Tag Archives: Borderline-personality-disorder

Welcome back

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I’m alive. It’s funny because I didn’t expect I would be. I first created this blog as a way to work through my feelings. Most of the time this meant that the vast majority of what I wrote made no sense. Still, I continued to write because it helped in the long run. It enabled me to go back and figure out how I felt any given moment in my life.

And yet, I stopped.

I wish I could say that there was a valid reason for me doing so, but there isn’t. I am not better anymore but I am also not worse off than what I used to be. I am content. I am…well.

But now I am back.

Lyla

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I lost my great grandmother last week. Or was it the week before? I can not be certain because everyday sense as meshed together. I remember her funeral. I remembering grieving with everyone else. More than anything, I remember being alone. I love and hate being alone. This trait is something that made it difficult to keep in touch. But I tried to. I sent her pictures and I attended out family video calls. I even called her one on one when I could.

I can’t say it was enough though. I lost my Nana and I can barely remember her voice. I don’t remember what she looked like. My childhood is a giant fog. I know I love her. I know I hurt now that she is gone. But I don’t remember why. What memories did we share? I can not recall a single thing.

I am bad at titles

Posted by Zeannaroux on

There’s something crawling on my skin

I can’t see it, but I know they are there

My doctor said I should give them names

Personalize the pain I feel

Find the source, discover reason

But I am sure that this is where it starts

There is something Whispering in my head

It begs for some attention

My doctor says I should give it

Listen with an open mind, invision

The lingering meaning at its core

I am sure if I do that

I won’t have a doctor anymore

Fodder for the fire

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I occasionally plan out rants in my head

Minor thoughts of things I wished I said

But there are times when they take control

When they grow past my original plan

Morphing into something that leaves me with dread

Today’s nightmare happened fairly early

I wanted to debate with friends and family

Regarding abortion.

To make it known, I stand for freedom of choice

Because every voice, is worth listening to

But it’s my voice that I wished was silenced

Because it brought with it memories long passed

I thought I got over it, guess I didn’t

Now it’s dark outside and I am covered with fear

He isn’t here, but I can hear him breathing

The hitched sound of a grown man

As he gazes upon an unexpected child

It has been awhile, since I dreamt this dream

But I can feel him breathing, as though he was in me

I just wanted a clean debate

Wanted to talk about something important you see

But here I am laying dark

Trying to convince my beating heart

That the remembered man is not next to me

Picket Fences and Daisy Drops

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I’m sorry for thinking about what it will be like for us to grow old

Our links hands surrounded by hypothetical friends

Shared memories, this is only our beginning

And there is nothing stopping me from believing it will end

But I’m sorry for all the miscommunication

Stupid fights that ended in us breaking apart

I’m sorry for dreaming that we will last through time and dust

Because no matter what happens. It’s these dreams I will be left with

No matter what ends up being

It’s this future I will be forever grateful for dreaming

A heavy nightmare

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I wanted to be someone. I think about that daily.

I wanted to be someone and yet I sit. I became nothing. I am not helpless, nor hopeless, nor lost. I am not broken from the wasted pages surrounding the computer desk. I am merely something that became nothing. A person less blob of what could have been.

I am still capable of many things. I can still write my way into a heap. Carefully singing old hymns of what once was. A dream instead of a dark memory. I am here cutting away and pasting little hopes I once held for myself. I make the patterns on my skin.

I truly did want to be someone but I don’t actually remember what that someone is.

Blue is such a bitter flavor

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I started some new medications recently—something to rid me of these anxious thoughts and my inability to sleep. I would love to state that I am doing better, but I am not. Those who are privy to medication know that it takes some time for the true effects to be known. But this made me think of something that I may have spoken about before.

Hospitals

Rather, hospitals with a psych ward that keep patients between 3 to 5 days on average. All depending on what their insurance is willing to cover, of course.

I have been to many of them in my years and can remember how each visit ended in a lie.

Yes! I am fine.

The funny thing is that this lie was encouraged. They were cultivated by doctors and nurses who wanted to send you on your merry way. I am sure it wasn’t their true intention to make liars of us all, but they did. I remember one hospital stay. I had an episode because they would not let me see my child during visitations. Said that I had not yet earned to privilege of such a treasure. Of course, I was livid and reacted in a way one with a mental disorder would. I cried. I screamed; I tore up pieces of paper as a way to prevent myself from assaulting a nurse. I did all of the things because I was in pain and needed an outlet.

Rightly so, this did not give me what I wanted. But I remember my doctor coming up to me later that evening. He warned me that due to my outburst, they were thinking of keeping me an extra day. He acted as though me staying till I was better was this terrible thing. I felt so confused when he said this because I did not see it as such. Yet his cautious words stuck with me as he went on to say, “Pretend that everything is fine, don’t let them see you react. Tell them that you are fine.”

So I did. I perfected the art of smiling while crying as a child and as an adult; I learned to hide my fears with sarcasm and anger. So I combined these skills in such a way that I came off as Ok. I was Ok, to the nurses at least. And instead of being made to stay an extra day, I was released a day earlier with none the wiser that I was dying inside. And that medication? It magically started working after only three days of taking it. A mental ward miracle, as we all learned to describe it.

