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


I'm choosing tonight to start thinking a little more positively and to start making some good changes in my life.   A little daunted by the next three days of nothing planned.  The option to hole up indoors all alone all weekend.  I promise myself that over the next three days I will lift myself up rather than tear myself down.  A small and simple goal -- first steps -- and I feel a change already.


The F Word

I am fat.  It’s true.  FAT.  This is not an oh-she’s-just-got-low-self-esteem thing.  According to the body mass index chart I am obese.  Like I need a chart to figure that one out.  Honestly, I could stand to lose a hundred pounds.  But I’d rather sit.  A few years ago I went through the DBT skills class (twice or thrice) that was offered at an eating disorder clinic.  Trying to kill two birds with one stone I focused some therapy on my binge eating, but the attempt was half-assed and I gave up on it.  I had bigger fish to fry.  Mmm, fry.  

It is now time that I give this aspect of my life another look.  The goal is to use food purely as a source of fuel for my body.  Not for entertainment.  Not to alter my mood.  Not to reward and/or punish myself.  This is my most immediate goal and I will have made SIGNIFICANT progress by the end of 2011.  Not exactly a new year’s resolution (I hate those – so cheesy) but, well, mmm cheese. 



Happiness is a Serious Problem

My mom gave me this book for Christmas:  Happiness is a Serious Problem: A Human Nature Repair Manual by Dennis Prager.  From the cover:  "This is the repair manual we should have been handed at birth . . . In order to be happy, we first have to battle ourselves.

Well, duh. 

In the past I've had spurts of gung-ho-ness where I jumped into this, that, and the other in an attempt to change my way of thinking and as a result, change my life in the very best way.  Self-help books and tapes.  Therapy.  Meditation.  Prayer.  God.  So yes, I know that I have the power to change my lot in life.  And yes, I'm probably afraid of being happy; I stay in my little dark rut because I'm comfortable here.  And of course, if I gave it the slightest little effort, my life would probably rock. BUT I DON'T WANT TO.  Not now.  I'd rather wallow.  My pity party is not over yet.  I'm still celebrating.   

So there.  I'm not reading the book.  I'm not ready yet.  Bite me world.

(and now I'm afraid of lightening bolts and the earth opening up and swallowing me)


2010: It was a year

What was special about this year?  Not much.  It just kind of flew by, probably because I was asleep most of the time.  A brief recap:

In January I quit therapy, not because I thought that I was well but because my psychologist Marsha was no longer covered by my insurance.  I was still hella depressed but I didn’t think it was necessary to find a new therapist and start the process all over again.  I could have gone back to Gene, a previous therapist I’d gone to off and on for eight years, but my ex-boyfriend had started seeing him (yeah, what a great idea that was – referring him to Gene).  What if the ex and I crossed paths in the waiting room?  No thanks. 

A goal that I was still working on from the latter part of 2009 – to go out and do more things on my own.   I went to a ton of performing arts events – theatre, dance, concerts, opera.  As a result, my credit card bill shot through the roof and I began the year of no-spending.  Which meant not going out, not doing anything.  I ended a friendship in January, so the not going out part was easy.  I became housebound except for work and the occasional dinner with a friend I don’t like that much. 

I went on two first dates in May.  One with a guy I’ll call Peter (that’s actually his real name).  One with PR.  It was clear from the start that PR and I were not a romantic match, so instead of dating we had sex.  He was a little too blunt and critical, and I spent the majority of the five-month-long “relationship” feeling particularly bad about myself.  I proved to myself that I am a woman after all (surprise!)– that sex isn’t that great when there’s no emotional connection to accompany it.  With each time I became less and less interested, until I was just done.  I never told PR that I was done, but he didn’t question my withdrawing from him so I assume the feeling (or lack of feeling) was mutual. 

Peter and I went out five times.  We had sex on date #5 and I never heard from him again.  Wow. 

For the rest of the year my dating life was practically non-existent.  I’m actually consulting my calendar as I write this part because I can barely remember faces, much less names in this year’s First and Second Dates Club.  There was Christina.  We actually went out several times, but I felt nothing for her and, as friends, we bombed because she was just too busy.  What really struck me about her was that she hardly laughed.  And when I was being silly or making a joke she would ask “What do you mean?”  Then there was Gina.  She was someone I could see myself dating.  The problem – she’d just lost a hundred pounds and was on a quest to get the boys that she could never get as a fat girl.  Too bad, that one.  Then there was what’s-her-name (I honestly don’t remember her name) who, well into her forties, was sleeping with a bunch of 21-year-old emo boys.  She also had a phobia about driving beyond city limits, and lived with her mother. 

In my calendar there’s an entry for an 11:30 with Cindy.  I don’t know what that’s about.  Who’s Cindy?

Oh my goodness – Wendy’s spicy chicken sandwiches are really spicy.  I’m on fire.

Review over.  No wait.  Goals for 2011:  Continued no-spending.  Wear make-up more often.  Stop sleeping so much.  Give up the obsessions with French bread and butter, SpaghettiOs, and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.  Find the fountain of youth for Billy so that he’ll live forever.  Start putting the ice cubes in the glass BEFORE filling with beverage (it’s so damn messy otherwise).  Listen to music other than Ryan Adams.  Keep up the flossing regime.  And, last but not least, be happy.       


