A new feature

I do not have a best friend anymore.

That feels so strange to say.

I do NOT have a best friend anymore.

The one who held that place finally decided that they were done. Over. Enough. I wasn’t worth knowing anymore. Not by action that can be named but by those that still caused so much pain. This friend. This entity decided that I was their newest enemy.

I should have seen it coming. Actually, no, I did. Made a whole post about BPD and friends. But see it was not my personality at fault, in fact, one would say that I was downright innocent but that can be debated. See this was clearly fated when I spoke to my therapist about signs of abuse and if some could be found in the stories I shared of us since our youth.

“Well, she yelled at me, but it was totally my fault!”

“Haha yeah she made some off-handed remark about how I wasn’t enough, but where was the lie in that?”

“Ok no, she can be controlling but it’s endearing. How love is shown by manipulation. I mean, ok not always but she is happy so there was no need for my hesitation.”

My therapy sessions sounded like recorded excuses. One’s where I recalled all the times when she implied I was useless. But I stuck around cause I had no one else. Because I needed a best friend, above all else.

I no longer have a best friend.

She is gone.

Decided that I was someone who she no longer wanted to pull along.

It’s strange to say, after so many years.

Maybe one day I will get used to it and properly heal.

Borderline Personality Disorder and Friendship

I liken friendship to dying. I know that it will eventually come to an end but a part of me, a huge part, wants to try to make it work anyways. It’s like wading out in a pool. Every encounter with another swimmer could either lead to them swimming farther away or them swimming closer for a moment to chat. But eventually, the leave to swim their own path.

That minute connection is friendship. That lingering touch when I am noticed, and all is well. That’s clarity to me but more often, that no does not last.

Those who have BPD give their all. I remember joking with a therapist once about a support group I had been in. You could tell which people where diagnosed with bpd by the stories that they told. We give novels in places of episodic summaries. In a way, I think this is because we know that things will not last. So we shove as much information into an encounter as we can and think very little about how it may be the thing that drives others away. It was bound to happen anyway.

Of course, this is not a struggle that everyone holds who share this diagnosis. But it is familiar enough that I have made a note of it with my friends and family. Those who also share in the disorder tend to gather and relate. So I have noticed how we all tend to regal friendships in a seasonal way. Our summer friends never last past the next spring. Our winter friends will maybe stick around till the holidays are over. Fuck the spring friends; those guys only stick around for a few days max. Fall friends are the type to only call and text. Haha, jokes, right?

That doesn’t mean that we don’t have lasting friendships. I have known people for years and consider them friends. But they came in waves. For the most part, our friendship never truly ends. Instead, there are moments when they can deal with me and moments that they can not. So I can go for even months without talking to them to decide to speak to me. Or for me to remember that there is a chance that might care. It’s rare for this not to happen.

There are reasons for this but I do not understand them. Maybe more therapy is needed…

Depression and Parenting

I blame her

Because children are more resourceful

It’s more respectable if she is the reason

I can’t leave my home

I can’t leave my bed

People understand

In ways they can’t if it was just me

“Oh no worries, I know how it is”

“Lmao, that is just how it is with kids”

I blame her

Because it is easier to believe

Why I scream into my pillow

Why I can’t speaks days on end

They understand her

In ways I just don’t get

So I blame her

Just to fit in

Of course another update

I like to do random updates through the year so that people can get to know me. Which is probably neccessary considering I mainly write poetry on here. But ya know, I got to keep people on their toes I guess.

Whatever that means.

So here is another random update.

School has been hectic. I am doing surprisingly well this semester though I am also doing really had. 3 A+ and 2 F.

How did I accomplish this beautiful feat?

Well my therapist says depression. For some reason my happy chemicals are only present for the classes that I enjoy or ones where the professor makes the class interesting. Even if it is one I would normally dislike due to the subject or the nature of the course. I do well because the professor is responsive, as are my classmates. With courses I dislike or ones where the professor is…meanish, I do not do well in. It is almost as if I become drained of all energy when it comes down to doing the school work.

