. I just don't want to feel like a lazy shit.
I have been thinking more about BPD and it seems to make sense. I have been reading more about it. These are the criteria outlined in the DSM-IV:
1. frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. Note: Do not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in Criterion 5.
This is me. Plain and simple. Terrified of abandonment. So terrified that I will invent signs that you are about to abandon me. Then you get to see me lose my shit and cry and beg you to stay while you are sitting there wondering what is going on.
2. a pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation.
Ahh.. now this is a talent. I will take the example of my Mother Dearest. Some days, I adore her. Somedays, she is the strongest woman alive and I can forgive the mistakes she has made in the past because she has had a hard life. But most days, she infuriates me and I wish for her to be cheerily burned at the stake. OK, that's a bit far but you get the picture.
3. identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.
I guess this is true. My self-image seems to change with mood. When depressed, I am the scum of the earth and no one should have to endure my company. When euphoric, I am amazing and spend hours entertaining people with my witty banter.
4. impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating). Note: Do not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in Criterion
I lost my virginity to a total stranger. Enough said.
5. recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior
I used to cut and I often fantasise about suicide. Sometimes I still get the urge to cut but I haven't in just over a year now. I used to cut several times a day when I was a teenager though. The trend here seems to be stress. I have always cut the most at the most stressful times of my life which says a lot, I think. For me, cutting has always been a release, a coping strategy.
6. affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days).
This one I am not so sure about. I do seem to feel things more intensely than others which shows in how I react to other people and their actions. But my moods always seem to last a lot longer. Granted, they can last hours but sometimes, they can last weeks and months as well.
7. chronic feelings of emptiness
These have plagued me for years.
8. inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights)
I often feel intense anger for no or very little reason. I don't get into physical fights but I often start verbal arguments with the Boy (how does he put up with me?) when I get angry. My anger is mostly internal though. I will get mad, want to hit something and then calm down eventually. Unless you know me, you won't know that I am mad. I get very quiet and start to rant and rave in my head.
9. transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms
I wasn't aware of this until I saw the psychiatrist because I was only vaguely aware of what it was, but I dissociate. I leave my body for what can seem like hours and feel.. odd. I know that I am speaking but it doesn't feel like me, and it seems like someone else is controlling me. When I feel like this, I don't feel like I have control over my body, my words, my thoughts. I also used to have a lot of flashbacks, they are less frequent now though. They always seem so real. I genuinely believe that I am in another time or place and I get so anxious, I worry that my head will explode, and then I'm back. These things scare the absolute shit out of me.
So I have come to the conclusion that the psychiatrist may have been correct in her analysis of me, and that DBT may help. Argh. I just don't want to feel like a lazy shit.
Thursday 21 April 2011
Need Some Cheering Up
I have been a bit under the weather, just cold and flu symptoms. I have been a big sook about it though and have taken a couple of days off work. The Boy came round yesterday to look after me (aww!). He is a sweet one. I have needed something to pick me up though as it does so very little for my mood.
I got a letter in the mail today about DBT (Dialectical Behaviour Therapy). They have my referral and I need an assessment. Then I will be put on their six month waiting list. From what I can tell from Wikipedia, it is a combination of individual and group therapy. It is rather an intimidating prospect but if I don't try, then I will feel like I have not done anything except crammed some Zoloft down my throat and rambled at a psychologist.
I have an appointment with Mr. Psych Man on May 3rd. I am not really looking forward to it considering how the last one went. Last time, I walked into his office rather suicidal, and told him so. Well, I told him that I "had a rough couple of weeks".
"Are you suicidal?", he asked. I said that I was and he called the crisis team. Then I had a rather lengthy chat to a man from the crisis team service.
Then Mr. Psych Man started explaining them to me, "They will contact you and ask if you can guarantee them safety. If you can't, they will probably take you to hospital". Fortunately, they didn't but this prospect terrified me. Why would he tell someone who is suicidal that they may be taken to hospital?
It has been nearly a month and it has been decided that I don't really need them anymore as they are an emergency service and I am not in any immediate danger. Which is good. No more fearing them committing me.
I need some cheering up so here are a bunch of Simpsons videos from Youtube.
And this is a game that the Boy and I were talking about yesterday. Good times.
Sunday 17 April 2011
Saturday 16 April 2011
Fuck. Shit. Grr.
I have been a tad mental lately. I am scared that my meeting with the psych has stirred up a lot of emotions and memories that I thought I had dealt with. Apparently, I have just suppressed them. This does not surprise me and probably not many people who know me.
I have been alternating between I-don't-give-a-fuck, furious-with-everyone-and-everything, hypersonic-and-hypersensitive, and I-wish-an-anvil-would-fall-from-a-tall-building-and-land-on-my-head. Couple this with working three 9 and a half hour days a week for a few weeks and we get someone who is not fun to be around.
