Pages

Borderline Personality Disorder Blog. Bipolar Disorder Blog. BPD. DBT. Cleveland. A Fragment in Orange.

11.27.2009

This Thanksgiving was the best ever.

9.24.2009

Boy Drama

slight drama with the ex boy via text today. he's the one who called it drama. i call it conveying my feelings. but boys will be boys and anything emotional is labeled drama. we are both equally annoying as genders. i won't deny that. so i sent a few texts. haven't had contact with him in two weeks and thought that today was a good day to share my feelings and get some closure on the deal. but he ignored me. finally realized that talking (texting) was pointless so i sent him a final text saying sorry for the stuff i'd fucked up in the relationship, that i wished it could have worked but that i wish him well and hope for no hard feelings. it really sucks to be a grown up sometimes. now i just have to put those thoughts into action -- no hard feelings, wishing him well, and moving on. it's hard when relationships don't work out. you put your heart into something, into someone, and there's no pay-off. maybe some insight into how to do it better next time. i'm trying to be less melodramatic in my woe-is-me-i'll-never-get-into-another-relationship-again stuff. it is what it is. hopefully one day i'll find the right person for me. if not . . . well, i'm okay with that. i'll be lonely, but loneliness is manageable.

9.23.2009

q: what do you call a gay dinosaur?

a: a megasoreass

that joke courtesy of an er nurse. never sure with these gay jokes if i should be offended or laugh. i chose to laugh. everything is funny.
made brownies from scratch, waiting for them to cool, protecting them from the dumbo fly fuzzing around here, will eat one or two or three and then to bed i go for a glorious eight hours. i welcome my crazy dreams now. so many different lives lived in the twitch state of rem. rem and i have always gotten along well. loads of sex dreams. not good sex dreams. no happy fantasy thrill. instead it's manipulation, threat, force. no matter -- i enjoy the change of scenery.

busy work day. not much exciting to say. a few loonies. a few near pee emergencies. i saw nine patients. my evil coworker saw two. breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. i will not let this frustrate me. my screensaver at work says "breathe". just in case i forget to. and go postal as a result.

the depression continues. my body drags. my eyelids droop. my brain semi-mush. try to do something, even if it's just a little something, every day to see progress. even if it's just making brownies. or doing the dishes. riding this out. i'll be okay.

9.21.2009

becoming more anti-social. it's easy for me to do. it is me. being anti-social at work, except with my patients. i close the door of my exam room and listen to my ipod all day and people say, oh, you're here? i haven't seen you all day. i like working independently. no one to answer to. no one to answer to me. just do a good job. that's the easy part. my patients seem to like me. i hear a lot of interesting stories. have a lot of laughs. feel a lot of peoples' pain -- makes me feel connected. respect for the living and respect for the soon to be not-living.

still overwhelmed by the silence, this intense relationship with myself. too much sometimes -- i come home and go to bed. try to sleep for an hour or two, but that rarely works. so i get up and watch tv and worry about doing what i have to do tomorrow. every day. every tomorrow. not sure what meaning there is in this type of existence. i get by. nothing lasts forever. just the state i'm in. the state of today. not good. not bad. the heart still ticks. the heart still feels. the earth living and breathing around me. leaves turning. anticipating the cool crisp breath. blazers. boots. winter coats. mittens.

and this life i have is better than most peoples'. enjoy it for what it's worth. feel the cold tile beneath my feet. dog hair on the sheets. too many rumpled socks lying around in every room, but they are friends now. what to do when i grow up. oh wait, i am grown. this is me. this is how it is. this is how it will be. unless . . . i make change. don't think i need to. don't think i want to. just wait it out and see what happens. not good. not bad.

9.20.2009

you take the good you take the bad you take them both and there you have the facts of life.

and that's all i have to say right now. but give me a moment.

blah day #2. work was slow. i ate two muffins, two donuts and one bag of corn nuts. i don't know if that's progress, but it's something. today's patient (i only saw one today) was a 94 year old woman who has outlived her husband, all of her siblings, all of her friends, some of her grandchildren, and one of her great grandchildren. and she's still full of happiness and optimism and giggles. it was inspiring to spend an hour with her. you think, wow, good for her. isn't it amazing. 94 years old and strong and healthy and not on a single medication.

later, having let the experience sink in, i thought fuck. look how far a positive attitude will get you. and fuck, i don't have one of those.

there's really no point to my story. i'm just saying.

i've made a resolution to just be myself and let it all hang out. people tell me all the time that i'm far too critical of myself. and that's true. i might argue later that it's being critical of myself that's pushed me to achieve what i have achieved thus far. but that's an argument for another day. i can't change my habit of being critical of myself overnight, so while i work on that (hah) i'm going to just let loose and be me. no apologies. no censoring. no bullshit. no wait, scrap the bullshit part. i'm human. humans bullshit all the time, most of them not realizing when they're doing it. i know i'll go back and reread the stuff i write and say, HA that's BULLSHIT! a little bit of distance from a matter will do that for you. then maybe it's not bullshit at the time. maybe if at the time you don't know it's bullshit then it isn't bullshit at all. where am i going with this? even i don't know.

well. let's see. i'm 34 years old and it's pretty safe to say that if i'm the same person now that i was ten years ago and twenty years ago then i am who i am and nothing's going to change. perspective will change. mine certainly has. but personality won't. so then i should just embrace my personality and say to myself, hey, shit, i forgot what i was going to say.

