It’s midnight! It’s officially 2 years of no alcohol and no cutting! Fuck, it has been hard!!!! But I’m doing my best! 🥳 #borderlinepersonalitydisorder #noalcohol #soberlife #automutilationrecovery
I haven’t told anyone about this but in November I went to visit the obesity clinic. My doctor sent me there.
Now 8 weeks and many tests later, I have my results back.
I’ve been pre approved for surgery. It will be one of the 3 options stated in this photo.
I have to get my eating disorder a bit more under control and then hopefully the process begins.
If you want to judge me, that’s your business. Just keep it to yourself and keep on scrolling.
You don’t know my story or my struggle. You don’t know what I have and haven’t tried re: weight loss.
And despite what I post on my IG and FB, I don’t only eat junk food🙄🤣
I just don’t post the healthy food as much. It’s less fun to drool over🤷🏽♀️🤷🏽♀️
Soon I should start seeing a therapist for my eating disorder. And yes, fat people can have eating disorders. It’s not just for skinny people.
Anyways. That’s it. 🙂 now I’ve told y’all. breathes
Tonight I did something that I have not done since I was a little girl. I got on my knees, closed my eyes and I spoke to whoever is out there in the universe. I was most likely just talking to myself, but I really needed to let it all out.
I don’t even know if I should call it “talking to God” because I can’t say that I am religious at all. I was raised Christian, but I have spent most of my childhood – and a giant portion of my adult life so far – doubting the entire existence of “God”. Without turning this into a 5 page essay about my lack of believing/struggles with religion, I just know that tonight I got down on my knees and I talked. I had to get it out.
Last week Thursday I received some incredibly devastating news, and it has had me in shambles ever since. I have barely left the house in days. I spent most if it in bed. If it weren’t for the dogs I would truly never ever leave the house, ever. I have been having non stop anxiety attacks, sleeping a total of 2 hours a day. I am exhausted, so extremely exhausted. And scared.
I have never in my life been truly afraid of anything, but here I am, terrified. You’re probably wondering what this devastating news is to begin with, and honestly, I am still debating whether to share it or not. So far I have only told a few people, and they don’t even know the entire story. What it comes down to is that there is a very big chance that I will soon become homeless. Lose my house. My roof. The house that I grew up in.
I pay my rent on time, so that’s not it. I keep to myself, I don’t cause any trouble. And yet, because of some stupid archaic rule, I stand to become homeless. But I digress.
Point is that I have been hiding in my house for the last 6 days, feeling like utter shit. Constantly awake, wanting to cry and scream, but holding it all in. Feeling so incredibly miserable, scared, alone, confused. I have truly never felt this way in my life. And I have been through a lot in my 30 years on this planet.
Fuck, I truly don’t even know why I am writing any of this right now, I just know that once again, the clock struck 4am and I couldn’t sleep. No matter how fucking hard I tried, and believe me, I tried.
I even have my Google home playing me some relaxing sleep music, to help calm me down and put me to sleep. No luck.
I just suddenly felt this overwhelming urge to get out of bed, get on my knees and let it all out. This of course ended in tears. And yet, it felt a bit cathartic. They do say that crying often helps, so yeah.
Once I got back into bed, I still couldn’t sleep. My mind wouldn’t stop, it just kept racing. More so than usual. It has been like this for the last 6 days/nights. I have actual pain between my eyes from the lack of sleep and the stress.
I usually write to help me deal with stuff, to let it out. I have not written in an extremely long time, but now I really had to. Even though I have not written in a long time I often find myself formulating how to phrase the stuff that haunts my mind every day. So here I am, in bed, clicking and clacking away on my laptop while my 3 dogs sleep peacefully next to me. They’re used to me and my insomnia.
What was the point of my rambling again?
I actually have no fucking clue. Wow. I just know that I had to get it out. Writing is how I deal with the demons and the stress. But I have been so fucked up lately that I have not written much. I mean it’s not like anyone is actually reading what I have to say. I am not even entirely sure if I will even post thi on my FB/blog or not.
If you are however reading this right now I guess that means that I did indeed post it online. I might regret it tomorrow, but we’ll just have to wait and see. Fuck, I need to get out of the house. But a huge part of me is afraid to leave the house. Dammit.
I am afraid that I am falling back into the same patterns that I used to be in 10 years ago. Afraid to leave the house, in bed all day, eating unhealthy food. Fuck. I truly don’t know what to do.
Being without therapy since May 2019 hasn’t helped either. Mind you, I can function perfectly fine without therapy, but I find that it really helps me cope. It helps me get through the weeks, through living with this God forsaken illness. It helps to have someone to talk to.
