Run fast, don’t look back

I need a game plan… game plan… game plaaaan…
Never do anything without a game plan. What happened to “crazy not stupid”? Psh, who the fuck am I kidding.

Maybe just throw my shit into the car and leave?
…where am I going? Should I care? Does anyone, really?

Time and distance,
Time and distance,
Time and distance,
Distance, distance, distance,
Run, run, run,
Fast as you can,
Don’t look back,
Don’t look back,
Don’t look back,
Scream, cry,
Scream, cry,
Scream, scream, scream,
Hoarse with rage,
Tell the sky,
It’s not fair,
It’s not fair,
It’s not fair,
No one’s listening,
So run, run, run,
Fast as you can,
Don’t look back,
Because no one’s there.

–> PB

Fight or flight

Okay, I really want to go for a drive just to get the fuck out of here and have some privacy to feel like shit, but to be honest I’m kinda worried that if I were to leave right now, I might not come back. Like, ever.

My fight or flight mode is scary because I’m unpredictable enough to do almost anything…. I mean shit, what the hell’s actually waiting for me? Anywhere?

Maybe I’ll drive to Florida and live on the beach. Then when I get sucked into hurricanes, they’ll be legit hurricanes.

Sluts, Sobriety, and Survival Skills

I’m sitting here checking my blog stats and I find that I actually have a few minutes to spare; so I thought what the hell, I’ll start writing and see what comes…

Uhhhm…

….

I guess I’ll just get out the thing I’ve not wanted to talk about…

I was checking Ryan’s Facebook every couple days or so, despite my constant attempts to control myself. Last time I looked, I saw that the prediction I’d made several weeks ago came true. And so did my reaction that followed. (This all happened like 2 days ago, I think. I’m terrible telling time anymore…)

Ryan changed his FB profile picture for the second time since splitting, and sure enough he did it to hurt me. Or she did. It was a picture of B-Skank and him kissing. Up til then, I’d never had the oh-so-fortunate opportunity to visually see with my own eyes my husband kissing another girl. Not woman. Girl. slut. Yep, better. And man, for a moment there, I thought I was going to be okay. Until I wasn’t. My typical Ryan-reaction kicked in after a few seconds. I suddenly felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was going to throw up. And, I’m ashamed to admit this, but I felt a twinge of arousal. EVERY TIME, OMG, IT SUUUUUCKS. Like can you imagine? Every time THAT happens, I feel even more disgusted. I feel like my body is betraying me. *shudders* Fucking DISGUSTING.

Anyways, it was already a tough day. I’d made the decision at noon that same day to finally make my high my final one. Hopefully. So, yeah. Then at like 10 or 11 pm is when this happened, not even 12 hours sober.

I didn’t even really want to smoke at that point. I wanted to die. (Not literally suicidal, but it was bad.) I tried to hold everything in, but my seams split open and everything inside poured all over the floor. I blared my headphones and buried my face under two pillows, tried so, so hard to fight the tears pushing through. But of course, that never works. My brain screamed so loud I thought I’d go deaf. I wanted to scream, cry, break things, then get even angrier at myself for letting him make me feel this way. I had to get out. I had to get some air. I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I changed my clothes and grabbed my things as quietly as I could so as not to wake my parents or Lisi, my mom’s friend and fellow entrepenuer working this show, who was sleeping in the bunk above me. Once outside, tears furiously flooded my face, cheeks so hot I was steaming up my glasses.

Long-story-short, it took two hours and 120 miles to calm me down and tire me enough for at least a couple hours sleep.