my mind is a sieve. depression has hit. i'm not saying that to be a drama queen or anything. it's a fact. i am depressed. it's not likely a big one -- i think the big ones are in my past. but it's a situational one. if something in my life changes, positive or negative, a mini depression soon follows. (side note: this is weird. i just looked up "moon" in an online dictionary and my search yielded "no results found for moon". wtf? and this reminds me of what ex-guy said to me on that fateful last day -- 'so you believe everything you read on the internet??' yeah, i do. and apparently moon is not a word. you heard it here first folks.)

blah. depression. not the sitting around contemplating slitting my wrists kind. no ridiculous crying or tantrums or pulling out of one's own hair. no pulling out of other peoples' hair either. this depression is a lot less interesting. it hits my body first. everything feels heavier. standing upright is more of an effort. breathing is more of an effort. sleeping is a hell of a lot more of an effort. i'm way more sleepy than usual, but i can't sleep. it's awesome. then once your body is wiped out, the depression hits your brain. i'd imagine that this is what senile dementia is like. my brain locks up for a few seconds here and there, and i'm thinking whatthefuckwhowherewhy? i get stupid.

going to bed soon. off to read some poetry. and no, that's not codespeak for something else.

9.19.2009

Dear Diary,

I've been stupidly moody the last few days. One minute high as a kite loving the world appreciating everything and everybody and myself especially myself and couldn't be better. The next minute major suckitude. Can't come up with a better word than suckitude because I have zero energy or desire to reach into my brain's thesaurus. Now I'm in the suckitude state (because when I'm not in the suckitude state I'm not sitting here glaring at the computer in melancholic disgust) and I'm somewhat hungry, but have no real desire for anything that tastes good, and as per usual, I have no desire to make anything. I've eaten two large bags of corn nuts today. And two muffins. Unhealthy eating is best done in twos apparently.

I am suddenly, unexpectedly alone. All by my lonesome. First my parents left (which yeah, was a blessing because they sucked away all of the good self-esteem I had left), and then I broke up with the boy. We didn't actually break up though. We parted ways without really even talking about it. I told him "Just go!" meaning get out of my face right now or I might kill you, and he went, completely. Haven't talked to him since. All a little odd, but it might make for an interesting story at some later date. And honestly, it's kind of nice to end a relationship without having to discuss it. Kind of nice to flip a switch and be on to the next thing, no muss no fuss.

The thing that sucks is now I have all this time on my hands. All this quiet time. Admittedly I do enjoy my quiet time, but there is such a thing as too much quiet time. I wasn't prepared to jump back into my head so fully and so completely. So here I am, talking to you dearest diary.

Thoughts on dating: I shouldn't do it. Ever. When I'm not dating anyone I have this general feeling of restlessness, thinking that life could be so much better if only I had someone to share it with. Then I find someone to share it with, but life doesn't get better and I start missing being single. The no win situation. Let's be honest here -- I wouldn't be happy if I didn't have something to bitch about.

And thoughts on sex: I'm a total guy when it comes to sex. I do it for sport. I do it for fun. I do it to celebrate the fact that there's someone to do it with. Sometimes I do it because I feel an intimate connection with my partner and want to make love. But that's more of a special occasion type of thing. Does that make me cold? I don't think so. I'm very affectionate. Love hand holding and cuddling and making out. I can do lovey-dovey. But I can also fuck. I'm not too shy to say it -- I love to fuck. You're hanging out with your partner, have a few hours to kill, are totally comfortable with each other naked, find each other attractive -- so let's fuck.

The last guy took issue with me announcing "I'm horny." He said it wasn't very subtle. Wasn't very romantic. Such a woman. I don't know what kind of vibe I give out, but I tend to attract men who are uber-sensitive and totally in touch (maybe too in touch) with their feminine side. "I couldn't have sex with someone I didn't have deep feelings for," they say. Seriously? Where are all the good old fashioned men who think about sex 99% of the time and have the sex drive of a nerd going through puberty? Alas, these sorts of men do not like me. I guess.

If it were so easy to look to the fairer of the species, I'd be there in a heartbeat. But my attraction to women is a much more complicated thing. For one, a good woman is hard to find. And I'm picky. I don't have some long list of attributes I want in a woman. There's actually no list at all. But my heart is fickle when it comes to women. Damn my fickle heart! I certainly wouldn't have any hesitation about jumping into bed with most women -- My fickleness or fickleality or whathaveyou does not apply to physical attraction. But how many women are out there with my sex drive and lack of sexual inhibition? With guys you can pretty much stick your head out a window on a busy street and yell "does anyone want to have sex with me?" and you'll find a willing participant in about a minute. Maybe two. Or maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe I'm sticking my head out of the wrong window. Maybe there's some magical place where wanton slutty lesbian and bisexual women sit around LONGING to get laid. But I don't know where that place is. Dear diary, do you have any suggestions?

Bah humbug.