I have been suicidal for as long as I can remember. Having stood on that ledge many times before. The only reason that I am still alive is because of my dogs. I can’t bear the thought of them ending up in the shelter. I simply can’t. So I pretty much live for them. Even though I often feel like I am letting them down, especially on my “down days”. Don’t you just fucking love mental illness?
These suicidal thought and feelings have increased significantly lately and I truly don’t know what to do with it. It even feels different, more intense than usual. I often truly wonder just how much longer I will be able to keep this up. Feeling this way. It has been 20+ years already.
My meds have been increased and even completely changed, multiple times, but they stop working after a while. My body is weird. I am now on my second try with Prozac. I don’t feel like its working as it should be. Maybe it’s this weird body of mine, I don’t know. I just know that I am miserable.
You know what is also really fucking hard to deal with? I spend every fucking day fighting myself. Fighting the urge not to fall back into my usual coping methods. Which are quite destructive.
Cutting, binging and purging, taking pills and alcohol. I had a period of 2 years in my life where I did this a lot. That was 10 years ago. I have put in so much work to no longer do that. But fuck, fighting not to do it is so much fucking harder than just actually doing it.
Moments like this is when I have to find something to distract myself with, because I pretty much just want to pop a few benzos and throw back a bottle of whiskey.
Ha. I must sound like a total fucking addict or something. I can genuinely say that I have never been an addict before. Nor was I an alcoholic. I would get shitfaced drunk and take pills maybe once a year. That was it. And then there was this point, about 3-5 years ago that I decided to just stop it all. Even the once a year thing.
Mind you, I am not perfect. I have had a few relapses. Despite not having been an addict, I am still going through a recovery of sorts. I would get so mad at myself whenever I would relapse. But I am slowly starting to realize that it’s all a part of the process I guess.
Fuck, I am still rambling and I am just switching from subject to subject. Welcome to my mind. Step inside and enjoy the show!
To be clear, I am not some kind of psycho. People that know me can attest to this. I just have a mental illness. And it sucks. It sucks so much. I wish that there was a magic pill that I could take that would make it all go away. But alas, c’est ma vie…
I have now calmed down a bit, I think that I will once again try to get some sleep.
This may be the severe sleep deprivation talking, but I mean everything that I have said.
In the words of the world wide web… “Felt cute.. might delete later”…
I want to write a super positive – inspiring – happy go lucky post but I just can’t. Because it’s not how I feel. And maybe it’s also because I am not aforementioned things – at all. Not because I haven’t tried – because I have.
I have tried “positive thinking”, I have tried “looking at the bright side of life”, I have tried it all. But to no avail.
I am now 28 years old and I can fairly (and very truthfully) say that I can’t remember the last time that I was happy, which makes me wonder – was I ever even happy? Even a little bit? After a lot of soul searching – oh so very much – I can honestly say that I have never been happy. I have never been a happy person either – I have never had a reason to be happy.
Have I felt moments of happiness? Or what I perceived as happiness? Sure I have. But they were just that, they were “moments”. Moments pass – they are not permanent.
My dogs make me happy – dogs in general make me happy. Petting them, looking at them, hanging out with them – it cheers me up. But when the moment passes I go back to feeling like my old regular unhappy self.
People often say “How can you say that you’re not happy?! I have seen you smile before!” Sorry to burst your bubble – but even (chronically) depressed people can smile. Just because I am incredibly miserable doesn’t mean that I can’t laugh when I hear/see something funny. It doesn’t mean that I can’t smile whenever my dogs look at me with their beautiful puppy dog eyes. It doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate a good joke.
A smile is just a smile. A smile can be faked even – and I know all about it, because I have been faking it for over 20+ years.
I have lost my train of thought – welcome to my brain – okay I really can’t remember where I was heading with this.
How do you even know if you’re really – truly and completely – happy? Or are all of you happy ass folks just faking it too?
Came across a very well written and lovely article by Lauren McGrath. “Coming Out As Borderline”
This article depicts the stigma that BPD-ers encounter on a daily basis, be it online/movies/tv or even WITHIN the mental health profession. I have had the luck of having dealt with mental health care professionals that were NOT stigmatizing toward me or others. But many (!!!) of us out there have in fact not been so lucky.
Living with this illness is hard enough as it is, but constantly running into these walls and having to deal with a stigma, isn’t fun, to say the least. How is one to get the proper help if the professionals even run at the mention of BPD? Not all mental health professionals are like this, thank Goddess, but unfortunately there are still a lot of them out there.
My diagnosis was first brought up at the age of 12, I fought it with every fiber of my being, I didn’t want to hear anything about it. I was basically in proper denial. But as I grew older and went through so much fucking hell, I decided to do research of my own (thanks Google!) and that’s when it first hit me: it’s like someone wrote all of this research about ME.
