So I’m officially the worst of all the bloggers. I accept that. I think I need to take more space from a lot of things whilst I single-handedly ignore everything that takes any effort. I’m being lazy, but in the best way. Obviously. In my defense, there have been several times I’ve tried to do a new post, then as I’ve pressed publish, it’s said “Are you sure you want to publish this? Click here to try again” and, because saving drafts is obviously for wimps, the whole post is just gone. So then I got infuriated and angry at WordPress for being such a dicknose about life.
So here I am. Trying to blog. Again. I keep forgetting.
I think as well a part of it is that I actually do stuff now. Like, I’m actually seeing and talking to people. It’s really good because I have lots of friends and I think I’m making a sneaky few extras on the side too. I started this blog to tell my friends about where I’d gone, and now I’m back. Plus, although there are still some food based hiccups, I’m actually maintaining nice and well and eating pretty chaotically, but enough. I’m just kinda eating like a normal person. It took long enough, but I think I’m still doing well eating disorder wise.
The parts of my life which are more difficult mental health wise are difficult to talk about. I’m still really not fully comprehending borderline personality disorder I don’t think because it just feels like what I do. It’s what I’ve always been like. But then, apparently it’s all pretty crazy. I don’t know. I know it’s not what I wanted recovery to be like though. I was so glad to get a break from all these things when I stopped eating. I thought I’d grown out of it, not that I’d just hidden it. Now it’s all back. It’s just like being sixteen all over again. I hate it. But it’s all hard to blog about.
Borderline personality has like nine criteria, with the presence of five or more providing a diagnosis. All the criteria are things like “impulsive behaviours in potentially self-damaging areas” (read drug/alcohol abuse, sex, excessive spending etc.); “frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment” (so obviously a lot of unflattering behaviours here); raging (that attractive trait I want all my friends to know about); unstable identity (which if I was to try and explain would be crazy making in and of itself); unstable relationships with others characterised by devaluation and idealization (again, ranting about how much I hate/love my friends is obviously a great thing for all my friends to read); “recurrent suicidal behaviour, gestures, threats or self-injury” (another great sharing piece. Totally doesn’t alienate anyone); “affective instability” (ok so this isn’t so bad to share, but it is still a little bit weird and because I don’t really notice it till after the event, I don’t really have that much insight. My moods seem perfectly reasonable to me); “chronic feelings of emptiness” (a real crowd pleaser); and “paranoid ideation, delusions or severe dissociation” in stressful situations (this one really screams nut bag at people. And also, how would I explain to someone that shit, I don’t know how I got there or that I really don’t remember that time they’re on about. I tried to once, and the other person thought I was so rude because it was so important to them). It’s hard to blog about things that can upset people, make me seem a total waste and are so difficult to untangle. I try to figure out whether the things that make me feel horrible relate to these symptoms. Quite often they do. But then I think no. I don’t know. It’s confusing.
Then google goes and tells you people with borderline personality disorder are bitches. Manipulative. Liars. Attention seekers. Run the fuck away. Google tells me I must be horrible. That doesn’t really make me want to share really.
I do think duloxetine was a winner in terms of making my overall mood more positive, but I’m still way too emotional. When I’m happy, I’m dancing and clapping and jumping up and down. When I’m sad, I’m tears and tantrums and shouting and occasionally flailing.
Still, before all this business of recovery, my crazy was really different, but equally crazy. It was contained and quiet and I was functioning well for a while at least. Now I’m “low-functioning” (thanks a lot Psychiatrist) and I’m going about being a mental at the world. The Ma called me up on creating multiple layers of drama. The post-anorexia me is dramatic and loud and out at the world for everyone to see. I’m not sure how much I want to spell that out for my real life people. I don’t want to be called up on it. I don’t want my fuck ups to be general knowledge and I don’t want to be judged for my actions and I don’t want social repercussions.
So instead, I hide away. Some of it is pretty jokes to explain, though is actually fucking distressing and confusing.