9.11.2009

firsts. the first date. the first kiss. the first i love you. then the lasts. the last kiss. the last night in bed together. the last load of laundry, separating his clothes from mine, the last folding of his clothes to go into the basket and then into the garbage bag and then onto the front porch so he can pick it up without having to make contact. the last full ashtray, his cigarette butts (camels) with my cigarette butts (marlboros). the last tube of toothpaste we both used, now in the garbage so i don't have to be reminded of the loss of him every time i brush my teeth. the sweatshirt of mine he wore -- i find it on the floor between the mattress and the headboard when enough time has passed that the very discovery of it takes my breath away. the last text message, now deleted so there's no beat skipping when i see his name in the inbox. the removal of his phone number from the top speed dial spot. washing the last glass he drank from. rinsing away the last stubble from the bathroom sink. the last beer. the last bottle of iced tea. i keep the roses in the vase, the roses he gave me on the day it all abruptly ended. these roses, still yawning wide in the morning, holding fiercely to their petals as if they know their significance. i keep the roses in the vase on the fireplace, where my eyes fall easily. a little bit of make believe that it's not over. that you're coming back. with each passing relationship i marvel at how little is left behind. less and less with each passing partner. like it never happened at all. i protect myself.

8.23.2009

I haven't written here for quite some time and since it's early Sunday morning and I'm actually awake I might as well do a little something.

Happiness, it seems, does not lend itself to creative inspiration. Not that I'm complaining.

My ex sis-in-law and my two nieces just left after a quick one day visit. Time spent with family feels good. Even though my five year old niece at one point said to me "You're very fat. You shouldn't be so fat." Even though my seventeen year old niece, while I was taking a picture of us, said "You smell bad." Coffee and cigarettes will do that. So you have to work on developing a thicker skin when hanging with the fam.

This afternoon I'm off to B's place. It's a different world when I fall into his arms for a weekend. My life is so compartmentalized these days. My parents are still staying with me. They announced that they'll probably be leaving at the end of the week and my reaction was No, I'm not ready! It hasn't been long enough. A month and a half this summer. Strange how easily I fall into the child role when my parents are here. It's truly lovely. Dad mows the grass and explains my taxes to me. Mom vacuums and cleans. I haven't been to a grocery store since they got here. The fridge is always stocked. It's not just what they do for me, the chores and such. It's this peaceful sharing of space, sharing of memories, sharing of old patterns. Lots of laughter. Cherish the little moments because one day all of this will not be possible.

7.30.2009

Happy to Hurt in Sixty Seconds

Falling in, well, dare I say it? Love? Is that what's happening?

After the initial lust and infatuation comes the abrupt 180 -- finding faults, flaws, failings. Everything becomes a red flag. No no no. Not this person. Never ever forever. There is the familiar disappointment as highs drop to lows. And the realization, again, that it's easier to be alone than to be in a relationship.

This is where I typically end it. Say goodbye. Move on.

But not this time. Strangely, this guy held on. Willing to take the ride. Like a kid that clings to your leg when you try to walk away. Persistence pays off.

At some point you have to stop running away from that which scares you. Stop kicking. Stop screaming. And then? Peace. Maybe. For now.

7.28.2009

Neuroses and the Romantic Relationship

That would be a good title for a novel. Now come up with a story of your own.

7.27.2009

change, in moderation

my house is alive. mom. dad. brother. niece. the hours after they have gone to bed are now especially beautiful. in those quiet hours, when the house is asleep, i watch sad documentaries on my computer and cry big silent tears.

the family has changed. the dynamics have changed. it's nice. nice is not a very descriptive adjective, but it sums things up nicely. having family around, having this new family around, is nice. i've never appreciated my brother, for too many reasons to list here. now i see him in the role of daddy, and my perspective changes. vulnerability, truth, imagination, effort, weakness -- and now i see some other sides.

i will miss them when they go. i will miss the murmuring muffled by bedroom walls. the flush of a toilet. the slam of a cupboard. i will miss these sounds. the sounds of a house breathing, pulsing, retreating, expanding.

but i will celebrate the first night that i'm back to sleeping in the nude. i'll celebrate the 3 a.m. raid of the cookie jar. the 4 a.m. cigarette (or two). the dawn breaking beyond the fucking.

freedom is nice. family is nice. independence is nice. responsibility is nice. all in small doses.

7.22.2009

What you are is what you have been. What you'll be is what you do now.

~Buddha~

7.19.2009

I have a cold. My head is fuzz, my lungs are raging, my limbs are heavy, my mind is mud. I'm at work, not working, on a beautiful Sunday morning, sitting in the dark of my room drinking rooibos tea and listening to the sandstorm wind-roar of the air conditioning. Lull. Lulled to sleep. Almost. On the weekends I'm the only one in the department, the only one on my floor. And there are nine beds up here. SO SO hard to resist.

My parents arrived a week ago from Arizona and will be staying with me for a few months, into September or so. This is the second year of their summer-in-Cleveland thing. It's not bad. A bit of a mind fuck at times, but worth it in the grand scheme of things. The other night my dad reminded me to turn off all the lights and lock the doors before going to bed. Uh, yeah, thanks Dad. When they're staying with me it's like my house becomes theirs and I become a teenager again, existing within the confines of parental control. I've told them that they can do whatever they want with my house. Mom likes to rearrange and reorganize. Dad likes to clean and fix broken or less-than-satisfactorily-working things. Now the drinking glass cupboard has become the plates and dishes cupboard. The sharp knives drawer has become the measuring cups and spoons drawer. The cupboard door under the sink that opened with a clank/drop/whine now opens with a, well, opens normally. The guest bathroom toilet that once needed a jiggle of the handle to stop running, now stops running on its own. Good toilet! Smart toilet! I am stranger in my home. A stranger in a marvelously clean, well-functioning, well-organized efficient grown-up house.

