Close, to close

How could you leave when they are standing

By the door expecting

You to return, but there is nothing

That can save them now

Why would you leave them

For a bottle of forget me pills

Now they are graduating

First grade with a finger painted certificate

Hanging on grandma fridge

You told them they would always be with you

Pinky promise in the living room

With a lady in the corner

Taking notes as ordered

You smiled at them

And held them in your arms

But it wasn’t long until you were gone

They are in 6th grade now

And can’t remember how you feel

Because you decided to take a break

With forget me not pills at the kitchen sink

But they know your face

Stiffened with grace

Though grandma does all she can

She is suffering in your place

Because it’s her baby girls body

That flashes in your place

How could you leave them?

When things just started to change

I hope it was worth it

Because they may never understand

Inspired by NF

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 hiโ€”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.

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.

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 ๐Ÿ™ƒ.

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 ๐Ÿ™ƒ

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!

Just a child

I miss the mornings when I got to lay in bed with you.

The way your curled around me and grabbed so delicately at my hand

You do not know how afraid I was, that I would break you

I knew you weren’t fragile but I still saw you as unreal.

That by taking my eye of you, you would just disappear

I was afraid. Yet you loved to cuddle close

Would out your head near my chest and let out the biggest fuss if I moved

I was a weak and yet… to you…I was home

A New kind of update

This week is not a good one. I feel just so alone. Like no one wants to talk to me. I think it is because people only seem to talk to me on their terms.

But I need that interaction. So I send them message after message until a point is reached where they feel like talking to me. I know that this isn’t the best. Creating random situations to be noticed isn’t ideal, but what else can I do? I was doing so well for a time but now I am empty.

All because no one talks to me. No one is interested in what I have to say.

I have no friends

No family

That bothers to check up on me.

The only people I speak to on a consistent basis is my kid and my therapist.

When others take the time to notice me. I lie

Tell them I am alright and that No, of course everything is ok. Everything is going well. I am not sick. I am not scared. I am not staying up at night wishing that it would be my last but to much of a coward to do anything. Nothing like that is happening.

Instead I tell them about all the great things. How sunny the sky is. How happy me and my daughter are. How I love her and she makes me smile. At no point do I tell them that I hide in my room and only interact with her cause I have to. Not because I am a good parent but because I am a parent. I feed her, bathe her, get her ready for school. I listen to her read and play. We watch videos and tell each other stories. Not because I want to, but because it is expected of me. Given a chance I would not be here.

They don’t care. None of them care.

They talk to me on their own time and the interactions never last long. I can send them a message, an email, but it all gets ignored. Phones calls are regulated to once a blue moon conversations. Only call when they need money.

I hate it here.

I made this blog so that I can share my stories but also so people can have a small glimpse into what it is like for those who have BPD. And well…this is it.

And I am sorry for that

Honestly, this is terrible

I am not a momma to be held with contempt. I think I am exempt

From such animosity because there is no one, surely no one

Who can hate me as much as me

Such a belittling feeling and yet so deserved

For who else can ignore such a girl

One with a smile so sweetly filled with love

Who else would dare turn away from her hugs

Crying cause their skin is burning

Sleeping well into midmorning

Could you do it and still hold yourself on high

Or would you feel as I do? Despair beside a happy child

Making up excuses to stay a while

Could you really believe yourself worthy of praise

When not a day goes by that doesn’t end in a haze

This is what it is like to parent with depression

To parent in a borderline state of obsession

This desire to leave sticks to the bones

Yet, I know, I truly know, that this small child is home

Honestly_ what a terrible poem

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