So yer, I don’t know where to go with this blog. Too many people are involved in my life now to actually be open about much. I wish I could blog about it, but I shot myself in the foot with the whole lack on anonymity thing.
A meaningless example. Last week, I had a therapy appointment. It was at 2pm, so I had to leave at 1pm. I was all getting ready on time and being all nervous, but then my iPod broke. It got really hot and started to smell like burning rubber. So I started panicking. How could I go out without an iPod? How? Everything would be so wrong. So I pulled my hair and ripped at my skin because I was so fucking thrown over the iPod issue and just could not contain it. I popped some Valium to try to chill a little bit before therapy, then frantically tried to put music on my smart phone whilst waiting for it to kick in. The smart phone thing did actually work out in the end, but midway through sorting it, my EDU called to say therapy was cancelled and the Psychologist would get back to me the next day. That was it. The Therapist hates me so much and is avoiding me and doesn’t give a fuck because no one gives a fuck and my iPod was broken so I couldn’t even leave the house and we had guests. So I cut myself with a razor because I couldn’t contain how fucking stressed I was. Eventually the Valium kicked in, and I chilled enough for a while, but ended up really going for gold that evening because I felt so horrible inside. I ended up drinking all the alcohol and taking all the drugs and embarrassing myself in front of guest like people and not sleeping at all. At around 8am, I started to freak out that I’d be asleep when the Psychologist called. At 10am I called in, still fucked. He wasn’t there. They asked me to leave a message, but I couldn’t because then he’d know I cared and he can’t know I care because then I’m exposed. So I called again a few hours later. He still wasn’t in, but they recognised my voice and knew my name and asked to take a message again. I said no, hung up and took more Valium to get to sleep because I was scared of him knowing I’d called. Next day, he still hadn’t called and my iPod wasn’t fixed and everything was still rubbish. Another call, he wasn’t available, I refused to leave a message and self-injured because he’s ignoring me and hoping I’ll never show up again. I mean, he was at work, just not calling like they said he would. The next day he was actually in, but I was so angry I could hardly speak to him. Cut myself again, got trashed again. Because he didn’t seem to realise how much he’d upset me. And I can never tell him because then a) he’ll know I care and b) I don’t even know if I care, or I’m pretending to care so he’ll feel bad because all my thoughts are fabrications and lies and c) it might make him hate me. And he obviously doesn’t give a fuck.
I did have an appointment at the Apple shop today though, and they gave me a brand new iPod for only £30 because mine had broke! There was at lease 45 minutes of uncontainable excitement at this, so I called loads of people up and asked them what muffins they wanted and bought so many muffins. I just had to talk to people and buy things in order to make it out of Covent Garden. I then ran to Holborn station because I had so much energy. Me, in my DMs and big headphone and horrendously large jewellery, running through commuter areas because I was so excited. A couple of texts and a few badly chosen songs later and I wanted to die because I remembered how much I’m messing up so had to ask my friend to see me specially to give me a hug so I knew he liked me and didn’t secretly wish me dead.
Thing is, did I even really care about my iPod, or was I just pretending to myself and the world that I care? Do I even like music? Or is that just made up too? It must be made up because there isn’t a core to me. I’m all constructed. Thoughts, feelings, behaviours. They’re all constructs anyway. Everything constructed for others to create a likeable person, hiding the nothing inside.
And really, this stuff is pretty minor flex really. It’s non event stuff. When it’s actually bigger events (although probably still small to other people), the fall out can be much more drastic. I’m not good at containing myself. I act in, I act out. I just spill bits of me everywhere I go. And honestly, I don’t really know if that’s borderline behaviours or not. It’s good when I’m happy though because I’m just so excited. It’s fun. The other side of that is less fun. But when this is how ridiculous my mentalness is. it can be hard to explain and kinda horrific to share with people and is all a little bit much for most people to deal with.
So there you have it. Some thoughts for today. And a little bit of where I’ve been.
The title of this post has nothing really to do with what I’ve written. It’s just from a song that I essentially listen to way too often. It’s horrible and a little bit too much for my brian right now. It about sums up my mood and a lot of my feelings right now.