But every plus has its minus. I felt about a hundred pounds fatter when my parents arrived. They're both stick thin, and shrinking, and equate thinness with goodness. We were immediately back to the comments about me ending up in a nursing home with congestive heart failure by the time I'm fifty. From my mom I get "Oh, you have such a pretty face, if only..." types of comments. The other day I had a breakfast of cheerios with blueberries, and a glass of orange juice. Mom walked by and said "I approve of that breakfast." Oh. Great. Glad to hear it. Dad complains that I smoke too much, and that I smoke too quickly. Too quickly??? "You inhale your cigarette like it's the last one on earth", he says. If I smoked my cigarette half-assedly he would probably complain that I was too wasteful.

So, typical family shit. Thankfully, this year I have refuge outside of my house. More on that later . . .

6.26.2009

this time. this time will be different. i have a pill in my belly and sweat on my skin and ringing in my ears and i can barely keep my eyes open. a precious high. i let it all roll off me like yesterday never happened and tomorrow will be perfect. high, high above my body, disconnected but i still feel me, only better. why does a password reset take so fucking long?

6.07.2009

Toxic

I have so much to say, but sitting here staring at the almost-blank screen I'm at a loss for words. I feel like rambling. Where did the words go?

impatient with my patients today. numero uno was a cokehead with a crap heart -- all blown out big and barely squeezing. she asked me if everything looked good. i said, i'm sorry, i don't interpret these ultrasounds, a cardiologist will read it. she is appeased. i am not. next was a creepy lady who stared at me the whole time without saying a word. granted, she's had a stroke and is no longer able to talk, but still. it creeped me out. usually i'd think, oh, poor lady. but today, all i've got is 'damn, stop looking at me creepy woman'. next was an equally creepy guy. granted, he is mentally retarded (not my words -- that's what was written in his chart), but still. he kept stopping me so he could pee in his little plastic urinal. there is something strange about seeing a guy maneuver his penis into a urinal. normally i wouldn't look but today, well, you know . . . i did look. all i was really thinking was hey, good for you buddy. your penis is long enough to fit down inside the urinal. nubs are rarely as successful. patients 4 and 5 were far less interesting and only get an honorable mention here.

i saw an interesting movie yesterday -- the dead girl. i'd expected it to be a murder mystery, and i suppose there was some mystery involved, but it was mostly brief strung-together glimpses into the psyches of five or six different characters. definitely my kind of film. the first part, with toni collette, was my favorite. self-loathing, s&m, etc. yummy good. oh, and giovanni ribisi -- super yummy good. oh, oh, and james franco -- super duper yummy good. i rented slumdog millionaire for tonight -- don't know if i should go there though. maybe tomorrow.

i feel like throwing things. like throwing breakable things at brick walls. crash bang splinter ouch. but i won't. i learned a long long time ago that throwing things is counter productive. and costly. i haven't thrown anything in five years. except for the occasional tennis ball for billy. i will now take a brief break from writing to imagine throwing breakable things at brick walls.

6.06.2009

music is my god

little baby deeries just feet from me, timid but spirited by hunger, light me up. i was supposed to go to work today but i turned into this country music song and i pretended that work doesn't exist, because really it doesn't when i'm the only one there. it's like that tree falling in the forest. if sarah doesn't go to work on a day when no one else is there, can anybody hear it? yeah, whatever.

instead of working i took billy to the formerly-creepy vet for the verdict. the bloody wound is a ruptured cyst or tumor or something, and he needs surgery. fortunately, he was already going to have surgery to remove an ugly hangy-doodle on his leg, so the thing-removal will be done at the same time. $1200. note to self -- get pet insurance next dog.

i'm now in love with the formerly-creepy vet. i wanted to wrap my arms around his neck and let him explain splenic tumors and tooth removal to me. i'm quite sure he's gay, but that is irrelevant. while billy was in another room getting shaved and x-rayed, dr. steve and i had a chat. i started the chat with "i'm sorry to be morbid, but . . . ".

after the death of my bluedog i started mentally preparing for the death of my beloved billy. things did not go well when blue died. i mean, they went as i imagine they naturally do, but i didn't handle it well. after that experience i realized that i had to have a plan for what to do when billy, um, gets to the point of, well, you know. yeah, i'm a total planner. i plan for worst case scenarios. i'm usually pleasantly surprised by how worst case scenarios are really never as bad as i expected. i impress myself sometimes. but still . . . i need a plan. just in case.

people say i worry too much. that i'm too morbid. that i'm negative. that's all fine, but i really like my "just in case" personality. i'm not one to pretend that everything is great and will always be great. denial is gross. why am i even explaining this? i really shouldn't have to explain anything. it is what it is. i am who i am.

unrelated -- i just watched revolutionary road. it wasn't what i expected. it's left me pleasantly unsettled. i like some problems that don't have solutions. some truths that can't be changed no matter how much you hate those truths. there's something sexy about perpetual challenge. perpetual seeking. i may be a country music song today, but feeling unsettled or unnerved or un-something makes me like being alive. or makes life relevant. something. where are the words to describe?

i asked dr. steve if he ever goes to a client's house to euthanize an animal. he said in rare circumstances. rare circumstances like what, i asked. and that's when i found myself in a conversation with someone who is saying the correct things legally but dropping hints about something else entirely. and i feel relieved. my just in case plan is planned. billy can die at home with me. is it legal to bury a dog in the back yard i asked. no, dr. steve said, but i never tell anyone. love love love. then he tells me the story about his seven year old dog who had bone cancer. he removed the dog's shoulder and arm. he did chemo (which he says doesn't have the same awful side effects in dogs like it does in humans). a few months later the dog died. that's really sad, i said, walking out of the office. dr. steve smiled and said yeah, like what we were talking about before wasn't sad.

on the drive home, billy's head hanging out the window, his tongue tasting the breeze, i cried. not for long. and not for sadness. i cried because life is beautiful sometimes.