…So that happened. I’m handling things infinately better in comparison, but things are still really rough. Before that, I’d already been really depressed over my life circumstances, mainly my drug use, which is why I gave sobriety another fair shot. And it worked. I’m still sober. According to the tracker app on my phone, 4 days; 101 hours; 6115 minutes. I like that it gives all the hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute stats too. 4 days doesn’t seem long at all, despite the fact that I’d not even been able to go 24 hours before. But when I see that that’s 101 hours sober… I think, Wow. I was basically smoking pot as a cigarette smoker would smoke. Every 2 hours minimum, maybe less, and I’d need to go out. My dad was getting irritated at me because I was smoking through all his weed and it wouldn’t even last half the time it’s supposed to if I kept at it. I have no sense of time or quantity of bud, but I’d estimate I was burning through at least a dime-bag a day. If I had all day, like when I spent the day in the city, I easily burned an eighth without blinking. In a day. That’s almost an ounce a week. Now fucking tell me I’m not addicted to marijuana. NO ONE takes my addiction seriously. Sure, when I was putting away half a litre of vodka a day, THAT was a problem because I go absolutely berserk when I drink. I’m a crazy drunk. I’m like a borderline driving a Lambo without speed limits or seat belts. Marijuana became my drug of choice because it was finally a drug that I could do all I wanted and no one would care because it made me calm, happier (falsely), and stupid. My husband loved when I smoked because I was easier to deal with. So there it went. But I hope I don’t need to tell you that every addiction is the same and they all have severe consequences. Probably the worst was that my lungs were in such bad shape that I could barely breathe without coughing and spitting up black tar. (Still am. My dad said it will go on for weeks.)

TELL ME AGAIN HOW PEOPLE CAN’T GET ADDICTED TO POT.  FUCK! I hate people. Addiction. is. a. mental. illness. It does not care what you really want. It does not care if it “helps” you in any way. And it certainly does not care what fucking substance it is.

An addict is an addict.

Sigh… So… that’s been what’s been up lately. And I’m fighting my addiction every fucking second. With no help or understanding from my family. Shit, my dad even fucking lights up right outside the trailer door with the door and windows open. That pissed me off. I lost it and left for a couple hours.

My car’s been my only escape, but there’s never an escape from your feelings. I’ve been surviving the distress tolerance, but fuck if I can’t go back and actually deal with them. The same reaction happens all over again. For right now, I push images of him and her out of my head, along with the images of me smoking pot with my dad and feeling that connection.

I’ve been angry, super-temperamental, and irritable. But I’m dealing. Right now, I’m dealing. I wish they had AA meetings around here. I can’t believe they only have about a half dozen in about a 60-mile radius, I shit you not. And so far, the one I’ve tried to go to was of course not there. I know almost everyone here drinks and smokes pot…. I guess no one else wants to be sober….

How the fuck am I going to survive this?

Mid-morning bitch fit

I’m suddenly having a fit this morning for no reason. I snapped at me mom when she asked me to do some work. Her and my dad both just stopped and stared at me, and annoyed, she asked if I needed to go for a drive (aka. Smoke pot, take a timeout, whatever). I just turned around and walked into the trailer. I could feel their eyes burning into my back as I did so.

Here I am in the trailer. Wondering what my fucking problem is.

I’m such a fucking asshole.

–> PB

Edit: *20 min later* I just took some personal time to feel pretty, tweezing my eyebrows and such. After taking that time I feel much better. All is well again. For now.

Blurb for the day – Darkness under darkness

My blog entries might turn into mini-updates throughout the day. I never have the time or energy to do a full post in this tiny-ass trailer with three other people around. I swear, this job is going to drive me mad.

Worst off, of all things right now, I have the most horrible flatulence EVER. In this tiny-ass trailer. With three other people. Who really don’t like me right now lol… sorry! I can’t have milk!

So, with that pleasant introduction, my thought for tonight:

I always get into way darker moods when it’s nighttime. Not just sadness, depression, and loneliness, but also daring, chaotic, and unpredictable on some occasions. Like, I sometimes I feel so wild I’m going to explode. I wonder if other borderlines feel this way… or maybe it’s a bipolar thing.. or just a fucking Panda thing.

Tonight, as has been the norm of late, it’s the latter, and I’m already waist-deep in it. Sadness pulls me into the black as nightmares drown me slowly each night.

I’m constantly surrounded by people…but I couldn’t feel more alone..