Like for instance. I am failing a course and asked a professor for help. His response was basically to tell me to do better. Like thank you my guy! Such enlightenment 🙃.

The other professor is for speech. For those of you who have been here for some time you probably know that I have social anxiety. To the point where I have been diagnosed with a minor form of Agoraphobia. Why minor I say? Because I can leave my house and talk to people if the reason I need to do so is for my kid. But I can not do those things for me.

So I order groceries online because grocery stores make me anxious and I go to the doctor only when things start looking like ginger ale ain’t cutting it no more. Even something as simple as taking out the trash is a hassle because there are people at there

Breathing people who can judge. They are CONSTANTLY staring and judging and bound to hurt me.

Fun times.

So, as per school rules, I told her about my accommodation and that I may struggle with this course. In top of that I asked for some suggestions.

Her response

OH, just give it a try

Ok just let me jump on that 🙃

Now, there is nothing wrong with this. I whole heartedly stand by the notion of trying something before deciding if you can do it or not. Here’s the stitch though, I did try. I try every day of my life to be normal enough to stand in front of a group of people and state my thoughts and feelings. There are days when I can barely look my therapist in the eyes because I assume that she will judge me and I can not bear if it she does. I…I do try but there are days when trying gets me nowhere. So unless she is willing to give me a few accommodations I will fail. And lo and behold…I am.

That aside, I am doing well I guess.

I moved. My daughter and I got a bigger apartment and she is loving it. We have a gated patio that is fairly large and she has big plans for it. Plans I am just to flabbergasted to say but I will give a hint, it involves a shit ton of chalk.

Blessings to you all!

At least Google Remembered

October 20.

1993.

I was born.

I am now 27 years old and only just starting to feel like an adult. Maybe that is why no one remembered that there was any reason to celebrate. Adults don’t have parties. They don’t sit in anticipation wondering what all they receive in gifts. The don’t hover over a cake awkwardly standing as family and friends sing happy birthday to them.

No, instead they do what I did.

Treat it like another day. They don’t sit awkwardly refreshing their social media pages waiting for someone to send them that special message. Hoving around their phone just waiting for someone to call. Sitting in bed trying to come up with excuses why they shouldn’t cry.

I am an adult and I no longer need that validation that my existence matters. I don’t need family and friends to celebrate with me. It’s just another day. I don’t need anyone.

Happy Birthday to me.

Puppet

A tick tock heart made with clay and discarded parts. Sat on the window to dry. The painter and the sculptor, who where known to hate each other, gave it meaning before it begin beating and put it on display. But it would not sit, where it was meant upon the window still. Instead it would clatter and thump and jump as though to reach the rotted sun.

So the painter and the sculpture sat about to make another. This time a heart that would sit still. But they failed in times that changed because neither heart could feel.

Nightmares

It leeches and bleeds

As I scratch with blunted nails found on top pillow.

They curve into my cheek to my head where nails can’t reach.

The wounded symphony of rust and blood

And red and lead

Tapping on the bones as I try to go to bed

It is testing me, a dream I can not see

As I roll with a grinded grin

And try to sleep again

Still

I remain disinterested in games. The long term commitment of staying the same no matter the situation. I am afraid of change. Yet, I rather put up with it in the hopes that it will be worth it. I risk nothing by sitting here. 6 am and still ashamed, I gained nothing by huddling under the cover.

Escaping the cold that I could easily end. Thinking of you. Wishing for you. Steadily hating myself because I can help but dream of you. 6 am and I refuse to sleep. I refuse to see your face as I dream. It is a game really. To see how long I will pass. 6 am and I am still here.  Eyes wide open and mind full of so many fears. I am so very tired but I refuse to give in. I refuse to play along to a game I know I will not win.
It’s 6 am and I am still awake.
I am still awake.