6.05.2009

This entire blog is turning into a dog blog. Is this what generally happens to a childless divorced thirty-something woman? I'm going to try to write something of substance again soon. It seems that words come more easily when I'm miserable. I guess that being un-miserable is a good thing. Except for this blog.

So I'm washing dishes this evening (the daily meditation) and when I finish I turn around to find my dog lying on the floor licking a bloody gaping wound on his side. It's the size of a quarter. And it's bloody. Really bloody. After cutting the fur around the wound so that I can see better I discover two deep holes in his flesh. Looks like a vampire bite. But there's stuff coming out of the holes. Not just blood. Other stuff. More horrible stuff. I gag. Billy just lies there and wags at me. I gather random bandages and tape and neosporin. Neosporin is my windex. It solves all problems. Once I finish covering up the wound I tie an Ace wrap around Billy's gut. He wags at me. And I burst into tears.

Sometimes I am fragile.

Tomorrow, back to the vet . . .

5.30.2009

I took Billy to a new vet this morning. It was a bizarre experience. First I'll say that it only cost me $77 which is kind of crazy with the amount of blood work they did. Billy's going to eventually have surgery to remove the growth on his leg, so I'm sure that will cost me, but, I'm used to a run of the mill vet visit costing about $250.

The vet spent a good hour and a bit with me. He showed me some bacteria from Billy's chin under the microscope. He drew me a complicated diagram of the relationship between liver function tests, epilepsy, phenobarbital and cushing's syndrome. After the first half hour I was thinking, what's this guy's angle? Why is he spending so much time on us? Is he lonely? Is he just generally long-winded? What does he want from me?

My point in writing about this? Well, it made me think -- why am I so suspicious when someone is nice? That's a fucked up way of looking at things. Am I the only one who does this? Are we so used to being treated badly by people? Is that our normal? Last week I was told that I should challenge my perspective. I should question why I view things the way that I do. Not to say that my viewpoint is wrong. But I have to wonder if my viewpoint is practical, or if it's a construct of my bias/judgment/self-judgment/tendency to think in terms of right and wrong/tendency to think in terms of black and white. It's interesting to question these things. Really, there is no wrong or right. It's merely perception. Where does this perception come from? Think nature vs. nurture. How much is due to genetics and how much is due to the events in our lives thus far?

So many questions. No answers. I dig that.

5.25.2009

Borderline Personality Disorder

I'm posting the following information on Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) for a few different reasons: It is an excellent synopsis of what BPD is. I try to explain BPD to people and am often at a loss for what to say. I tend to forget some of the important things. And that's the second reason I'm posting it: To remind myself of what BPD is really all about.

The third, and most important, reason: Well, I've done a lot of hard work to overcome, or at least better manage, issues associated with BPD. I refuse to believe that this diagnosis is a life sentence. I refuse to believe that a person is destined to exhibit the characteristics of the personality they are born with. There may be certain personality traits that will always be mine -- weaknesses and strengths -- but I'm convinced that weaknesses can be identified, challenged and made, well, less weak. It is an ongoing process of introspection and behavior modification. So this post is to remind myself of the exceptional progress I have made in overcoming many of the obstacles associated with BPD. It is not only a reminder of my success, but a reminder of the work that I have yet to do.

I am not a disorder. I am not automatically destined to travel a narrow path that was decided at birth. The path I take is up to me. I am evolving.


Taken from: http://psychcentral.com:

The main feature of borderline personality disorder (BPD) is a pervasive pattern of instability in interpersonal relationships, self-image and emotions. People with borderline personality disorder are also usually very impulsive.

This disorder occurs in most by early adulthood. The unstable pattern of interacting with others has persisted for years and is usually closely related to the person’s self-image and early social interactions. The pattern is present in a variety of settings (e.g., not just at work or home) and often is accompanied by a similar lability (fluctuating back and forth, sometimes in a quick manner) in a person’s emotions and feelings. Relationships and the person’s emotion may often be characterized as being shallow.

A person with this disorder will also often exhibit impulsive behaviors and have a majority of the following symptoms:

* Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment

* A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation

* Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self

* Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating)

* Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior

* Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)

* Chronic feelings of emptiness

* Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights)

* Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms


Details about Borderline Personality Disorder Symptoms


Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment.

The perception of impending separation or rejection, or the loss of external structure, can lead to profound changes in self-image, emotion, thinking and behavior. Someone with borderline personality disorder will be very sensitive to things happening around them in their environment. They experience intense abandonment fears and inappropriate anger, even when faced with a realistic separation or when there are unavoidable changes in plans. For instance, becoming very angry with someone for being a few minutes late or having to cancel a lunch date. People with borderline personality disorder may believe that this abandonment implies that they are “bad.” These abandonment fears are related to an intolerance of being alone and a need to have other people with them. Their frantic efforts to avoid abandonment may include impulsive actions such as self-mutilating or suicidal behaviors.

Unstable and intense relationships.

