Slip and not fall

As I sit here in the private clinic, my home for the moment, I have time for reflection. 

Thoughts of what I don’t deserve. That I’ve made such a fuss. Just get over it. Don’t be so drastic. What if they don’t believe me? What if they see BPD and chuck me out? My presentation right now might look too together. 

It’s ok. I’m not back in crisis where I used to be. I’m proactive. I have great insight.

The psychiatrist was warm and understanding. I didn’t have that new doctor awkwardness where you have to go through your whole life story again. He thoughtfully asked the right questions, discreetly understood my history. 

We have a plan. To get back where I was and functioning well. Medication with time. We need time for it to take. Regular outside support, so I can manage my strategies but keep accountable. And while I’m in here, get back to working with the strategies that were working. Back into exercise. Yoga. Meditation. Singing. All the things that I allowed work to gradually consume. 

I slipped, but I have not completely fallen. I have grabbed onto the railings, using the support to be there and keep me sturdy so I can confidently walk without them once more. 

The note (TW suicide) 

I’m losing it. I must be. It was my ‘good’ week and it has ended in tears once again. I think back over today and put it on replay. The early composure, the conscientious perfectionist that thrives on control and outcomes. I felt so ‘above it’ all. Like I’m walking on the highest of clouds, skipping from one to the next. Sorting them all, supporting them all, aligning them just so. Think about everything but how you feel. The thoughts run so fast it’s hard to keep up. So hard in fact that I miss patches. “Did I put my keys here?” I don’t remember finishing that drink, but I must have because it’s empty. Weird. Now why did I walk in this room? 

The frustration builds. I’m so savvy tho that I recognize it and go for a skill to bring that down a little. I can bring it down enough to face the music and continue on my charade. 

I listen to a guest speaker talk about her mental illness and ability to hold a full time job, and shine in her other performance job. I am jealous. I didn’t realize that till right now as I wrote it. 

I’m sad and I’m jealous. 

I want to be authentic and not have to hide my health struggle. I want that support. I wish to be able to have my calming piano music in my ear without worrying about losing my job. 

It’s so stressful trying to hide mental illness. It’s so heartbreaking when you don’t want to hide it but fear, yes fear what happens when you if you don’t. 

At the time I wiped away the tears and reassured my boss I was ok to go and present. I would have been if everyone had been nice and cooperative. It was unexpected that they weren’t, and I had to leave the room. 

I managed to gain recomposure again and go back and deliver the next 55mins. 

The result is exhaustion. And more tears. Tears that fall with defeating thoughts. Tears that seem to fall for unexplained reasons, in the middle of random places. 

Drip, roll, drip roll……

Wipe

Sniffle. 

And again. Over and over. 

So now I’m seriously considering going back on my medication. 

Or seriously considering writing a note. 

When I was suicidal in the past, it had never occurred to me to rent a hotel room. My mind goes there now. 

What if, instead of doing work and releasing stress by catching up, I just leave altogether?

I would hate for someone to have to find me. I could perhaps write a note and stick it on the outside of the door at the last lucid moment. 

Please do not come in this room but call emergency services. I have committed suicide and would prefer only paramedics to deal with my body

Or pre-record a message and call when it’s too late? 

I would ruin my children’s lives. Forever. I wouldn’t just be killing myself but my family too. Their lives would never be the same. No, I cannot do this to them. 

So I binge and purge, and this makes me feel better for now. That’s twice in 2 weeks. Another slip. For now, I fall asleep and nap and I feel a little relieved. 

Try not to think of the purge as feeling better…. That behaviour will just get more frequent and before I know it I’ll be relapsing. 

I can’t have that. I can’t deal with that again. 

Keep positive, keep perspective. Keep swimming. 

Just keep. For now. Just keep. 

Paying Survival Dues (Trigger warn: Self harm)

Point.
Press.
Pierce.
Precipitate pain

Silent.
Slice.
Spurt.
Slowly seeping.

Drip.
Defect.
Done.
Death deterred.

We are numb

I pull my face out of the murky puddle I have fallen into. Kneeling deep amongst the thick dark liquid, I hesitantly wade my fingers through, pushing the chunky globs aside.
I shake it’s sticky vileness from my hands, wiping them across a dry patch of tissue.