Everyone I know is suffering. I have been incredibly mean and bitchy, and stressed. I have been alternating wildly between wanting to be alone and wanting to be with people. I have considered cutting and burning again, death, and leaving the state/ country.
I desperately want to quit my job but job hunting is stressful too. More so than staying at my current job. Also, I don't have any time. This is how they get you- make you work long hours and then you don't have time to look for a new job.
My puppy is suffering. I barely see him anymore. And it's the same with the Boy.
Currently, I feel like a horrible person.
That is all.
I have been alternating between I-don't-give-a-fuck, furious-with-everyone-and-everything, hypersonic-and-hypersensitive, and I-wish-an-anvil-would-fall-from-a-tall-building-and-land-on-my-head. Couple this with working three 9 and a half hour days a week for a few weeks and we get someone who is not fun to be around.
Everyone I know is suffering. I have been incredibly mean and bitchy, and stressed. I have been alternating wildly between wanting to be alone and wanting to be with people. I have considered cutting and burning again, death, and leaving the state/ country.
I desperately want to quit my job but job hunting is stressful too. More so than staying at my current job. Also, I don't have any time. This is how they get you- make you work long hours and then you don't have time to look for a new job.
My puppy is suffering. I barely see him anymore. And it's the same with the Boy.
Currently, I feel like a horrible person.
That is all.
Wednesday 13 April 2011
Hypersonic
I have returned from a visit with my Doctorb (the B is for bargain!)
I am slightly euphoric now and have had a couple of good days (where I have not wanted to top myself. Jolly good!) and so he is keeping me on 150mg of Zoloft. Which in my completely professional opinion (ha!), was the absolutely right thing to do.
I have been euphoric for the last 36 hours and I cannot think of anything more satisfying than euphoria after months of depression. I am still of the opinion that this is my reaction to happiness after being depressed but I guess this is BPD. I am supposed to be meeting with someone to discuss entering a DBT program but this seems rather daunting.
My thoughts are racing, jumping from one thing to the next. I have that Simpsons episode in my head where Marge is pregnant with Lisa and Bart is running around the house with a pot on his head yelling "Quiet! Quiet! Quiet! Quiet!". Except my brain keeps changing the word 'quiet' to 'riot'. Nothing is going fast enough, nothing can keep up with me. But at the same time, my skin is tingling. It seems to have a life of it's own but it's a pleasant feeling. I just want to be touched. And held. And.. y'know..
I feel like a crazy girl right now.
I am slightly euphoric now and have had a couple of good days (where I have not wanted to top myself. Jolly good!) and so he is keeping me on 150mg of Zoloft. Which in my completely professional opinion (ha!), was the absolutely right thing to do.
I have been euphoric for the last 36 hours and I cannot think of anything more satisfying than euphoria after months of depression. I am still of the opinion that this is my reaction to happiness after being depressed but I guess this is BPD. I am supposed to be meeting with someone to discuss entering a DBT program but this seems rather daunting.
My thoughts are racing, jumping from one thing to the next. I have that Simpsons episode in my head where Marge is pregnant with Lisa and Bart is running around the house with a pot on his head yelling "Quiet! Quiet! Quiet! Quiet!". Except my brain keeps changing the word 'quiet' to 'riot'. Nothing is going fast enough, nothing can keep up with me. But at the same time, my skin is tingling. It seems to have a life of it's own but it's a pleasant feeling. I just want to be touched. And held. And.. y'know..
I feel like a crazy girl right now.
Tuesday 12 April 2011
This is Love
It's funny how when you are so close to the edge, you are terrified that you are about to topple off, something small comes along to tell you that the world is not done with you yet.
When I was in year 11, I was horribly depressed. I wasn't sleeping or eating, or even working at that point. I knew that I just couldn't do it anymore. I planned to go home one night and kill myself. But then I got to school one day and this boy had bought me a book. He knew that I loved books and he said it was one of his favourites. This tiny gesture saved my life.
A year or so ago, I had another bout of the blues. I felt horrible. Horrible. Everyday for a few days, the Boy (who wasn't my boy then) sent me a message in the morning for ages. I looked forward to these messages and eventually, the depression passed and I continued living.
Tonight, the Boy knew that I was feeling horrible, and came to my house. He took me out for dinner even though I was barely audible, then took me home. He suggested things for me to do until I settled down and then he hugged me before he left. This is small, almost expected, to some people but to me, this is huge.
This is love.
When I was in year 11, I was horribly depressed. I wasn't sleeping or eating, or even working at that point. I knew that I just couldn't do it anymore. I planned to go home one night and kill myself. But then I got to school one day and this boy had bought me a book. He knew that I loved books and he said it was one of his favourites. This tiny gesture saved my life.