People with borderline personality disorder may idealize potential caregivers or lovers at the first or second meeting, demand to spend a lot of time together, and share the most intimate details early in a relationship. However, they may switch quickly from idealizing other people to devaluing them, feeling that the other person does not care enough, does not give enough, is not “there” enough. These individuals can empathize with and nurture other people, but only with the expectation that the other person will “be there” in return to meet their own needs on demand. These individuals are prone to sudden and dramatic shifts in their view of others, who may alternately be seen as beneficient supports or as cruelly punitive. Such shifts other reflect disillusionment with a caregiver whose nurturing qualities had been idealized or whose rejection or abandonment is expected.

Identity disturbance.

There are sudden and dramatic shifts in self-image, characterized by shifting goals, values and vocational aspirations. There may be sudden changes in opinions and plans about career, sexual identity, values and types of friends. These individuals may suddenly change from the role of a needy supplicant for help to a righteous avenger of past mistreatment. Although they usually have a self-image that is based on being bad or evil, individuals with borderline personality disorder may at times have feelings that they do not exist at all. Such experiences usually occur in situations in which the individual feels a lack of a meaningful relationship, nurturing and support. These individuals may show worse performance in unstructured work or school situations.

Click here for links to BPD resources

5.23.2009

Burnt match smell and I'm fully present. I open my eyes just a little and find you looking at me. I grin, a shy smile, and close my eyes again. These are the best times. Us in silence. Easy. Us less the roaring thoughts in my mind. Us less the questions. Less the anger. The storm.

I will stay like this for hours. Feeling your rough skin beneath my fingers, from across the room. Sometimes the not touching is the best part. Wanting your lips on mine, your weight against me, to feel complete. Sometimes the anticipation is the best part.

5.22.2009

Breathe in and out

It's today now and I'm content unlike any time before. In my head I hear the ocean, the way it sounds at night, white noise, breathing in and out, in and out, consistent and expected like a heart beat. In my head I hear the forest, the way it sounds at night, the occasional twig breaking beneath the weight of an invisible animal, the flesh of the trees breathing in and out, in and out. In my head I hear the desert, the hum of heat rising in gasoline waves from the horizon, the white sun breathing in and out, in and out.

Last night I lay awake and thought of the broken child. Torn from within and torn from without. I lay awake, rolling from left to right and back again, searching for the cool spot on the sheets, watching the red numbers of the clock jump to 300. Thoughts of the torn child, a little girl, suddenly homeless. I took her in and gave her love, but no love was enough and she aged faster than she should, an old soul by sixteen. I lost her to her demons then. She ran and she ran and she ran, one day to return world-weary and docile, with three little babies sired by three hateful men. She had kept her shape: she relied on her body as a commodity, to be bought and sold, the price of keeping those little mouths fed. I still see that little girl with that gaping wound in a place where no blood should flow.

When 300 hit I turned my thoughts to the man with the mild manner and the crazy brilliant mind. I pictured us lying in bed together, me reading my book and him reading his book. Limbs entwined, physically one but mentally separate, searching for truth in words and inspiration in silence. I pictured us walking in central park, beneath a night sky brightened by snow, the flakes resting on his eyelashes for a split second before turning from white to invisi-wet. his glasses fogged up by breath hot with ideas, a brain burning furiously. I pictured holding his gloved hand tenderly, taking some of his darkness into me, giving him some of my darkness in return. Fuck existential loneliness I would think in my head.

And so I say hmm, hmm, hmm. Music is like a current running through me tonight. A river wild and beautiful, black rushing water and fluorescent white eddies, all through me tonight. Open the floodgates, he sings. Damien Jurado, Will Oldham, Sun Kil Moon, Townes Van Zandt, Gillian Welch, Dan Auerbach, Whiskeytown. Jason Molina haunted me today. A familiar ache rose up within me, and it was beautiful this time. I heard the sadness and it passed through me. Gut reaction was to cry, but tears of joy this time. This time is better. This time feels good. I feel it all. I let it come. I let it go. I am alive. I can think of no better thing. No better state of being. Content.

I sing love songs to the spring air that settles on my skin. I can barely remember the words so I make them up as I go. Nonsensical and light. A love song sung for me. Self-love. Funny that. I certainly don't mind pining for no one. Don't get me wrong -- I pine. But not for a person. Not for a person, place, or thing. I pine for freedom of the spirit. Continued ache. Pain gives rise to creativity. We suffer for our art. Or not. It's a noble thought, although not entirely practical or reasonable.

Damien Jurado -- Caught in the Trees. The soundtrack for right now. Sweet, dirty, raw. Like whiskey.

I want to scream expletives for the simple joy of it. What next will enter me? I am open to it all.

5.07.2009

a poem for you

it's not that i don't love you
it's not that i don't care
but regrettably i've seen you
in your underwear
i've been better and i've been worse. goddamn motherfucking universe.

but . . .

i just got a land line home phone dealie for the first time in years and caller id shows about 15 telemarketing calls a day. only one real person has my home phone number. telemarketers are going to make me hate childhood leukemia in a whole new way.

unrelated to telemarketing (goddamn motherfucking teles, i came up with this idea my own damn self!), but related to leukemia -- this seems like a good idea: national marrow donor program. you pay a couple bucks, q-tip the inside of your mouth, send the q-tip to the people and you go on this registry. not the kind of registry like babies r us or target has. more like the kind of registry where you volunteer your bone marrow to some sick someone who is a match with you. not a match as in romantic lifetime soulmate match. but a match as in, hey, my bone marrow might help you out. yay. so the first thing people say is, don't they stick a long needle into your hip and it hurts like a motherfucker? from what i've read, it ain't all that bad. maybe 4 days of pain. pain you can survive. check it out here: http://www.marrow.org/

the dishwasher is awhirl and the back door is open and the mosquitos are coming in and my spiders are happy and there is bubblewrap in my kitchen and a tickle in my throat and no end in sight for the diet caffeine free pepsi in my fridge. it's a very, very good thursday.