–> PB

Just one no more. I’m done.

I’ve made the decision to try and get sober again. I need to kick this, and I need to do it now. I could go over all the reasons right now but I’m just too fucking tired and I really want to enjoy, as much as an addict can enjoy, my last night high. I’ll have plenty of time to go over reasons over the next couple of days. There’s obviously lots of reasons to get sober, but there is a lot to do it right now specifically.

Right now, I’m in my car. Like I said, I’m smoking up for the last time. I’m basically giving myself free reign to smoke as much as I want tonight. It doesn’t take too long for me to get to the point of being unable to breathe, so it’s not like I’ll be here all night. I’m packing up all my smoke and supplies to go put in the garage tonight, in my dad’s smoke drawers. (It’s his weed actually. I ran out a while ago and have been smoking my way through his several hidden stashes that he’s been giving me out of pity.)

I haven’t given sobriety a serious try since I broke my first/last/only stint of 9-months last April. And I’m scared to shit that I’ll fail, even just tomorrow morning; that I’ll get up, say “Fuck it,” and go smoke. But if I never try, then I’ll never get straight. And God, even the thought of that, of living my whole life trapped in this hazy, half-death existence, just stings my eyes. I’d rather die.

Everyone thinks, Oh she’s so dramatic! It’s pot! You can’t get addicted to marijuana; it’s impossible! No. Fuck you. And that shows how little you truly know about addiction. Fuck.you. I’m so not in the mood to rant that shit out, another day…

For now. Last night high. God-willing.

**Fyi, I don’t believe in the typical “God” with the heaven and Jesus. But I use the term “God” as a universal word for my higher power belief. There’s definitely something protecting me and guiding my journey, call it fate or angels. My spirituality is becoming more open… another thought for another day.

But here’s hoping that it is indeed my time to get clean and fate is on my side. I’m going to need all the help I can get…

I’m just one of those fucking extra awesome borderlines who drew all the short sticks. Borderline Personality Disorder is often accompanied by other fun disorders, most commonly: Bipolar, Addiction, Self-Injury, Eating Disorders, ADD/ADHD, Anxiety, Depression. Guess what magical cocktail of fuckery has been diagnosed within this marvelous noggin betwixt my ears? If you guessed [All of the above], you’re right! Although, I believe my clinical depression has receded. I’m just riding my BPD/bipolar mood dragons at the moment.

Sooooo yeeeah! Here’s to getting sober! And not killing myself in the process!

–> PB

The highway may not care but you sure as shit didn’t either

Oh, you fucking son-of-a-bitch.

I have a stalker problem. Seriously. I’m Facebook stalking Ryan’s page looking for anything new posted on Public view. Ryan used to post EVERYTHING on Public. It was all links to “alternative” (read: conspiracy theorist) news websites, which Ryan would say, “The world has a right to know!” Oh please, right? Anyways, since he unfriended me a while back, nothing he posts is Public anymore. In fact, aside from his one profile picture swap, he’s not had any new posts or anything since then…. until now.

I checked just a few minutes ago and see this:

If you didn’t read my post regarding Ryan and I with this song, it’s here: Highway don’t care. 

I was of course sad to see this but it didn’t evoke nearly the emotion as when I actually watched the linked video. See, I don’t watch music videos. They have a tendacy to “taint” songs for me. When I hear a song, when I feel a song, it brings imagery to mind which attaches to the song and emotion. It makes music very personal to me. When I link videos of songs, it’s only because it’s the only way I can (currently) share a music file, plus it has the added benefit of displaying the lyrics in real-time if someone were to actually watch the video. I don’t know if Ryan’s sole meaning was just the song lyrics, or the music video as well, but it was really moving… and personal.

I’ve lived the experience shown, less the crash. I’ve been lucky enough to not crashing my car when I’m driving high, distraught, crying, blurry, tired, in the rain, fog, slick, wet, dark, windy, twisty roads… I’ve come scary close to watching myself swerve off to one side or into oncoming traffic.

