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


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.