Feeling thankful

I am so sorry for not adding to my blog since my last two very dark blog posts.

I’m actually feeling emotionally ok.

The holidays are hard for me every year. Add to that, the one year anniversary of my brother’s demise by suicide and the decision I made to stop contacting my parents and step parents back home, it makes for a not fun season.

My aggravation every Thanksgiving/Christmas is: I miss my biological family get togethers; I evaluate exactly where I’m not; I beat myself up for how much money I haven’t saved; How many presents I have not purchased; How many failed romantic relationships I have; how not fit I am, blah, blah, blah….

Well, let me turn that around, if only as an exercise in thankfulness.

This year a lot went right.

My stepsister and I are again in regular contact after years of not communicating. I’m really happy about that because I really love her and missed her like crazy.

I have a wonderful family around me right here. My children, of course. God, I am so proud of them, I cry positive tears.

My ex-mother and father in law, and my ex-husband have never excluded me from their family. And, I see my youngest daughter daily! So, what have I got to complain about?

Thanks to them, I have the opportunity this year to follow my new career goal of working with dogs. I want to learn how to groom them. Last year I was fortunate enough to be a bather in a local salon and learned a little about how to handle the canine clients. It was wonderful and this area is pretty busy.

My longtime friends are great to me, even at a distance.

I haven’t had a drunken blackout all year. That’s an accomplishment in itself.

I’ve regained my will to live again after spending the first half of 2014 in an emotional fog. I didn’t care about anything. I gave up a long-time job.  I spent all my 401k money (illegal drugs are expensive when you are paying for everybody). I pretty much gave away my home. I left myself vulnerable to theft and abuse. I really didn’t care.

I’m not in that place now.

So, what the hell do I have to complain about? Nada.

I’ll leave today’s blog with that.



An open letter to my therapist

A very honest letter to a therapist pleading for real feedback from a real and caring person

Life in a Bind - BPD and me

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so much like the enemy. Since I’ve wanted to keep you at arms’ length and push you away. When I asked you a question at the start of our last session and felt brushed off by your reply, I was surprised at how much it hurt. Surprised because I’d been feeling so cut-off I wasn’t sure if you still had the power to wound me like that.  Before the Christmas break I would have just let go and cried, but instead I tried to contain it and keep it inside. I was guarded and I was holding back.

I’ve been turning away from you in session, I know I have, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed. It’s very subtle – just shifting in my chair so that I can turn a little to the side. It’s not deliberate, but I’m aware…

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Welcome to Frustration Island

I feel detached.

There’s no place or person I feel truly at home with – not even myself.  Is this due to nature or nurture (or lack thereof)?

I’ve spent most of my life on the move. It started in childhood. My younger brother and I moving from place to place with our mother, enrolling in one new school after another.

We developed wicked senses of humor which helped us appear to “fit in” later in life.

I always make friends on the surface – but never fully open up. I learned by being molested physically and mentally as a child that nobody I encountered could be trusted. Ever.

That part of me is broken. I do not know if it can be fixed.

It doesn’t mean I don’t have people who say they love me. I am grateful to them and I love them from a safe distance. My love for my children comes easy to me.

I have people I call family who have proven over time they aren’t out to hurt me. They always have my back.

My romantic life is a mess.  Enough said.

“Happiness comes from within,” I’ve heard people say. How deep do I have to look?

I’m see my therapist/psychologist and psychiatrist regularly and I’m taking medication.There’s not enough time in a talk session to vent it all out.

My barriers keep me from truly feeling involved — It takes away my joy.

I will keep blogging. Tell me if any of you feel this way. Maybe it will help me or somebody else.


Understanding a loved one with BPD – reblog-ish

Information about Borderline Personality Disorder. I hope this is helpful!

Life in a Bind - BPD and me

A friend with BPD pointed me to this excellent article called ‘I can’t get it right’ – Understanding a loved one with Borderline Personality Disorder. She said that it painted a very accurate picture of how she felt much of the time, and the same is certainly true for me.

What I like about this article is that rather than focusing specifically on the DSM IV criteria as an aid to describing BPD symptoms, it highlights three key aspects of how many individuals with BPD experience the world. These aspects are: feelings are ‘too real’; out of sight is out of mind; and extreme sensitivity and rage. These three aspects describe how many individuals with BPD experience their thoughts and feelings as being ‘as real as reality’; that they may find it difficult to maintain object constancy and retain a sense of consistency about the people in their lives…

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Living to be remembered by those who matter to me

I tell myself I won’t kill myself with the following mantra:

“I won’t give ‘them’ the satisfaction.”

“Them” may or may not be explained in future articles. I haven’t decided if it is worth the drama or not to stir things up.

People have very certain opinions about other people.

From my experience, the ideas we have about other people are ideas that suit ourselves. Some of us are overly considerate, while others are downright cruel.

Leaving this existence only opens the door for my memory to be whatever it needs to be to accommodate the people I leave behind. How convenient for them. Worse yet, I am completely forgotten.

As a living person, I really don’t care what gossipers say about me.

My actions undo any crappy rumors that are spoken about me, or they wipe out any “atta-boys” I may have earned in the past.

The point is:  as long as I am here, my children have a chance to ask me what is really going on and I am happy to tell them. Sometimes.