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 of the addict. Hidden among the weeds and the trees and the flowers. Only those who suffer 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 plastered 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 weeds and thorns. Watching as it expands from the molds I sculpted. I leave meaning in its creations. Define it by dreams that I am making.
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…
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
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
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
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.
“Do you think you’ll be missed if you go through with this?”
“…So why do it?”
Because it is the only chance I get to win
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.
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
I never got the chance to know the stars. Those flickering scars that rob the sky. Bright blights that hindered my growth. I missed them. Though I promise I never would. Because she is not here to see them. For me, that is reason enough to get rid of them.
The ocean, I despise it. With every moment of the tide I die a little more inside. I rather it fade away. Or give me room to drown. Because I can not bare the sight, while she is no longer around.
These memories, they haunt me. I would rather forget. Because is not here to share in them. I see no reason to give in. To my brain hidden inclination, to remember a forgiving friend.
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.
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.
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!
She is certain
With a silver tongue
And fleshed out wings, she brings
Heaven towards the sky
Where Angel fail to dwell
Burned out in their own hell, she spied
Twisted lies and sad goodbyes
She is certain
With fluid eyes
A earth filled with dread
Where beings that feast on dreams
Question a fickle lullaby, she sings
Such pretty things
Like sweet mercy bitten by metal wings
I wrote this with my best friend in mind. One who just so happens to share my first name. So this is for you Jessica and all others in the world who share this rather interesting name (i.e this name is basic haha)
Also changing the title cause it was meant to be a place holder till I found one I liked. Only I forgot to change it before it had posted. So here ya go