Big news

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

Leaving that closet

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.


That moment when you can relate just a bit too much…

I knew that this moment would come, probably more than once too but damn, it’s still hitting a nerve.
Busy doing schoolwork and I just covered a part about the different attachment styles in babies/kids and how, if lacking a proper one, that it could basically fuck you up for the rest of your life. That shit is hitting too close to home. Fuck. I actually had to walk away from my pc for a minute, to remain calm.
This is going to happen quite often, considering that I’m studying psychology, gonna have to find a way to deal with this. Now I’m just wigging out cuz tomorrow we’re gonna be covering this in class as well. I can already see myself storming out of the classroom, very upset. Le sigh. Gonna try my best not to.
I lack a healthy attachment style. I have an attachment disorder (along side all of my other brilliant disorders) and it’s something that has made my life quite a living hell, to be honest. It’s not something that goes away overnight either. Fuck.
Here is to hoping that first hand experience is what makes super awesome psychologists?


ennui21So 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.



Semicolon Project 218

A semicolon represents a sentence that the author could have ended, but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life.

The Semicolon Project started on April 16th 2013 and got shared a million times on social networking sites. People worldwide were drawing a semicolon on their wrists to show their support in the fight against suicide, self harm, depression, anxiety etc. People everywhere are trying to raise awareness about these issues by drawing semicolon’s on their wrist, posting pics of it and tagging it with #semicolonproject416.

It’s going to be “held” annually but I guess that someone out there decided to “hold” it a bit earlier this year, today, February 18th 2014. I applaud whoever decided this because to me it can (and should) be done every day of the year. So here is my contribution for today! Another one coming April 16th!

Draw, snap, post, tag and share people! #semicolonproject218





If you’re a Borderliner like myself, the odds of you having self harmed are pretty high. Let’s not pretend that you haven’t done it at least once, shall we?

I used to cut. I used to cut a lot and very deep. Even now, nearly 8 years later, you can still see and feel my scars.

In the winter of 2006 I got up one morning and told myself that I would stop cutting, that I would get out of the deep darkness that was my depression.

I (somehow) managed to do it. I became “stabley unstable”, as I like to put it. Was I “normal”? Was I “fixed”? Was I “happy”? No. But at least I was no longer cutting, smoking too much, mixing my prescription meds with alcohol or taking sleeping pills. Spoiler alert: I replaced cutting with the above, plus more, a while after I quit cutting. .

I kept this up for quite a while. I was going to school, I was working and I had my own place. Therapy, meds, all of it. I however slowly slipped back into just being “unstable”. But enough about this particular aspect of my life.

I may have stopped cutting but I was still self harming, albeit in different ways. I was all over the place. From being extremely impulsive to reckless spending, being promiscuous to being unsafe with my medication and alcohol. This was back when my meds still worked on me. To be honest with you: I can’t remember most of this period. It’s a mixture of 1) my brain blocking it out because it was somewhat traumatic and 2) I mixed a lot of my medication with alcohol. This all has created somewhat of a gaping hole in my memory. I don’t like thinking back to that time, I did many things that I am ashamed of and will most likely take to my grave. Hence number 1 and my brain blocking it out.

Fast forward a bit. I was 1 month shy of reaching my 5 year “cut free” anniversary but then I relapsed. It was a tiny cut but a cut none the less. I was so sad because it was almost my birthday and my Liberty (my doggy) wasn’t there with me, I was in Norway at the time. Mix in some of my regular depression issues, a dash of winter depression, a pinch of an identity crisis and I was good to go!

After I did it I felt like such a schmuck. I felt like the last 5 years all went in vain. But I went back on the wagon! Sadly I fell off once more on October 17th 2012 and once more just a month ago.

A part of me feels bad and another part of me is like: “So what? I’m not in a good place right now but I can’t afford to break down or process anything right now so what does it matter if I cut? Who am I hurting with it? If it helps me to cope, fine!”. I told my therapist the exact same thing. I also told her that I am not stupid and that I know that I shouldn’t be doing it in the first place.

