Two days after the fallout. Christmas has been over for two days and people are still running around like mad, still shopping and stealing parking places like they’ve lost their minds. They’re still cutting you in line so they can get the best deal on wrapping paper before the store sells out. The TV is still flooding your room with merchandise and sales. It’s utterly insane. Welcome to Corporate America. And for me, for people like me, the ones who have spending problems, the ones who struggle with this forced happiness and pretend merriment because you are really trying to steal that last copy of The Hobbit before the bitch next to you gets it for 70% off, this sort of time is like Hell. It’s pure torture. That’s why the day before Christmas, I spent my day in bed, claiming my stomach hurt until I psychosomatically made it hurt. I even skipped Christmas Eve church service, which is like one of my favorite services of the year. I was supposed to participate in it this year and instead, Thomas read my part because I claimed I couldn’t get out of bed. And yesterday, I skipped seeing Saving Mr. Banks with my mom because I was too depressed to function. My dad came home from work and, upon hearing this proclamation, stormed into my room, flicked the light on and proceeded to drill me with questions about why I was depressed and what was wrong and if I was cutting. At the time, I didn’t appreciate it. But after he took my mom to the movies, I greatly appreciated what he did and dragged my sorry ass out of bed. I started a new medication last night that is supposed to help with…well, you know, I don’t even know what it’s supposed to help with at this point. I can’t keep up anymore. But this holiday season, it’s so weird for me. I don’t have a bunch of friends to blow tons of cash on. I don’t have tons of parties to go to, or places to visit with people other than my family. I don’t have people to celebrate the new year with and get drunk. I don’t have anything exciting to look forward to. I mean, I went to Ms. Hubbard’s holiday party, and I hung out with Jackie, but that was the extent of it. Of course, I had a good time with my family on Christmas day: we took Poco to the beach, where he practically lost his mind. It was hilarious. Anyway, like I said, this constant up and down, this constantly trying to gauge the rest of the world’s mood and balancing mine against that is so confusing. And I shouldn’t be doing it like that but that’s sort of how things work. I’m sinking lower and lower, even with the beginning of a new year coming towards me. The promising and prosperous start of a new time, a new chance and a new beginning, and I still feel like killing myself. Yea, it’s that extreme. It’s ridiculous. I know I can fall farther. I know I can sink deeper. I know this water can get thicker. But I’m losing my will to swim already. It’s pathetic. Maybe I can convince my parents to let me go for a drive. I don’t feel like writing anymore.
Christmas is almost here. “You grew up hearing about it, but I never figured I’d be there.” I wrapped a ton of presents today and I’m actually still not finished. For a family that doesn’t place much value on material objects, we buy a lot of crap for each other. I’m stressed to the max though. Of course, like everyone else on the fucking planet, Lucy, duh. Gosh. No, but seriously. Like I said last time, the feelings of anxiousness and compulsion are super strong because if I stay still, all the darkness of every single molecule in time and space is closing in on me. I can’t describe it any better than that. And my mood swings, this all-or-nothing thinking. I can’t even wrap my brain around why this is happening. My mom said the usual: it’s stress, you just finished at the community college, you’re at a transition in your life, bla, bla, bla. But I don’t buy it. I don’t know why I can’t handle transitions like everyone else. Powerpoint presentations have an easier time transitioning and they aren’t even alive. And I’d like to think that I’m sort of, well not really but kind of, over the whole “self-sabotage” thing. I know I say it basically every time it happens, but that’s not what this feels like. God, I’m quoting and rolling my eyes at myself. Maybe that means that’s exactly what this is. I’ve been cutting practically every day for one reason or another. And usually, the reasons, in hindsight, are really stupid. But at the time, the feelings, the emotions are completely overwhelming and I feel like a supernova. The smallest thing will set me off. So I have to relieve the pressure. I look like I’m turning into a zebra. I thought I was making headway with the DBT skills. It was getting easier because rather than having to