i'm reading a good book. well, i'm not reading it now. i can't multi-task. the book is girlfriend in a coma by douglas coupland. i sat on the picnic table outside er this afternoon, reading my book and smoking my ciggies and someone asked what i was reading and i showed them the cover of my book and she said "girlfriend in a coma" and she had a blank look on her face and she said "you should read the twilight series." i said, "is it about vampires?" knowing full well it's about vampires and she got a blank look on her face and said, "yes, it's about vampires." end of story.

Angie came to see me today. I think we've met before, but I'm not certain. She kept taking her oxygen canula off. Then she would start coughing. A thick, deep cough. "Your oxygen is off," I'd say and she'd say "Oh" and put it back in her nose. A minute later she would absentmindedly pull it away from her face. I don't know how important these things are. Who am I to judge?

She left a puddle on my floor when she stood up. Not your typical puddle. Angie has congestive heart failure and all this random fluid in her body is ending up where it shouldn't be. So much fluid that her legs are thick and heavy, and her calves ooze the stuff. Hence, the puddle on my floor. She is younger than my mother.

The other lady, I can't remember her name, was not too thrilled to see me. "Hit her," she kept saying to her daughter. I was causing her pain. "Hit her, please." "I can't hit her Mom. She's doing her job." The lady looked at me and I understood this humor. She hugged me on her way out the door. Her daughter doesn't know when she's joking.

Dog wants to play. I must oblige.

4.24.2009

One minute she's lamenting the loss of her eyeglasses and the next she is asleep. Mouth open, at first breathing shallow and then breathing deep. I find peace in each audible breath. The calm of this room. The easy flow of ink from my ballpoint pen onto yellow paper. This is perfection.

Marsha

There's no right and no wrong, she said. There's no good and no bad. There are simply choices. Be mindful in making these choices. Consider the long term consequences of each choice you plan to make.

This is an unusual way of thinking. At least for me. But it makes a lot of sense.

Maybe you're resisting growing up, she said. Thinking less of long term consequences and instead going for what provides instant gratification.

She stifles a yawn.

The goal then, is to change behaviors. That perhaps to change behaviors might change thinking and a change in thinking might change behaviors. That's the theory at least. I will throw myself into this. Wholeheartedly. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time I will succeed. It's about the effort -- not failure.

There is no right. There is no wrong. There is no good. There is no bad. There are only choices.

4.23.2009

and so things change. in an instant. unexpected. familiar. intriguing. i like a man with scars. new possibilities, new challenges and the opportunity to try out the new me. do it right this time. new questions, new theories, new worries. in an instant, things change.

i am not afraid this time. i am me and it is what it is.

4.17.2009

During the work week I want to do a million different things before going to bed, and I have to force myself to get at least six hours of sleep before the alarm goes off.  Fridays I can stay up as late as Sunday night, but I end up going to bed the earliest of any other night.  Is this an aging thing?  It's not as if this was a horribly busy week at work, which might warrant tiredness.  I suppose all I can do is make peace with it and pull the covers up over my head.  Hardships!

It was a perfectly lovely day.  The sun was shining.  The grass was growing, green and strong.  The Cuyahoga river was flowing fast and furious.  The cafeteria guy gave me a super big helping of mac and cheese at lunch (I think he likes me, in that eww-gross-why-does-HE-have-to-like-me way) and my milk at breakfast was not yet spoiled.  Fantastic.  I celebrated Friday by buying three, count them THREE, new lipsticks.  And a new brand of shampoo and conditioner.  Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!  The new me is absolutely enthralled by the simple things.  Indian food for dinner -- I'm stuffed to the gills, whatever that saying means -- chicken makhani, veggie samosas and a crapload of naan. 

In unrelated news a man pooped on me today.  He didn't mean to poop on me.  These things just happen sometimes.  When I made the discovery of the poop on me, the man looked and me and I looked at him and I tried to act like being pooped on is a daily, trivial occurrence.  Which it really isn't. 

There was a code yellow drill at the hospital today (in addition to my code brown with the above-mentioned patient).  We were supposed to pretend that our department, on the fourth floor, was crumbling.  All of the administrators and various higher-ups were running around while I drank my coffee and checked my email.  Throughout the day we asked one another "Oh, are we still crumbling?"  I don't understand why we have all these drills.  If an actual disaster were to happen, I think we'd figure out what to do.  A few months ago we had a real code something-or-other; there was an accident on 271 and we were told that all the casualties were being brought to our hospital.  Word was that it was a 40 car pile up.  While all of the administrators and various higher-ups were running around, my coworkers and I discussed the unlikelihood of an actual 40 car pile up.  How stupid would that 40th car be to not realize he should brake?  I mean really.  I was slightly excited when they began bringing patients up for triage in our cardiac cath lab, but the end result was three patients who seemed more interested in getting a free hospital lunch than getting medical attention. 

Life in the hospital has been pretty dull lately.  No big scandals.  No accidental deaths.  I'll have to find things to amuse me elsewhere.  And into the weekend I go . . .