But right now and for the past year I have been carrying the weight of the world, along with my own pain, on my shoulders. I put my own needs and desires aside for everyone and I do it without complaining, so who am I harming by cutting?

I guess you could say that this is my way of justifying it to myself, making excuses for it. But who bloody cares? I consider myself smart enough to know when enough is enough and when that time comes, I’ll stop.

For now it does me good, it helps me “feel better” to just put some music on and cut. I don’t feel any pain when I do it, I just feel relief. Like the pain pours out of me as I watch the blood trickle down my thigh…

It may not be the best solution but for now it seems better than letting go and letting it all out. Because a storm’s a brewin….

I should add the following message in case anyone is reading this: I am in no way telling anyone to self harm. This is my blog and I use it mostly to vent. I am in no way encouraging others to self harm!!!

7 Mots Mortels

“Once a woman has given you her heart, you can never get rid of the rest of her”

True, isn’t it? Most women (note how I didn’t generalize and say “all” women) love with their entire being. When truly in love we give our all, our entire selves, we don’t hold back. So when the object of your affection doesn’t return your love, it can crush you like a rock. Like a giant boulder. Because yes, that’s how it feels when you hear him say those 7 words “I am not in love with you”. 

Of course every situation is different, but when you have given all that you have to give, poured your entire heart and soul into this person, this love, you feel lost when the love that you have given doesn’t get returned. You feel crushed, like your heart will never be whole again. Let’s be honest here, haven’t we all felt this way one time or another?

Once he has uttered those 7 deadly words you just find yourself standing there in shock. You heard the words but it just hasn’t registered completely. Your brain is still processing the information that it has been given. About a minute later it all kicks back in, you can suddenly move again, you have regained your speech and that’s when it really hits you. That’s when you feel the first tear flowing down your cheek. When you feel that huge lump in your throat and you find that your chest is clenching up, your pulse is racing, your head is getting all foggy, your breathing feels like you just ran a marathon. You reach for something near you, anything that you can hold on to, just to prevent yourself from falling to your knees and screaming out in pain. Dramatic? No, I don’t think so. It’s the best way that it can be explained. And any woman to claim otherwise is basically a liar. Yeah, I said it. But I digress…

He continues talking and you’re just standing there, trying not to break down in front of him. We’re women, we’re strong and fierce, we have to maintain that image. That’s what feminists have been lobbying for all these years, to finally be seen as equals as opposed to “extra sensitive” human beings that cry at the drop of a hat. We give birth to mini humans, we can do this! So that’s what you keep telling yourself in the back of your head all the while still trying to hold back those tears.

This is how I basically spent yesterday evening. Fun eh? Oh but let’s not forget the fact that it felt like someone punched all the air out of me and that I got so upset that I had to run to the bathroom and puke. No, no worries, no mini human in this tummy. I was apparently so upset that my stomach decided to chime in a little. And by little I mean a lot. I spent about 30 minutes hanging over the toilet bowl. Charming image, right?

At this point, or somewhere between being hit by a ton of bricks (read: 7 deadly words) and being reunited with your last meal (stir fry noodles btw, yum), I had detached. Completely dissociated. My body was present but Lord knows where the hell my mind was. I was most likely floating above, looking down at my own dumb founded self. I guess that you could say that the word “numb” describes best how I felt in that instance, and still do.

Once my entire world stopped spinning and I had chucked up everything there was to chuck, I went for a walk. This walk lasted a total of 5 minutes seeing as how it was pretty cold outside. And numb or not, you’re gonna feel it. So I had a smoke and went back inside. I was calming down at this point, I no longer felt like I had just ran the New York Marathon. I put on my favorite piece by Tchaikovsky and I just sat there, on my bed, staring into nothing and nowhere, waiting for myself to return to my body. I waited and waited, but to no avail, I apparently wasn’t ready to come back. That’s when I felt those urges that have been lingering under the surface for months. I could feel that itch become worse and worse. I needed release, I needed SOMETHING.