I’ve often wondered when driving if I crashed, would anyone wonder why, or would they just assume I was high? Would anyone ever notice that my phone music player was right in the middle of a country song? Would anyone care that Tim McGraw was pulling at my heart while Rascal Flatts poured memories of him into my eyes? Would anyone figure out the reason I crashed was because all I could see was him?

I keep wondering what he’s doing.
     Is he thinking about me at all?
          Does he wonder what I’m doing?
               Does he ever wonder if I’m thinking about him?

It doesn’t matter… I need let go of him. God, I’m so tired of being sad.

–> PB

Trying not to lose control in an emotional hurricane

I’ve been meaning to update for a while and have just kept putting it off because I didn’t feel like doing it. I never really feel like writing. It just kind of comes. It’s usually a comment. That’s one of the benefits of social media I’ve found is that it gets my brain going. I start looking at my life from an outside perspective to get interesting things to post. So everytime I start a Facebook post now it ends up turning into a blog. It’s nice.

I don’t feel like writing right now. But I got a comment on another post that I just read and it motivated me to at least put a little something down on “paper”. I feel a need to write. Part of me thinks that it’s almost keeping me sick because I dwell on it more, I think about it more, I write it in my head, and on and on. But the other part feels relieved to get the thoughts out on paper. Especially when I truly get lost in my writing. Sometimes I feel like I’m almost playing to an audience with this being a blog and all. Especially since blog sites cater to making your blog more known because that’s what people want. I don’t want that. It’s nice to have people that want to listen to me, but that was never the point of the blog and I never want my voice to change because I feel pressure from an audience.

Shit, now what the fuck was I saying? Oh, updates. So, since the last time I wrote I’ve both sent the letter off to Ryan and changed my phone number. I also saw (stalked) that he updated his Facebook profile picture. It was really weird to see it updated with a photo that I didn’t take. I’m so used to being the photographer in the family and Ryan hating his picture taken that it was really weird for a moment seeing a picture of him that he had taken of himself. Wow that looks like a really long sentence that I just said, but… I guess it says what I wanted it to say. God I’m so fucking high right now. I hate myself.

The really weird thing about the picture was not that he was standing in the bathroom; not that he was holding a guitar… (That’s interesting considering he doesn’t as of currently play any instruments and I know he doesn’t have any money so I’m just thinking, Midlife crisis?…) But the real thing that caught my eye was that it looked like he had lost at least another 10 pounds since I’d seen him, making him appear almost underweight, and the dark purple ring under his left eye. It’s not detailed enough to make any kind of realistic speculation as to what could have happened, but it appears to be a black eye. Although knowing Ryan, it could be from a number of things. Especially if he’s been continuing to drink heavily. It should worry me. It had been worrying me. Maybe it still does but I’m just starting to go numb to it. I’m swinging drastically back and forth between ecstatically already let go and moving on to my new life, and so much clinging to the past that I have to physically restrain myself from contacting him… It varies depending on what music is playing. But its been a really crazy, moody, not terrible, but not fun few days, and it’s making me have doubts as to whether I made the right decision taking this 2-month job with my parents.

Other than that, nothing else to report. I’ve been getting more sleep since I have a flexible schedule now, and doing work for my mom, trying all the while not to take things personally when she acts the way she does. She actually just recently confessed to me that she’s been very depressed lately, and I feel really guilty that I didn’t notice. I noticed that she was way more irritable with me and I felt like I was disappointing her and wondered what I was doing wrong, but I didn’t even consider that she was sad. I of all people should notice that. And I didn’t. But a topic that’s for another day…

Oh, I didn’t send Ryan the drawing. With his behavior lately I felt that it was not the best thing to send him this personal gift because it would likely lead him to believe that I may change my mind about our divorce. I badly, badly want to send it to him. I want him to know that he still mean something to me and I want him to be happy. But I know for a fact that this will hurt him more now if I send it and it will hurt me more too because he will pursue me more. It’s a bad thing. I know it would be a bad decision. And I need to listen to myself this time. I need to make the right decision even if it’s not the one I want to make.