4.07.2009

The end of a very good day. Tonight I am at peace with everything. With the world. With myself. A kinder, gentler me is rising up from the ashes. Balance seems less future and more present. Home sweet home.

4.06.2009

Emotion comes. Scenes from the past and imagined scenes from the present, somewhere else, somewhere secret and altogether horrible explode like fireworks in my head. Times like these I sing your songs. I wash the dishes and sing your songs. I hug the dog and sing your songs. I fold the laundry and sing your songs. I collapse on the bathroom floor, the tiles cold and hard on my naked skin, and sing your songs. If it weren't for your songs, right here right now, I'd be gone. I pass the time and sing your songs and eventually the moment passes and life goes on. You make me feel safe.
look at her
those empty, vapid eyes
thoughts wrapped up in neat little packages
in black or white
every question with an answer
she is a breeze that does not move the curtains
an old mattress with no dent
a grave with no marker
a letter with no stamp
a monday morning
last night's supper
i hate to admit it
but
i envy her simplicity

3.26.2009

i'm really liking sue miller's while i was gone. this bit especially:

"I was remembering the way it feels at just that moment when you begin to turn, when you're poised exactly between the things in life you want to do and those you need to do, and it seems for a few blessed seconds that they are all going to be the same."

3.23.2009

i am less thoughts and more images. words pass before my eyes and stick on my tongue. a caged animal, my skin crawls and i want to be turned inside out. air this out. i am fighting the good fight. becoming a softer, calmer and gentler version. fighting the good fight in an army of one. this battle is for words. energy translated to a finished product. an actual product. and not an emotion. or frustration. i tear my hair out without touching a strand. i scream without opening my mouth. i rattle the bars of my cage and never think to check if the door is unlocked. breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out. back to the beginning.

3.07.2009

late afternoon in winter. the sky has two layers. the overcast layer above is the smudge on foreheads on ash wednesday. the translucent layer below is the yolk of a hardboiled egg. this is the sky of old grief. when the noise of day greets the silence of night. a brief exchange as night and day punch the clock, one after the other. you never know who will go first.

2.25.2009

Nothing thicker than a knife's blade separates happiness from melancholy.

virginia woolf

2.11.2009

Question yourself. Question the emotion. Did you take your meds last night? Did you take your meds the night before last? Do you have PMS? Did you get enough sleep? Too much sleep? Did you have bad dreams? Are you stressed about something coming up? Are you stressed about something you just did? Ask yourself all of these questions and when it is determined that there's seemingly no external cause of the emotion, you have determined that the emotion is valid.

Rather than think and feel and act and react spontaneously, you have to do the checklist first. Question yourself. What is your motivation here? How far are you from baseline? And in what direction?

Rather than think and feel and act and react (just being yourself), there's a wait period. Instead of going into a restaurant and being seated immediately, you have to stand in the corner or in front of the door, people jostling you this way and that. You have to stand there and observe. Reflect. Twiddle your thumbs. Hum. After a long-ish wait you are seated. Never guaranteed the greatest table or the finest food. You never know what you're going to get.

1.25.2009

Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.

Buddha

1.10.2009

Another belief of mine; that everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.
Margaret Atwood

on the phone with mom

Mom: You sound drunk
Me: I'm not drunk
Mom: You're slurring your words
Me: Maybe it's because I'm slouching down in my chair. (I sit up straight). Okay, now I'm sitting up straight.
Mom: You still sound drunk
Me: I just talked to Dad for a half hour. Ask him if I sounded drunk.
Mom: (In the background) John, did Sarah sound drunk to you?
Dad: (In the background) No. She sounded fine.
Mom: Oh, he said you're not drunk.
take away the dramatic lows. good. take away the intense highs. not good. so now i must be somewhere between good and not good. to me it just feels like not good. i still don’t understand why radical acceptance is the goal. i’ve never had an eh goal. being naive is definitely underrated.

Your absence has gone through me like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.

— W.S. Merwin

Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.

--Ernest Hemingway

1.05.2009

friendship

Tonight at the movies. Hearing your laugh in the dark made me smile. We should do this more often. Over drinks I talk about my guy and you talk about your guy. We discuss the movie, me going on about F. Scott Fitzgerald and you going on about Brad and Angelina. You really don’t keep up with the goings on in Hollywood do you, you ask. No, I do not. But when I’m changing channels and accidentally stop on Entertainment Tonight I think of you. This is your version of the news. And these people, the glitz and the glam, all of it is your idea of what love is supposed to be. Real love. True love. Your voice dreamy when you talk about the love in store for us. It’s a new year, this is going to be our year, you say. I roll my eyes, like I do. With our second drink, as with the first, you raise your glass to toast and clink. I ask, Must you toast every time we drink? Jaded young me and hopeful old you. We make a good team.

I’ve been burned by friends. And now I prefer acquaintances. Casual. Cold. But tonight something changed. I saw you. I really saw you.

If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us.
Hermann Hesse

1.02.2009

Times like these we have to grow up a little. I don’t know anything about growing up, but I do know about growing. Remove the up and I can embrace it. Leave the up and I stick my fingers in my ears and shout until I’m far, far away.

I worry about losing my job. Every day you hear about some unlucky person who was laid off. You think god how awful and you can’t sleep at night because tomorrow morning that some unlucky person might be you.

The feeling of connection and camaraderie at work is gone. We question whether or not it ever really existed. Was this a false sense of security? Everyone is withdrawing. Drawing inward. The turtle tucks her head back into her shell. Times like these and you don’t want to expose your neck.