At this point I had calmed down considerably and that’s when I found myself rifling through my candy store (aka my drawer filled with various medication) looking for my old friend. Ah yes, my old friend Blade. Blade (not the devilishly handsome actor Wesley Snipes, I wish!) was my dear old friend that I had buried (purposely) deep in my candy store, hoping that we would never meet again. But a part of me knew that we would bump into each other at one point or another, so there we were, face to face, me and my blade.

Despite the fact that I had calmed down considerably I was still very numb and “out of it”. I really did consider not doing it but in the end I just turned my music up, grabbed a towel and some rubbing alcohol and I cut. Off the wagon I went, relapsing all the way down the hill with my eyes wide open. When I say “with my eyes wide open” what I really mean is that I was perfectly aware of what I was doing, and I still did it even though a part of me truly didn’t want to do it. But another part of me just wanted release, take the edge off, something to really calm me down.

So I sat there on my bed with  Blade in my right hand and my towel in my left hand and I carved his initials (let’s call him XX for privacy reasons) in my left thigh. I carved it right above the “M” I had carved on October 17th 2012 during my last major breakdown.

Within minutes of “carving” I felt the exact same way that I felt all those years ago when I used to cut.. The second that Blade touched my skin I felt nothing and everything, all at the same time. With every cut I could feel (and see) the blood trickling down my skin and as I watched it drip away it was like I was watching all the pain just roll away. Like I was cutting all the pain away. This might not (and it will not) make sense to you but if you’re like me (cutter, BPD-er), you will understand. You will understand all these emotions that I am describing, because you’ve felt them as well.

I made myself stop at one point, I didn’t want to carve my entire leg up so I made myself stop, which was fairly easy to do. Despite my state of mind at the time, I could still think. Still detached I decided to self soothe. I put on some music (Evanescence, duh) and I listened to it until I fell asleep.

What you need to know is that I’ve known for quite some time now (almost a year) that he wasn’t in love with me but my “other” side (see previous blog post) didn’t want to accept the fact that he wasn’t in love with me. My “logical” side was very well aware of this and had accepted it but my  “other” side (aka my BPD/emotional side) wouldn’t and couldn’t accept it. I don’t know whether I have accepted it now or not but I guess that despite my previous knowledge of already knowing how he felt, that it still hit me very hard.

This morning I had to get up and go to work so I decided to just take it all and just push it away. Put it in that little metaphorical box that I keep deep inside of me and never look back, at least not for the time being. I put on my daily “smile” (as you can imagine, this smile is extremely fake) and I went to work, pretending that all was peachy keen and that I don’t have a care in the world. Unfortunately I go through this every morning.

I always said that he and I would always remain friends, whether or not we were lovers or “together” or not, and in a way, I still stand by that. But I know that it is going to take me some time (maybe even a very long time) before I can  “accept” his decision to be “regular friends” (without play time) and just be friends with him. I don’t know how I will react if I were to see him with another woman in the future. Suffice it to say that I will probably not have the best of responses when this happens.

I won’t process all that has happened because I have too much going on, too many people depending on me so I can’t afford to break down right now. Maybe I will process all of this one day but for now it’s all in my “box”, and this is where it shall stay for the time being.

For so long I wished and hoped for him to be IN love with me. I changed almost everything about me, just because I knew he would like it. I always said that I would never change myself for any man and yet here I was, changing the way I dress, getting my nails done and trying to please him. I guess that is where my “lovely” Electra complex comes in. I don’t know if this feeling will ever go away, I don’t know if I will ever stop wanting him to “want” me, to love me in the way that I wish. But I do know that I will try my hardest to “get over it” (ha, like that’s every gonna happen, right?) so that he and I can be “just friends”. He has always been my (close) friend and “father figure” and I know that I don’t ever want to lose him so I am going to have to try my hardest. One way or the other, he will always be with me, I have a tattoo of his initials to prove it. Ha.

He broke my heart into a million pieces but somehow I will have to try and glue it back together, despite the fact that I am convinced that I am destined to die alone with my 50 dogs and cats nibbling away at my corpse.

I “survived” today and now all I can do is wait for tomorrow and see what the future brings me. Gosh, how very “adult” of me. Ha.

For now I will leave you with this…

“The love that lasts the longest is the love that is never returned”


– William Somerset Maugham