A year or so ago, I had another bout of the blues. I felt horrible. Horrible. Everyday for a few days, the Boy (who wasn't my boy then) sent me a message in the morning for ages. I looked forward to these messages and eventually, the depression passed and I continued living.
Tonight, the Boy knew that I was feeling horrible, and came to my house. He took me out for dinner even though I was barely audible, then took me home. He suggested things for me to do until I settled down and then he hugged me before he left. This is small, almost expected, to some people but to me, this is huge.
This is love.
Sunday 10 April 2011
Proceeding with caution
I can feel the depression lifting. The familiar tingling in my hands, the way my heart beats that little bit faster. Ahh. This is nice.
I know that my life will continue, that there will be limitless possibilities, that I will be able to get up each morning and deal with whatever is thrown my way.
I know that my life will continue, that there will be limitless possibilities, that I will be able to get up each morning and deal with whatever is thrown my way.But by the same token, I can just easily be back down there again. I am going to proceed with caution.
Thursday 7 April 2011
Letter to my Mum
Dear Mum,
You were supposed to protect me. You were supposed to keep me safe and keep me feeling safe in my own house. You were supposed to make our house a home and look after my siblings. You were supposed to make sure that they did their homework and showered and went to school. You were supposed to protect them as well.
But you didn't. When you weren't absent, you yelled and screamed and made everyone feel bad. You made me feel guilty for existing when I had nothing to do with that. Why have kids if you can't handle the responsibility of another life? When you were absent, he yelled and screamed and made everyone feel bad. He threatened to kill everyone. He went so far as to sharpen knives in front of me. I hid them every night after that. He once held me down while he was drunk with his legs on my arms until I yelled and screamed that he was hurting me but he still wouldn't get off.
You were supposed to be there for us. You were supposed to let us express ourselves. You weren't supposed to leave me to raise my siblings, I just couldn't do that. Then when I practically failed year 9, you weren't supposed to get mad.
You make me so angry. You can't be nice now. Not after the hundreds of times you and he fought in front of me. Not after all the times you made him bleed, and he made you bleed. Not after the weekly ambulance and police visits. Not after the visits from social services.
I just want to be mad at you. For years, you treated me as a slave, just because you couldn't be responsible enough to run a household. You are selfish and immature and when all your kids hate you, it will be your own fault. You have never given us the time of day, you only spoke to us when you needed someone to love you because you knew that we'd love you unconditionally. But your love wasn't unconditional, was it?
You never believed me when I told you what happened at school, you never cared enough. You played favourites and put me in the middle of your arguments with him. You used us as bargaining chips to manipulate him. So did he.
Fuck you, Mother.
Love,
Your Darling Daughter
You were supposed to protect me. You were supposed to keep me safe and keep me feeling safe in my own house. You were supposed to make our house a home and look after my siblings. You were supposed to make sure that they did their homework and showered and went to school. You were supposed to protect them as well.
But you didn't. When you weren't absent, you yelled and screamed and made everyone feel bad. You made me feel guilty for existing when I had nothing to do with that. Why have kids if you can't handle the responsibility of another life? When you were absent, he yelled and screamed and made everyone feel bad. He threatened to kill everyone. He went so far as to sharpen knives in front of me. I hid them every night after that. He once held me down while he was drunk with his legs on my arms until I yelled and screamed that he was hurting me but he still wouldn't get off.
You were supposed to be there for us. You were supposed to let us express ourselves. You weren't supposed to leave me to raise my siblings, I just couldn't do that. Then when I practically failed year 9, you weren't supposed to get mad.
You make me so angry. You can't be nice now. Not after the hundreds of times you and he fought in front of me. Not after all the times you made him bleed, and he made you bleed. Not after the weekly ambulance and police visits. Not after the visits from social services.
I just want to be mad at you. For years, you treated me as a slave, just because you couldn't be responsible enough to run a household. You are selfish and immature and when all your kids hate you, it will be your own fault. You have never given us the time of day, you only spoke to us when you needed someone to love you because you knew that we'd love you unconditionally. But your love wasn't unconditional, was it?
You never believed me when I told you what happened at school, you never cared enough. You played favourites and put me in the middle of your arguments with him. You used us as bargaining chips to manipulate him. So did he.
Fuck you, Mother.
Love,
Your Darling Daughter
Wednesday 6 April 2011
Being nocturnal, I have realised..
That it's hard to eat chocolate quietly (damn foil)
That it's hard to type quietly
And that my housemate gets very angry when she is woken by my nocturnal endeavours
That is all.
That it's hard to type quietly
And that my housemate gets very angry when she is woken by my nocturnal endeavours
That is all.
Tuesday 5 April 2011
I need to brush my teeth
So yesterday, I saw the psychiatrist. I woke up way too early, fed the butterflies in my stomach and left, returning to the house to take my meds. Which I keep forgetting. Brilliant. I talked with her for nearly two hours and that's when she came up with the BPD diagnosis. It seems to make sense and while I am terrified, I am a little relieved now that things are clearer and there is something I can do to manage it. She suggested DBT which terrifies me. I am not sure that I really want to admit that I am crazy yet, especially not to a room full of people, which is what DBT is- group therapy. It is something to ponder.