Lifting my cleaner hands over my hair I start the ritual of wanting composure.
Tucking hair behind my ears, flattening the escaping strands.
I need water. Clean, still water. I splash my face and rinse the shame away.
Rising eyes towards the mirror, spidery red, cheeks swollen and sore, I face someone else staring back at me. She is only vaguely familiar now, almost a distant memory. We stare for a few lingering moments. Unsure but desperate to be recognised. Longing for the other to rejoin and become one. Tears escape, rolling slowly, trickling down a path of numbing despair.

No one moves.

Each one waits for the comfort of the other to wipe those tears away.
She doesn’t help so she walks out defeated.

The jagged split takes hold and there is no I anymore. Just a division of selves who continue to show up in the robotic masquerade ball.

SURGE

Recovery is on the down hill part if the journey at the moment. It’s complicated, but I made a decision that goes in opposition to my ED treatment. In some ways this could be a good move but my therapist does not think so. I’m torn.

On another note, I am amidst a compressed course at university. Will have a whole course done in 4 days. It’s not altogether new material for me but it is the topics I. LOVE. After coming off holidays where my frustrated type A ness met barrier after barrier to achieving any goals, embracing a course I love and am good at has sent me bouncing off the walls. I am elated and excited when I am there for a period of time. Engaged and also challenged to produce articulation and then I hit boredom but hyperactive and need to move. The gym has been my friend in this But after a couple of days…. Doubt. Not about my efficacy but who I am. People must be so annoyed by my exuberant personality. Answering the questions. Coming up with ideas. Writing hard. Talking quick. One person remarked she wish she had ADHD when I was talking how unfelt really hyperactive and needed to go run. So I guess this is how I am presenting. What does the rest of the class think? That I’m a know it all? Do I listen enough? I try wait for someone else to respond. I try to hold myself back. I am aware that I feel I should make myself smaller. That I am too much for people. That I should quiet my voice.
I can feel the drop in mood. I have cried tonight after being super excited for days. Listening to piano music to try keep calm.
This compressed course stuff is intense… Especially for someone senstive to emotional instability. I hate that I have to consider this. Sometimes I wish I wish I was normal… But that farce doesn’t exist.

The most important thing for me right now would be to focus on PLEASE MASTER skills. Taking care of myself.
P – physical iLlness. Check! All good there and taking supplements
E – eating (balanced). Well kind of. It’s under but I’m being wise at times and eating more when I drastically need to.
A – altering drugs (avoid mood alternating drugs). Check. All good there.
S – Sleep. This one has been consistently improved for a long time now so I’ve got that covered too
E – Exercise. Yes. A bit excessive at times but evens out and I’m not getting distressed too much when I can’t. I have been able to adapt pretty well.
MASTER – yep. All over this course.

So. It’s only the eating I’m not going really well in.

Keep on keeping on

My name is Miss Chameleon

I have been called this several times… Chameleon. It’s been a protective skill and worked in social situations. It also stops me from connecting with… well… myself. Living through personas and identities as I didn’t know who I was. How do I *be* that person? 

Take on the colour of someone else who I want to be and paint it lusciously over my body. Brush on the expression, the tone, mannerisms, beliefs.. become their prodigy. Vulnerably teachable. I belong. 

Although I don’t meet the criteria for BPD anymore, I wonder when a shift happens if it’s really me or have I just grabbed onto another script? The sway for example from evangelical Christian to passionate …. I’m having a hard time labeling it. This might be a good thing. I was going to say crunchy, or critical academic, I don’t know what it is and I’m happy about that.

Get on that yoga mat and I can just let it be. Be me.

Let go Chameleon girl, you have your own colour now

Scared of commitment

Commitment. Locked in. Definite.

I now hate committing to things. I never used to, but ever since my mental health declined to a point where I felt unreliable… Commitment phobia.

I used to be the image of capability. That’s what people told me too. I had such a great measure of capability. I could do it all, and do it all well. Whole that was true to a point, I guess there are stages of a perfectionist that hit the zone of achieving bit as a perfectionist it is unable to be content. To keep the sustainability I needed to employ the robot. The robot was confident and capable and was able to deceive many with the external theatrics. All the while the internal was drowning.
The robot got harder to employ such pleasantness so the isolation grew to cover up my hideousness.

Hidden so no one knows. Then something comes along that causes distress over commitment. Booking in to attend something is one thing. Canceling at the last minute may be rude, but no one was counting on you heavily. Contributing something is worse.
How do you tell them why you don’t want to do something or attend a social engagement. It’s not you, it’s me…. And I’m ashamed of this