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


It's strange that one can be so happy and so sad at the same time.



Well shit. I'm back. Less from inspiration and more from necessity. I don't even know what that means.

So. Unaddicting from an addiction. Quitting? Nonaddictionario. Whatever. This is PAINFUL. Well, not so much painful. More like CRAZY. I feel my tongue getting fat in my mouth and in a minute it will split in two and ta da! Snake. Damn this tongue, like it doesn't belong to me. Disjointed. Disconnected. Forget the snake. My head will split in two and confetti will come out, as if shot from a cannon.

So. Here's this process of kicking away the addictions. Some little dinky ones. Some less dinky ones. The point being that there are some things I need to stop. And in the process of stopping them, I can't grasp at the dinky things to make myself feel better in these moments of extreme torture. What I've learned: Some things, no matter how sucky, need to be experienced. So this extreme suckiness tonight -- I just have to sit with it and wait for it to pass. Without grasping. SUCK. Candy canes and snap my fingers and write ridiculous emails to people I don't know. Let the tears fall where they may -- I sure as hell don't know where they're coming from. What's to cry about? Nothing. And why am I crying? Because, when substance drains out, like blood from a corpse, electricity from the brain, the body changes.

My emotions, my crazy, my tears, my tongue, these nightmares, panic, hate, fear ------ explained by science. Nothing in me is unique. Nothing in you either. We don't matter. Grains of rice. Drops in a bucket. Funny though, how life seems so long and significant, and how the choices we make seem so important and what we do with our days seems to matter. Um. Not really.

So that thought that this doesn't matter, and that man, or Man, is insignificant -- HA, that's the little devil in me trying to take me back to the stuff. Reason suggested as a result of craving. Little voice -- look how little any of this matters. Don't be so self-absorbed. Fuck addiction -- what difference does it make? Your life is unimportant. It'll be over in a flash, and you'll never be remembered anyway so who fucking cares about giving up and giving in? Just do it. Do what feels good.

But it never feels that good, really. Well, sometimes it does. But most times it's the anticipation and not the doing that is joy. Always reaching for something else, something else to fill the void. This didn't make me feel better, so maybe this other thing will. But this other thing didn't make me feel better so, try this other thing. And then you turn into a rock. No wait, not a rock. Rocks really aren't that bad. Rocks are nice to sit on sometimes. You're out hiking and your legs are tired and you want to rest and there's this nice smooth rock to sit on. So cancel that. Cancel that turning into a rock thing. I'll have to think of the right thing that you turn into after time and time and time and time lost in self-destruction.

Dude, I ate this broccoli cheddar rice yesterday and it was super yummy. Today I ate jambalaya rice (without the meat crap, of course) and it wasn't super yummy. Not bad, but not like that broccoli cheddar rice.

S C R E A M. sucksucksucksucksucksucksucksucksuck.

When does this feeling end so that I can feel peace in my body? When will I be less of a physiological process? Polluted. I've been suckysucksuck-ing like this for 4.5 hours. Yeah, sit with the feeling and you will eventually overcome it. For 4.5 hours??????? I wish I knew kung-fu. Or, alternatively, I wish I could kick someone in the face. That would be nice.

The end. Until later. Suck. Oh, and Joan Didion's grammar or lack thereof annoys me. Not that I use proper grammar ever, but . . . I have no idea what my point was.