consciously think about using them, they would sort of just come to me. I could be like, “oh, I should be distracting myself right now,” or “I need to do some opposite action” and it would naturally occur. But then, all of a sudden, I’m slicing up my wrist like a Christmas ham and freaking out because I feel like everyone in the mall is staring at me accusingly. After all this time, after all this shit I’ve been doing, you’d think I’d have a handle on it by now. Part of me feels like this is bullshit. You know, the whole I’m-going-to-quit-therapy-and-go-join-a-commune. But then I’m like…nope, that thought doesn’t even finish. I can’t give myself credit for all the “work” I’ve done. Other people don’t have this problem. Other people don’t have to do this, so why should I celebrate what I’ve been through as an accomplishment and not some form of punishment for some crime in a past life. I talked to my dad a few mornings ago, and he said he was proud of me. And he acknowledged everything I went through. He told me that he knew it was difficult, and that with the hospitalizations and the therapy and the medications, he knew it was a struggle to complete school. But I did it. And that, that moment, right then, was the first and only time I’ve believed that my dad was actually proud of me. But, of course, the moment was more fleeting than a speck of dust in a tornado. I subconsciously reminded myself of everything I just said and it simply went “poof!” And now my parents are talking about sending me to get my bachelor’s degree while my brother is pursuing his. And they don’t think there’s anything wrong/weird about this at all. But I think it’s very, very weird. I mean, if the school has a good program then I want to attend, but I also want to preserve the relationship with my brother. I don’t know. Something about this, just doesn’t feel right. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re suggesting I go to the school that the favored child go to. Just like sloppy seconds. Again. When they suggested Thomas go to Rowan, the school of my choice if I hadn’t fucked up, I was crushed. Why would you send the child you prefer to the school of choice for the other child? Like that just seems really weird, twisted and messed up to me. But they don’t think this is strange in the slightest. I don’t know, I almost feel like they’re trying to turn me into Thomas. Like they’re trying to make me conform me into his little mold, hoping that if I fit, if they manage to stuff me in there and make it work, I’ll turn out like him. Of course, telling them this would be ridiculous. They wouldn’t listen. It would be me being ridiculous, me reading into things too much. I need a cigarette.
So…this week has been rather eventful. And it’s been swinging both ways. For some reason, my anxiety has been through the roof and my OCD has been spiraling out of control. I’m constantly cleaning and straightening things up, even when I’m not in my own house. It’s like I’m the Energizer bunny. I can’t stop moving, no matter what I’m doing or where I am. Even in the shower, which is usually my safe haven, I have to be dancing. This energy makes my mom happy because I’m cleaning but she knows that’s a fine line to walk because I’m becoming obsessive. And it’s not just about that. It’s about my weight too. I’ve lost 50 pounds since April and I plan on keeping it off. Being able to fit into my size 16 jeans was like the best feeling I’ve ever experienced. I like being able to shop in my own closet for clothes that are smaller than the ones I’ve been wearing for the last 6 months. But Dr. Glover (my psychiatrist, in case you forgot. It’s been a while) increased my Lamictal (for picking/cutting) and my Seroquel (for the anxiety and depression), which she casually mentioned might cause weight gain. Of course, to her, that doesn’t mean anything. To me, it means back into bigger clothes, eating more, hating myself more…it’s just an ugly cycle that I’d rather not repeat. Coupled with my anxiety, it’s led to constantly weighing myself, obsessively watching what I eat and constantly worrying about what I look like in my clothes. And then, when I sit still, when I slow down because there’s nothing left to clean, nothing left to do, the bottom falls out from underneath me. I am dropped into this dark abysmal place, where I can’t see anything, where I can’t breathe, where I can’t think of anything but no longer existing. I can’t help but think of terminating myself. And it’s exactly like that. Usually when I think of ending my life, it’s sort of this dramatic, operetta-type deal. I imagine the whole scene. But when this place swallows me, it’s not that…emotional. It’s cold and calculating. I am not important