Psych update:  I’m doing fabulously well.  [Weird, I used the word “fabulously”].  No sadness.  No heavy droopy body feelings.  I still sleep an awful lot on my days off (like, the whole day) but I attribute that to a number of other things not psych-related.  Laziness, boredom, loneliness, etc.  I’ll have to work on those things eventually if I plan on having a life worth living (by whose standards?) but for now I’m enjoying the sleep – gloriously vivid dreams that make my sleep life definitely worth living.  Yes, I’m escaping.  I’m not gonna lie.

Meds: 2.5 mg Abilify, 300mg Lamictal, and down to only 50mg Effexor (which I will be totally off of by the end of January). 

Date number two with J (oh hell -- Jean) was a few nights ago.  It was supposed to be a movie followed by coffee, but she reneged on the coffee part because she had to do something last minute gift-related for the upcoming Christmas weekend.  I was a bit disappointed, mostly because I wanted to go out and do something for a change.  We chatted briefly about the movie afterward which is when I realized that not only do I not like her like her, but I just plain don’t like her.  Maybe she’s a little too sure of herself.  Or brash.  Or too normal.  I like my people a little more broken.  And why is that?  Do I want to be the less broken one?  I don’t think that’s true.  Just annoyed by people who are too sure of themselves.  And maybe, because she’s an elementary school teacher, she’s too fucking wonderment and amazement and oh isn’t this grand! 

Now comes the awkward part.  Telling her that I’m not interested.  Or waiting for her to tell me that she’s not interested.  Or letting it go without a word from either one of us.  Run away!  Run away!


First Dates are Fun

Oh gawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwd.  Got home a few hours ago from a first date that did not go well.  It's a great thing to see disinterest in the eyes of the person you're sitting across from.  Home into jammies and three whiskeys later I got an email from her.  She had a question to ask.  Turns out something I said screwed it all up.  That figures.  I can't just be normal can I?  A normal person on a normal date? 

So we're going to go on a second date.  Maybe I can be a normal person on a second date.



The Effect of Borderline Personality Disorder on My Friendships. Or, How I Spent My Summer Vacation

It’s something I don’t like to talk about because I feel ashamed.  Ashamed that I let friendships die.  That I let friendships die because I’m an asshole.  No judgment, it’s the truth.  When I’m not blaming myself I’m blaming BPD which, in essence, is blaming myself BECAUSE OF BPD.  Geez Louise.  Can ya see the dysfunction there?  So yeah, I am unable to maintain friendships.  I do the typical BPD thing where I meet someone; I become infatuated with them because they’re so cool and life’s so great and let’s skip off holding hands into the sunset.   

And then they do something sucky.  For me, that something becomes a dealbreaker.  For non-BPD people, that something is probably just a minor irritation and certainly not something to end the friendship over.  So there I am, peeved like a cat whose tail you’re pulling, and my friend is cut off.  Unfriended, blocked, deleted from contacts, DEAD TO ME. 

Which is fine and dandy until I realize, far too late, that what they did was really just a minor little thing, and that I’d over-reacted and that I miss them.  Then I scramble to try to get them back into my life but, as you can imagine, they’ll have none of that.  They don’t understand why you flipped out in the first place and they sure as hell aren’t going to let you do it to them again.  So I suffer.  I pine for them.  Mourn their loss.  Kick myself hard in the ass.  Rinse and repeat, because I know that I’ll do it again.  Over and over and over and over.  Until maybe next time.  Ya gotta be optimistic, right?  Grumble grumble.  I only say the “until maybe next time” because I’m pretending that all of the therapy I’ve done has made a world of difference, and that I’m enlightened and upbeat and setting out to change the world.  Truth be told, I’m not sure that DBT did a whole lot for me.  It seemed to make a difference while I was taking the classes, but I’m not sure that the effects are long term.   I gained enough insight through years of therapy that I am fairly well aware of the borderline-y things I’m doing as I’m doing them.  I’m just lacking in the ability to not act in those borderline-y ways.

So the friendship issue is this – I want friends, but I’m scared of friendships because of my history of ruining them.  I’m also daunted by the actual process of making friends.  The whole what’s-your-favorite-color bullshit.  Taking the time to get to know someone only to realize that they’re not the kind of someone you want in your life.  I haven’t had much luck making friends out in the real world.  Work friends aren’t really friends that you hang out with, at least my work friends aren’t.  And I’m not a joiner of groups or clubs.  I’m not a class-taker.  I’m not a hobbyist.  I could join some groups or clubs, or take some classes, or become a hobbyist, but let me be realistic here – no way, I don’t wanna, fuck that shit!  So, those things being out, I have the internet.  Ah yes, the trusty internet.   

This is the day that I open myself back up to friendship.  Wish me luck.



My psychiatrist warned that weaning off the Effexor might cause dizziness.  I did two pills a day for two weeks, one pill a day for two weeks, and just started my half a pill two nights ago.  Dizzy.  But dizzy good.  High.  Hyper.  Good mood.  Up.  Can't sleep.  Boo.  Crappy blog post.  Boo.  I've decided to do three quarters of a pill for one week instead.  The end.  Still can't sleep.  Boo.