Mental Awareness and COVID

I started this blog as a way to share my poems with others. I didn’t believe myself to be any good, but I wanted to share them anyways. My goal was to write until I gained both the skill and confidence to write a full-length book. Be it a poem or fiction, I was going to write something.

It ended up becoming more than that. Slowly, this blog became my haven. The place where I could share my deepest emotions that I did not allow myself to feel allowed. I could strangers my dreams without fear of being judged. Well, I could still be judged but in a more effective way. And for awhile this worked. I wrote my stories and my poems and things going on in my life. I made some wonderful friends and discovered people I wouldn’t have otherwise been aware of had I not taken this dive. Gradually, I found myself needing this blog less and less. The lessons learned from all these wonderful people and stories pushed me to better myself. And I did!

For many months I found myself in a much better spot. No longer did I live in a place filled with toxic people. I dont have as big of a support system but those I do have I can trust.

My daughter is also doing amazing. We even managed to get a puppy. All was…well

But then I got sick

Very sick

It didn’t last all that long, but it left an impact and made it difficult to do things for a while. I got depressed, and I slowed down. I stopped making progress and become stagnated. But it wasn’t all that bad; I still did things but slower.

It was during this time that someone decided to visit me.

My landlord. They came to do what I had first believed to be a routine inspection. My home wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t terrible. In its state, I wouldn’t have felt embarrassed with inviting over strangers, is what I am trying to say. They took a look around and left.

The next day I get a letter stating that they wanted to evict me.

This…this came as a surprise since I had never had any problems before. My neighbors seemed to adore my daughter and never hesitated to stop and say hi—even the grumpier ones. I paid my bills on time, and all other inspections were ok as well. There is a three-strike rule here, and as this would be my first, I didn’t understand why this was taking place. I set up a meeting with them after I had gathered evidence that no messages between the landlord and me nor maintenance had taken place previously about any complaints.

But of course, things did not go well.

The landlord spent the better part of the meeting just spewing venom at me. From the moment she opened her mouth till she finally closed it, she was just rude. There was no actual reason to get trying to evict me. She didn’t provide proof that anyone complained, just said that they did. When I started to have a panic attack, because obviously, I would, she then threatened to kick me out because I was mentally incapable of living independently, despite having done so for many years now. During this she did call the ambulance because I started to experience chest pains (due to the nature of my last apartment I started to develop chest pains whenever I experience a panic attack. This is a normal symptom of these sort of attacks). She wouldn’t listen to any of my explanations and just accused me of making up excuses. The EMT tell her what I already informed her, I was having a panic attack. A few more things happen but when it was all said and done she threatened to evict me many times, on top of having my dog removed, on top of having my child removed. All because I was sick and had a panic attack.

The illness, by the way, was most likely covid.

For three days, I could not move from my bed. Luckily my kiddo is pretty independent and is old enough to get her some quick meals. She is also tall enough that when I had to get up anyway to get her food, she could help me move around and steer me to the couch when I got too dizzy. She was such a trooper. I don’t have a car and so was unable to go get tested officially (you can’t take the bus or a cab if you have symptoms of covid and I had no one who could take me to a testing center). Another sign that it may have been covid was the fact that we had gotten a notice that my daughter had been exposed just a day or so beforehand. So we had already been under quarantine when I got sick.

For the first of those two weeks, I was extremely ill. For the second, I was recovering and still found it difficult to do things. I would often get dizzy if I stood up to fast. It didn’t help that I still couldn’t eat much, so I was surviving on mostly water.

But when it was all said and done I was only dealing with the normal levels of depression. Now, I am not.

The landlord did end up calling CPS. That very day they came to my home because they were told that I was to mentally unstable to care for my child. Sense then I have been trying my best to prove to them that I am fully capable of caring for her. But I am failing.

This is because even though they can see that she is getting her needs met, they are under the impression that it will not stay that way. So they are not judging me based on my current efforts but solely on a possible future that may not come to pass. At this time, they do not know if they will take my child.

I am lost.

And I am scared.

I am being harshly judged for an illness I could not help get and for a disability I had no say in developing. All by people who say they just want to help but whose main goal seems to lie in finding ways to mess up my life.

I wish that they could see that they are not helping. I wish that they could see that I am doing the best that I can. I wish they could understand that when my daughters says that she is happy that truly means she is happy. And I really wish they could see that having a disability doesn’t make me second class or less human.

Yes, I will make mistakes, but I own up to those mistakes.

I no longer hold the belief that asking for help gets me nowhere but hurt. I know how and when and who to call if things get tough. I am not allergic to aid. I wish they would see that.

But they don’t

At least it doesn’t seem to be that way.

So here I am, back again, using this blog to share my thoughts because I have no other place to do so. For those who have reached the end, I apologize. I made a promise a while back to start writing happy stuff, and I didn’t. Still I am grateful for you sticking around. Hopefully, things work out in the end.

I wish you many blessings along the way.

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…

Dreaming

I thought it would be better if I died.

A hopeful wish really, but one I still believed in. I wanted to go away. For everything to end.

Only, I entered an agreement for a new feeling. One which brings me pain.

I figured it would be better if I was deceased.

My rotting body used to study various diseases. For science of course. While my mother grieved and my father went on living. I figured, that with time, memories of me would fade.

Only, I entered a realm of false hope. When memories fade only to become the chains that choke me with yesterday’s desires.

I just wanted to go away.

My mind hurts

This is a drug. Sculpted by a set of hand cuffs made of plaster.  Not my finest creation, but this is not my finest hour. It sits and bakes in the wake off the addict. Hidden somewhere among the weeds and the trees and the flowers. Only another who suffers could understand it’s power. How it grows and holds. Expanding from the molds which housed it. A plant in the mind of those who know where to look. Where to find such meaningless things in wish filled dreams. Only they can understand. This drug. Sculpted by a set of plasterd handcuffs. This isn’t my finest creation but it only took an hour. I can choose to give it power or I can choose to throw it away. I am the addict who hides. Among the tree and and weeds and thorns. Watching as it expands from the molds I sculpted. I leave meaning in its creations. Define it by wish filled dreams. Only I can understand it. This is a drug.

A/N I can’t sleep again. I can feel the cycle starting. How empty i feel. I am sharing this one ahead of schedule because…well because it makes no sense. And I need to empty my mind right now before everything starts fading again.

A caged soul

I think it is ok to feel. Yet there is no way I will allow myself to.

I hold myself to a different standard. Something not shared by those I love. I think it is ok for others to be open but I will never let myself to conform. Emotions are easier when they are locked in a box. No one is hurt when no one is there. I can show you some expressions but I can make it reach my eyes.

I have been told that I am a liar. That it is best to be truthful. But I am not ready to share that side of me. Probably because I lost the key. I bet that it is someone in my childhood. The one that I talk about with a smile on my face. Look closer you may see some cracks. But not yet, right now I am able to speak. Listen when I say that there is a chance that I will never give in.

I hide my emotions because it keeps them safe. I rather suffer in their place. I rather sit by and watch the emotions and in their eyes and know that they are blessed. They are worth it. They are precious.

I am not and I do not think there is anything that can change that.

A state of emergency

The bugs are back

With their expectations and condemnations

They proclaim as fact,

how my retreating form is more telling than my words

I ignore them as best I can, spray at hand

To wipe them from existence

But they chatter, as they walk across my kitchen counter

Accusing me of all matters of depravity

I am doing the best I can!

But I remain ignorant of the growing hoard

Paper plates and bile play like friends who can not separate

The bugs are back again

Spending their existence, of which I will end, twisting my lips into

Into futile verses of how I am ok