enough to have such a grand farewell. I don’t deserve to have a standing ovation upon my passing. I need to exit stage right like a shadow, like the set designers that organize the props for the next scene, dressed in all black and invisible to the crowd that is enthralled in the show going on around them. I go out more like a candle, than a 4-alarm blaze. But as soon as I’m up, as soon as I’m running around, doing things, occupying myself, I’m fine. It gets even better though. BPD has very distinct behaviors, just like every other personality disorder. And now that I am aware I have BPD, I can more easily recognize those behaviors. And lately, they’ve been rearing their ugly heads like snowflakes in winter. I can see myself doing it, I can see myself being manipulative and bitchy. I can see myself being defiant and switching between all-or-nothing. I can see myself behaving in this way that I’ve worked over a year to not behave in. And all of a sudden, it’s not working. It’s almost like I’m a third-party observer. I see what I’m doing, I realize how I’m acting, but I can’t stop myself. It’s greedy, and shameful and horrible. And the snowball keeps turning…I beat myself up for being a bitch, for being fat, for being energetic, for being on Earth. And the holidays are extra weird for me because I’m not used to going broke buying Christmas presents for people who aren’t family and treat me like dirt and then having to do the same thing in 2 weeks because it’s their birthday. Speaking of which, I did something the other day that even surprised me a little bit. I messaged Lexi on Facebook (since you can do that without being friends with someone) and apologized for being a horrible human being. We’ve been texting/talking ever since and we’re working through it. I had to recount my story for the millionth time but like I told her, that is my cross to bear. In order to repair the relationships that were severed by my stupidity, I’m going to have to tell that story a million more times. It’s good to know that I have someone like that playing on my team again. She was always a better friend than Mara ever was. But even with this type of healing going on, even with her hopefulness for the future of our relationship, I’m still dealing with the problems mentioned above. I’m still trying to figure out why I had a meltdown half an hour before my pinning ceremony last night and told my mom I wasn’t going to go, then completely changed the planned outfit and wore something totally different. I’m still trying to figure out why I was super conscious of what I ate for breakfast but then pigged out at lunch and am super worried about dinner because I’m supposed to be going out with Dick to eat tacos or something. Oh, and then there’s the problem with him. He lives a good bit away, which has been a strain on our relationship but it hasn’t been a major factor. We always seem to work things out. But lately, because my moods have been, well, BPD-ish, driving that far and committing to something that long-term (even though it’s only a few hours) is really hard. And even getting him to come out here and then sending him home after an hour or 2, would be really ridiculous! This relationship is literally the best I’ve ever been in in my entire life. My parents like him, I like him, I think his parents like me. I can see myself marrying him. I don’t want this to end but I don’t know how to get around this little snag. Because, of course, it’s my problem. Things are always my problem. It’s never someone else’s. And, of course, that’s a BPD standpoint. Things happen to me, not because of me. That’s the shit I’m talking about. I just sort of slip into it and by the time I realize I’m doing it, it’s too late. The behavior has started and it’s too late. The gasoline has been poured and the match is lit. I just feel so out of control. I don’t know how to stop it. I’ve been diligently taking my medicine; that’s never been anything I’ve struggled with. But this inconsistency in my moods, in my energy, in my anger…it’s ridiculous. And Dr. Glover will probably try to say it’s Bipolar Disorder. I don’t have Bipolar Disorder. This is not a manic episode. I know my body and I know what I’m going through. I know enough about that disease to know that this isn’t that. I don’t have anything against people with Bipolar; I just know I don’t have it. If I’m slipping though, if this is the beginning of another end, I kind of need to brace myself. I can’t do that right now. I have too much shit to do. And I can’t handle that on top of everything else. That sounds so cold and heartless but it’s the truth. That’s how everyone else deals with me, so I’ll deal with me like that too. Easy enough, right?