The Boy has been amazing. He listens to me ramble, hugs me when I'm sad, and stays with me when I'm not feeling the best. This is what I imagine love is. He thinks that the therapy will be a good idea but it is still intimidating. Hmm.
I have been restless and jumpy all day. I have too much energy, and it's negative energy. I can do things that I am unable to do when I am depressed but as the energy is negative, it makes it all too easy to act on negative thoughts. But I have plenty to live for- my puppy, my friends (and adopted family), the Boy.
I told my Mum. God. She told me not to let people label me and that she is sorry for everything. She said that we can talk if we want and that she made a lot of mistakes but thought she was doing the right thing at the time (not that that is an excuse, she said). She is being too good about this and I just want to be angry at her for everything that she put me through. For not protecting me from all the fighting and my step-dad's verbal abuse. For those years where I didn't feel safe, where I walked on eggshells, where I couldn't sleep. I don't want to talk, Mother Dearest. I just want to be mad with you.
My thoughts are far too scattered for this to be coherent. Shit. Fuck. Grrr.
The Boy has been amazing. He listens to me ramble, hugs me when I'm sad, and stays with me when I'm not feeling the best. This is what I imagine love is. He thinks that the therapy will be a good idea but it is still intimidating. Hmm.
I have been restless and jumpy all day. I have too much energy, and it's negative energy. I can do things that I am unable to do when I am depressed but as the energy is negative, it makes it all too easy to act on negative thoughts. But I have plenty to live for- my puppy, my friends (and adopted family), the Boy.
I told my Mum. God. She told me not to let people label me and that she is sorry for everything. She said that we can talk if we want and that she made a lot of mistakes but thought she was doing the right thing at the time (not that that is an excuse, she said). She is being too good about this and I just want to be angry at her for everything that she put me through. For not protecting me from all the fighting and my step-dad's verbal abuse. For those years where I didn't feel safe, where I walked on eggshells, where I couldn't sleep. I don't want to talk, Mother Dearest. I just want to be mad with you.
My thoughts are far too scattered for this to be coherent. Shit. Fuck. Grrr.
Monday 4 April 2011
Sunday 3 April 2011
How low can you go?
The Crisis Team have been checking up with me for a few days now. They call almost daily and try to engage me in conversation. Occasionally, it works and I am able to talk about my dog or my day but for the most part, there is awkward silence as they struggle for words and I hear them typing in the background. I know that it makes them uncomfortable but conversation has always been an effort for me when I get depressed. I ask the same questions and go around in circles.
My concentration is appalling. I frequently walk into rooms and forget why I'm there. I open cupboards and stare into them, forgetting what I was looking for. I walked around the supermarket today in a daze, forgetting what I wanted, getting distracted by things that I didn't need. I just wander around, not wanting to see anyone, embarrassed that they will see my depressed shuffle, scared that they will look into my eyes and see the dark thoughts plaguing me.
I am seeing a psychiatrist tomorrow. When Mr. Psych Man called the crisis team, he mentioned that they may want to hospitalise me and this is all I can think about. I hate hospitals, they terrify me. Call me crazy (haha!), call me irrational, I don't care. I do not like hospitals. So staying in one scares the shit out of me. I am also nervous because I don't know what to expect. Apart from medication, what can a psychiatrist do for me that my psychologist can't?
I saw my Doctorb the other day. He increased my meds to 150mg. Due to recent depression though, I keep forgetting to take them and have been taking them at all different times of the day. I can't see how this helps my mood. Jesus hates me, I'm sure of it.
My concentration is appalling. I frequently walk into rooms and forget why I'm there. I open cupboards and stare into them, forgetting what I was looking for. I walked around the supermarket today in a daze, forgetting what I wanted, getting distracted by things that I didn't need. I just wander around, not wanting to see anyone, embarrassed that they will see my depressed shuffle, scared that they will look into my eyes and see the dark thoughts plaguing me.
I am seeing a psychiatrist tomorrow. When Mr. Psych Man called the crisis team, he mentioned that they may want to hospitalise me and this is all I can think about. I hate hospitals, they terrify me. Call me crazy (haha!), call me irrational, I don't care. I do not like hospitals. So staying in one scares the shit out of me. I am also nervous because I don't know what to expect. Apart from medication, what can a psychiatrist do for me that my psychologist can't?
I saw my Doctorb the other day. He increased my meds to 150mg. Due to recent depression though, I keep forgetting to take them and have been taking them at all different times of the day. I can't see how this helps my mood. Jesus hates me, I'm sure of it.
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| From the much read, much loved Postecret |
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