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

BPD and Identity

At one point do people start to recognize themselves? I think one of the more interesting things about BPD is the idea of identity. We don’t really have one. Ok, that’s a lie, some of us do. I think we all can agree that some of us have titles that stick. I liken it to water. We shift with the tides changing course with the expectation life has on us. For some, the shift may come from the influence of those they hang out with. For others, it could be something different, like a new experience they have encountered. It can be a wide variety of other things as well but for me it is a mix of these two. My identity is dependent on my experiences and those I hang out with. I paint myself to fit the current narrative that is my life. It can be a bit…I guess much at times. Because people do not know who or what I truly am. That isn’t to say that I am completely without identity there are some things that stick that are similar to others

One such thing is that I am a mother. No matter what I feel as though I am a parent. I may not be a good parent but I am here.

The other, is queer, though I do not have any clue to what this truly means.

There are days when I wake up feeling trapped in a body not my own. I am disgusting, unlovable, deserving of pain. All because this body is not mine. It has…accessories that I despise. Yet, there are times when I wake up truly feeling myself. When I grab my breast with pride over the sheer size of them. A generous portion that overflows in a person hand, I am told.

If someone was to ask me which one was the real me…I don’t think I could answer.

There are days when I find girls to be attractive. When they thought of being with a man leaves me nauseous. But there are days when the opposite happens. There are times when I feel no attraction at all. When being with a person leaves me feeling disconnected. Why do people date tends to play in my head. My friends take full advantage of these days (with permission) because I am not hindered by emotions when they come asking for advice in their own relationship though “Leave him sis” tends to be my go to suggestions because why bother with relationships. They are to dumb. Why bother connecting with people at all. These days I liken myself to a doll. Just emotionless.

So what am I?

What label can I slap on that best describes me. Because my mental illness, in this case at least, does define me. So can I really pick and choose when there is something else at play making the decisions for me?

This is truly one of the more interesting things about BPD.

My daughter is in therapy. There really is no reason for it. Mentally, she is fairly healthy. No, this is so she can work through the struggles that came from being raised in a single parent home when said single parent has a personality disorder. I can’t, I won’t let her turn out like me. Instead I put her in therapy so that she can speak to someone who can help her understand that I love her unconditionally even if I do not always show it and that my flaws are not a representation of her at all. So far, I think it has helped her.

But I overheard something the other day. Or was it today. I can’t recall. Well one day I heard something while she was talking to her therapist.

Normally, I do not my best to not listen in. I play music or watch something. There have been times when I will stand outside. Her therapy is her time. But today, or was it last week, maybe it never happened, she read a book to her therapist about people with BPD.

It is a book geared more towards children. A series, in fact, that details a lot of disorders but I gave her the one fo used on mine. She read this book to her therapist and told her how it was one that made me cry every time I read it. How, while reading it, she discovered that the charecter with BPD acted a lot like me. Her therapist asked her opinion on this and my daughter stated

“It’s fine”

….

It’s fine?

As she continued to read she ran across a part that gave her pause. Within this book is a section that talks about people with BPD often having problems with boundaries because they are afraid of being abandoned. So when someone goes a long time without answering text or phone calls, the person with BPD will start to freak out. In the process they may respond in anger or fear. My daughter, being the rather opinionated person that she is, told her therapist that this was something she found to be mean. When her therapist asked her to explain what she meant she just repeated herself and kept on reading.

Now, this is something that I do. But it is an aspect of myself that I tend to ignore. Mainly because I feel justified in my mass text or phone calls if I am repeatedly ignored. Of course I do not do it for long. Because after some time I will just convince myself that the person hates me and wants me dead. That’s exactly why they are ignoring me. It doesn’t matter what the true reasoning is. What I feel is right because I believe it is. They hate me, they want me dead, I annoy them, thus they are no longer my friend.

But this isn’t true. At least that is what reality says. Yet I still feel this way. So when my child looked to her therapist and said that she behavior was mean…I had to check myself.

Am I being mean?

I don’t rightly know.

I am dust, if I trust
With a dash of fire light
And a mix of broken prose
I suppose,  I am made
With bitter beat
And repetition
Standing at memories kitchen
Clutching a chest that will move
Hoving closer and closer to you
I am dust, if I trust
With a dash blue hued rust
And a mix of mistaken prose
I suppose, I am done
Because memories
Have been over come

Continue reading

Warrior duet

Blood, sweat and tears, and pride, though it lies. I still got it, a certificate too. Proof that I know a thousand and one ways to kill you. But I have pain, pills just can’t fix. A bullet wounded knee cap and previously broken ribs. But I have honor, and respect, and the ability to shop at places where they do not accept my check.

Blood, sweat and tears, and pride, though it hides. I still got it, proven by the medal clipped to my chest. Proof that I know how to hold a person down as they scream. But I have pills, that can keep the nightmares at bay. A fucked up mind a broken home, I didn’t know what to expect. But I’ve got honor, and respect, and the ability to stand at ease in the check out line with people glaring at my back.

The Queens Quest

These broken toys with a childs soul

Hidden in the painted garden

Red and white, central war.

Disguised as a game of chess.

I guess, that the future can be changed

With a hatter that is madder and slick

That a simple trick could bring about

A guillotine event worth talking about

To orchestrate a murder

She spat poison in my drink

I watched her do it from where I sit

Yet I take a sip

And act surprised

I know what she tries to hide

I know the secrets that are inside

She spat poison in my cup

I saw it all, but it wasn’t enough

To keep me from talking a gulp

Holding my sides as my stomach erupts

Playing victim to a fate I conduct

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!