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.