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


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?



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.


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.


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 . . .