This was the first step toward acknowledging what I had. Eventually I reached acceptance. Some might even say that I went through the entire Kübler-Ross 5 stages of grief . Step 5 was acceptance.
I am 27 years old now and whilst I still struggle with my BPD on a daily basis, I’ve come out. I came out of the BPD closet and I am not ashamed of who I am or what I have.
Funny how a tv show can bring out so many emotions, even though it’s all make believe. I am not the type that cries when watching a movie or a tv show. I am not the type to even get emotional because of it. But no matter how many times I’ve watched Gilmore Girls, I’ll always get all emotional and start crying my eyes out, as it triggers so many things for me.
I have never had what they had. I have never had their relationship. I didn’t get to be friends with my mother, let alone best friends. I have never had the movie nights with a shit load of junk food or the endless hours of conversation. I didn’t have the closeness that they shared. I have never had any of it.
I have never had a Logan, a Jess, or a Luke or even a Dean. I had a bunch of emotionally unavailable-distant and unattainable men. I have never had the love that most people get to experience. Shit, I’ve never had any love for that matter. I’m 27 years old now and I am fairly certain that I don’t even know what love really is.
Watching GG as a kid and re-watching it as an adult were 2 very different experiences for me. Watching the GG revival has brought up so many emotions, so many thoughts and feelings. Seeing how close they are, seeing how they make up even after the biggest fight, seeing how much they care about each other. As I sit here, at my desk with my boy Matisse asleep between my legs, I can’t help but wonder: what would my life have been like if I did indeed have a GG-esque relationship with her? Would I not be the person that I am today? The scarred individual that sits here, typing this. The basket case.
Would I be married and with kids by now? Would I be in a healthy relationship and living a very happy life? Would I be living a dream life? All of this goes through my mind, keeps me wondering.
I’ll never have a Luke, because I have never had a Lorelai….
So here I am, behind my desk, headphones on and ready to write. But I feel like I don’t even fucking know where to start. I just know that I have SO much to say, SO much to share but I just can’t seem to get it out right. Which is weird, because I’ve never had an issue with this. Le sigh.
Let’s see, where to start? At the risk of sounding like a fucking broken record: I am deeply miserable. I mean, this is the ledge and I’ve been standing on it for a while now. Lately even more so than usual. I genuinely just want it all to stop, I just want SILENCE. I want all of the thoughts to stop, to go away, to leave me the fuck alone. If you’re reading this right now there is a very big chance that you have BPD, like me. So you’ll understand it when I say that I can literally think myself into a super fucked up shitty mood. Crazy, right?
Oh I should also apologize in advance because something tells me that I am going to be all over the place with this post, jumping from one subject to the other. Haha, it’s funny because that how it feels like inside of my head. Total fucking chaos! lol.
On Youtube right now, trying to listen to some of those “feel good” songs, sing myself into a good mood? lol. It doesn’t always work though, especially when I suddenly find myself listening to Evanescence. But I digress.
It’s now 2016 and I am still not working. Been out of a job for 2 years now. Many people don’t understand how fucked up that is for someone like me. Someone that HAS to keep busy constantly, as a distraction, otherwise the thoughts come and they always lead to over analyzing and eventually feeling like total shit. And the fucked up part of it? I’m not fucking stupid. I’m no Einstein but I am far from stupid. Despite the fact that I feel like I have lost at least half of my brain cells from being unemployed. Let’s face it, the brain is a muscle and if you don’t use it, you lose it. That’s genuinely how I feel right now. Lord.
The best part of being unemployed? When people tell me to “just look for a job”. Oh I’m sorry, wow, why hadn’t I thought of that yet?! Fuck, I’ve been going at this completely wrong for the last 2 years! I totally forgot that I could walk into any office, grab the boss and FORCE him (or her) to give me a job. Silly me! And here I’ve been, unemployed for so long! Gah, I swear, when people say that shit to me I genuinely want to punch them in the face.
Then again, does a day go by where I don’t want to punch anyone in the face? Especially lately. Gah. Okay, maybe I need to make a list of topics that I want to cover and then devote a post to each one. Seems more organized, yes?
Okay, stay tuned my lovelies, I shall aspire to return shortly.
Haven’t posted much lately, especially on my website. Which is odd I guess since I have SO much going on, in my life/in my head. Suffice it to say, I’ve got enough to say.
Kind of toying around with the idea of making vlogs, maybe that would help me be more active and consistent with posting. Then again, is anyone even really watching/reading? lol. But you could say that it’s therapeutic, in a way. lol.
Anyways, hope that everyone is doing okay,. And remember, your story isn’t over yet!!!
Meet my new furry child, Matisse! He even has his own FB! hahaha.
He’s 12 weeks old. It took me 2 years to get a new doggy after the love of my life Liberty (Golden Retriever) got put to sleep, but I am glad that I finally did.