The way I see it, his birthday is coming up in February anyways. Hopefully things towards then will have died down, and if I feel comfortable that he would still appreciate it and I can send it without sending the wrong message then perhaps it would be a good thing for his birthday.

… Otherwise, much as it would kill me, maybe it would be best if he never saw it…

–> PB

So, please, tell me what it’s like to divorce a borderline.

I really try not to take things personally, especially when it comes to mental disorders. But I admit that I hold them close, almost cherish them. My mentally-flawed brain is what makes me me and I’m turning my life (and sanity) inside out trying to love myself instead of hate, hate, hate.

I almost don’t like blogging communities. I admit that too. Sorry whatever audience I have.

They take me out of this bubble. This safe bubble. No judgement. Anonymity.

I’m not currently following any blogs because I don’t have a ton of time to read them, and if I’m being completely honest, most of the time I just don’t want to. It’s not that I don’t want to connect, or am anti-social (although I kinda am, mostly because I hate human stupidity and ignorance). It’s that either the posts are too close to home and I’m not ready to read them (i.e. personal blogs on divorce, marriage issues, infidelity, etc.) It makes my stomach twist. Or it’s that they’re…that I don’t agree with that person’s ‘opinion’. I searched the tag “BPD” and one of the first results led me to blog written by a man who’s going through a divorce with his “borderline wife”. I read the About page and skimmed a few posts. I’ve read things written by family and friends of borderlines. Both good and bad. My heart breaks for the ones who truly understand and are able to show empathy, and my blood runs hot when I read things that I believe further demonize this disorder. And I’m so fucking sorry if I can’t help but be a little annoyed reading…the other side. Of my situation. Right now. I’m going through a divorce with a borderline too. Only in mine, I’m the borderline…

Look, I have no idea what it’s like to live with me. All I know is what it’s like to live inside me. (Giggity.) I’ve spent many hours, days, nights going over everything I’ve said, done, and thought about and to Ryan over the course of our relationship… So much pain and hurt. It’s easy to forget over long periods of time. Then the split comes and you’re like, “But I thought we were fine…” Nooo, you just chose to forget the bad. To leave the memories and associated residual guilt behind. Living with a borderline must be difficult…

But FUCK. YOU. because being one is fucking worse. You think being stereotyped about your appearance or race is bad? Imagine being judged for something invisible. Something no one can see, nothing can prove, no tests can definitively diagnose. You don’t act “normal” but you don’t seem totally unstable either. At least at first. Then it’s little things. Too much emotion here. Too much clinginess there. Too sensitive. Too loud. Too excitable. Too sad. Too pessimistic. Too idealistic. Too much. Too much, too much, too much everything. Sad, happy, up, down, up, down, minute by minute, hour by hour. Hair-trigger temper with the emotional sensitivity of a 10-year-old. Tongue sharp as a dagger with wicked manipulation behind it that could tear worlds to pieces. How could anyone ever love a borderline?

….how could anyone ever truly love a borderline…

–> PB

Bedtime thoughts as tears rock me to sleep

Show no fear. Show no pain. Show no hesitation.
          Right?

I feel sick. It matches my feelings of being on a ship going through a huge storm.

Back and forth and baaaack and foooorth. My brain is swooning from the sea air.

Sometimes I feel so alive.
Sometimes the wind inflates my lungs until I’m being lifted clean off the ground.
Sometimes the sun sets my skin on fire with the light of angels.

Sometimes I fall overboard completely.
Sometimes I start to drown. I try to scream but I can’t breathe.
Sometimes I feel a force pulling me down, dragging me into the dark trenches of the ocean.

Maybe a mermaid will save me with a kiss of air.
Maybe the fates will decide it’s not my time and release death’s grasp on my chest.
Maybe I’ll just cut gills in my neck so I can swim in the deep, forever.

–> PB