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

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