And that doctor…

I hate him.

Not because of the advice he had given me but from the sheer fact that he proved that this whole system is flawed when I needed so much for it to work. I was done with lying, but he reminded me that a liar’s talents are always in use.

And the medication? It ended up not working for me. But of course, I did not know this till a month later. Luckily by that one, I had a psychiatrist who helped me figure out meds that did work. On top of that, I also saw a therapist regularly. I eventually stopped it, and for a few years, I did fine. But now I am back on them because I am no longer Fine.

So I sit here remembering that doctor and wondering to myself if he is doing ok.

I taste the loss of control

Posted by Zeannaroux on

A bitter innocent and the hint of contempt make it impossible to sleep. Yet she wraps her arms around me and dares to dream while I lay shuffling through nightmares; I’m almost completely devoid of anything else. These nights break me, but she won’t let me shatter. I wonder if this is worth it.

I didn’t get evicted. Mainly because they never showed up like they said they would. For two days, I sat there thinking the worst. Holding this belief that I had not only failed my child but lost us a home, and they never even came to check things out. It makes me wonder if they were just having a bad day when they made that threat. It’s the only reason I can think of as to why they haven’t talked to me about it. I have had no emails or calls, and though I have walked to the office a few times, it hasn’t been mentioned as of it.

So what was with them making those threats? What was with them scaring me? I know that I should probably count my blessings.

I have my home

In a few weeks I will have my job

My daughter is safe and happy, as am I.

So what’s the problem?

Monday Madness

Posted by Zeannaroux on

Monday.

I hate Mondays, but not for reasons people normally hate them. They usually signify the beginning of the workweek and the end of a weekend of fun. I detested Mondays in the past because it meant that I had to wake up early.

It’s different now; as an adult, I hate Mondays for another reason. It’s when businesses open. It’s when people climb into their cars and go to the office that they dread so much and make calls they hate because they know they will be yelled at. It’s when people, debt collectors, well-meaning government workers, teachers, therapists, family, friends, many people from all walks of life call me. It is also the time when people stop by—some with good intentions and some without.

I hate Mondays because I wake up fearing that someone will call or come over delivering some terrible message that I suddenly have to pretend like I am sane enough to handle.

“Oh, I owe you 3,000 for a procedure my insurance said that they would cover? They changed their minds at the last minute because of some minute clause that went undiscovered until it was already done. Why yes, I can hold. Nope, all is well! Of course, I can pay. Now? …no”

My daily chants of

‘I can do it, it’s ok’

They don’t hear me, so I can’t get too mad that they ignore me. Of course, it’s not ok, but I am good at pretending.

This coming Monday, I have people coming to my home to decide if I deserve to live here or not. The criteria is unattainable. I could do it if I didn’t have a child or a dog. So I am locking them in my room and forbidding them from leaving till the people go back to the dark office they crawled from.

It’s stupid, how much I hate Monday, but over the years, I have noticed that nothing good ever happens on that day.

So here’s to another dreaded Monday. Here’s to me finding out if I will be homeless or not. Here’s to my sanity lest it fades away.

Cleaning Closets

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I found a pair of socks that I kept from 2001. Well, I got them from an old best friend’s mother sometime around 2011, but they are one of those new year’s socks. The one with won’t clocks on them to celebrate the end of the year. They are cute, and I loved them. I still do, but they have holes in the toe from me wearing them too much. They are also a little more grey than white. No amount of bleaching will bring back the color they used to be. But I love them.

They reminded me of a time when I wasn’t happy but content. Yeah I remember that I spent a lot of time with this friend. Her parents would let me come over nearly every weekend. We celebrated almost every holiday together as well. There were actually a few times when I would go home with this friend on a Friday only to go back to my parent’s house that following Monday after school. Notice that I said home, because hers was more a home than any place that I had lived before.

It wasn’t perfect. This friend and I had fights. I occasionally disappointed her parents. And I am almost certain that 2 of her three older siblings hated me. I would say all three, but in recent years, one of them messaged me cause he wanted to date. Which was strange, but he was the hot older brother, so score (?).

This friend and I lost touch after high school. Honestly, it was bound to happen. Thinking about it now we were friends due to proximity. We had enough in common to hang out but not enough to keep the relationship from turning toxic. Back then mg disorder was not yet diagnosed and I wasn’t seeing a doctor. So I had a lot of issues that went unnoticed by many people. She had some problems as well. Some of them ok but others pretty toxic in their own right. We could have attended therapy and grown up together, but we didn’t.

I tried my hardest to stick around, but she wasn’t for it. So we stopped being friends, that is. She stopped answering my phone calls and text messages.

But I kept those socks her mother gave me. Even when I was homeless, they stayed in whatever backpack I carted around. Even when a shelter I stayed at kicked me out and refused to let me get my belongings, I still kept those damn socks.

It’s been nearly a decade since I spoke to her. What’s funny is I kept in contact with her momma for a bit after that, but she was a major republican and worshipped tr0mp. This wasn’t an issue for me, but I was pretty vocal in my distaste for him, so eventually, she unfriended me.

I still got the socks, though—those 20-year-old socks.