Emotions still through the roof – go away, NYE

Can it just be 2014 already? Without the whole “WOOOOOOO, welcome to the new year, life is something wonderful to look forward to!!!” ceremony and whatnot? Because it’s not. Wonderful, I mean. Not for me, not right now, not very often of late.

On the one hand, learning about/trying to understand a BPD diagnosis can feel like a step in the positive direction. When things are going relatively okay, you get a fleeting sense of control and purpose: “Maybe things have been horrible for a reason, and I’ve learned and grown in ways that have helped me, and now things are looking up, etc.”

On the other hand (my current “hand”), recognizing BPD for what it is – a vicious, cyclical mood disorder – can offer a very jaundiced perspective of a situation about which it is already easy to be cynical: “Wow, this is happening yet again, just like it always has, and (at this rate) just like it always will because THIS is evidently my enduring identity.”

I hate being wrong. Like, really hate it. I am the annoying, Hermione Granger smart-ass who went to ridiculous lengths to learn, know, memorize and recite all the crap that made me feel “right” in school. I hate feeling wrong so much, that I frequently insist upon being “right” at the expense of being happy/successful/healthier. How stupid is that?? Yet I feel myself trapped in it even now. I feel like I’d be a pathetic, delusional chump if I let myself believe things can get better. Or that I’m not always going to suffer like this. Or that I can change my life by resisting this exact thought pattern.

Even as I’m writing this I know that my left-brain logicizing (?? too lazy to google whether that’s actually a word) is just a defense mechanism, a wall around my right-brain emotional self, which is still going nuts over the holidays. Expectations are everywhere and involved in virtually every interaction I have lately. And we all know that expectations, for a borderline, are like grenades: the longer you hold onto them, the more likely they are to explode in your face.

Tomorrow evening is New Year’s Eve. Tomorrow evening marks an occasion that, for much of this year, I honestly didn’t think I would live to see. Tomorrow I have to deal with that as well as my roommate who blabbed to my parents about my BPD, my suicidal thoughts, everything. We haven’t spoken in days and I’ve been crashing at my parents/visiting a friend. But a confrontation is going to happen eventually and what better way to ring in 2014 than with yet another blow-out over my constantly injured feelings? ¬†:-S ¬†Sigh.

Hope those reading this are faring better and having more auspicious premonitions for the new year….

oh p.s. … how sad is it that I mostly just want it to be 2014 so I can find out how Sherlock faked his death? Seriously.sherlock-season-2



*Warning: Triggering as fuck. Do not read if you are in a not-so-great place either.*

I really should have seen this coming.

The Christmas/New Year combo is a double-whammy for me and always has been. Both are dates when you really can’t help but reflect on where you are vs. where you’ve been vs. where you wanted to be at this time of year. Both are dates that involve an absolute overload of warm fuzzy feelings and happy families and fond memories and joyful hopes.

Unless you don’t have those things. Then the whole fucking season is a reminder of why you should just give up and save yourself – and others – a lifetime of pointless struggle.

I was feeling sort of hopeful about my recent therapy (and therapist). Then our last pre-holiday session was an absolute disaster. As in, “Let me talk about myself for an hour and not even realize I’m triggering/upsetting you and not helping AT ALL by bringing any of this up.” For me, strong emotions always = numbness and shutdown now, so I was seriously dissociated by the end of the day. It got worse and worse until I flipped out on my roommate, smashed my phone, trashed our house (smashed pictures, dishes, etc.) and left for my parents’ on Christmas Eve feeling like I usually do after I let myself feel any of the pain and anger I usually numb myself to: a monster that needs to be put down. Got to my parents to find my roommate had, in a state of terror, told them everything. Told them they needed to monitor me because I seemed suicidal. Which I was. But I was furious at him for saying anything and I still am and I can’t help it.

What the fuck is wrong with me? It’s all I can think when things are like this. I get back into the cycle of questioning why I’m like this, why it never stops, why I keep thinking anything will change… the answer, deep in my gut, is always the same: it’s you, you’re the problem, you will never change, and you’ll be saving everyone so much pain if you just end it.

I feel like such a horrible thing, such an ugly shell of a human being, and like the grain of humanity that I cling to is being warped and twisted with each passing year into something I can’t live with. I’m right back where I started – except not, because I feel lower than ever knowing how many times I’ve felt like this and how each time I thought “well things can only go up from here.” It turns out I was wrong every single time.

I don’t feel worthy of anyone’s love or attention and I can’t stand the infuriating, pathetic, childish BPD tendencies I have to demand both when I know no one in their right mind should give me either. The thought of hanging on, for years and years, a burden on my loved ones and the hospital/health care system with my increasingly dramatic, self-harming attempts for attention makes me feel sure I would be doing the right thing by giving up now.

Why do we bother when we feel like this so often? Where is the upside of any of this? I can’t see it even though I know parts of me really want to and have tried so hard in the past.