April 8th, 2011
I'm torn into so many pieces.
HAH! As if that is a shocker coming from someone with BPD, someone that has trouble with dialectic thinking. Someone that at least.... has started in the one year program to change my life.
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Living at this apartment has had its own set of challenges. I have had to adjust to really being by myself for periods of time again. I don't like it. I tend to feel confined and trapped when I can't at least sense other people around. I haven't made any friends here, and I honestly don't expect to. To be honest, I don't even have the desire to make friends most of the time.
But then, I am also thankful and happy for the friends who know, understand, and accept me for who I am, who I have been, and who I will become. Again with distinctions of separation. Before, Present, Future.
I keep looking for how I view the world, and I put everything into a distinction. A filing system. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. And even though 1 and 2 are different, 1 and 2 can equal 3, and 3 is always three. Every piece while distinct, is still true of itself. But there are still fractions and decimals, and while 1.2 or 2.1 are neither 1 or 2, they are still true pieces of 1 and 2.
The trick is to reconcile that truth and not fight it. I don't know how to do that yet. I think I've obviously overthought the entire issue. I have no idea if it's even possible to follow with what just verbally spewed through this dark keyboard, but it wasn't meant for anyone but me.
Normally I erase when I write insights to myself. It's hard, wanting to be completely open, but feeling the strong need for censure. Not just for me, but for other people's sakes.
I so badly want to integrate the pieces of me into one reconciled being.
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This week has proven to be full of developments.
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I'm fairly certain I have written previously about the assessment, and pre-treatment assessment that I went through for the study on Dialectal Behavioral Therapy for women with Borderline Personality Disorder and PTSD who self-harm or have suicidal ideation. That is a mouthful, but I land in the category. What a double edged sword. I absolutely detest that I can say that I land in that category, but then glad also that I do, because I actually feel as though I have a chance to get the true help that I avidly desire.
On the plus side, I got $20 for spending hours upon hours devastatingly disecting some of the most traumatic events that have ever happened to my life and the effects of them on my actions.
Bought myself Fast Food. Yes Buddy. Nothing like the taste of greasy and unhealthy food to get the emotional juices flowing! Of course, in addition I also was accepted into the year long program, and subsequently introduced to I'm hoping the best therapist I could have asked for.
At our first meeting (only last wednesday) I made a series of profound promises. Profound for me.
1. I would buy popsicles. Lots of popsicles, whos purpose is to focus attention in times of frustration when I would normally start self-harming. Most people don't know I do that- usually because I do it in ways that most people don't think of. The most visualized form of self harm is cutting. I don't do that. Not since I was 17. It's hard to admit it's been 10 years. But most people know that I pick at scabs. What they don't know is that most of the times, the wounds I'm scabbing from I created myself.
2. I would no longer self-harm. I have no idea how I am going to be able to not do this for a year. It's almost second nature, and have had to already stop myself a multitude of times realizing what I was about to or in the process of doing. The popsicles have helped a lot. Reading books has helped a LOT. Anything really that keeps me from being emotionally charged in a negative level.
3. For the next year, absolutely no attempts at suicide. I found this both hard and easy to promise to. I do not generally want to die. Both times I have made an aggressive attempt at ending my life were under fairly extreme circumstances of extreme inner turmoil. I have never made a "look at me I'm hurting." type of suicide attempt, I have only attempted suicide with the motive to die. I have made one other passive suicide attempt-- stopping my medications. While I know I would not just keel over from stopping them, I also know the weakness of my immune system and my body, as witnessed by immediately getting an intense case of shingles, which spread into meningitis- and coming down with a respiratory infection after that. But I don't know the future, and I feel hesitant to make that promise. Maybe I just wanted to reserve the right to say whether my life is worth living or not- Either way I did promise to not kill myself, so I WILL live to be 28.
4. I promised to go back on my slough of medications. There is part of me that has been badgered by many people that my decision to relinquish the medical system I have been entrenched in for the almost last 5 years is not only bad, but completely irresponsible and bordering on reprehensible. For quite a few people it is unconscionable that I should refuse the western medical system when it "has worked so well for me." And while I do not deny that I am better off alive than dead (at least 7 out of 10 times I'd say), I am also left with the quality of life and movement that makes it hard to appreciate being alive. I want to, obviously, otherwise I wouldn't have continued to seek out the program. At the same time it is difficult to say anything I feel with a 100% clarity of conviction in any specific direction.
5. I would buy ice, and a bowl, and when I am overwhelmed, to literally dunk my face in ice water. I have done this at least twice already since wednesday, and the effect, I'm sure, has been the desired one because the overwhelming emotion disappears in a matter of moments, replaced by an extremely cold face, and a wet hairline. It is hard, to force yourself to put your face in a bowl of ice water. I think that lends in part to its effectiveness. You have to focus on a number of different things and none of them are glaring raw emotion. Before my mom left today, I put a bowl of icewater next to my bed, because if it isn't in front of me, the chances of me thinking about it in the throes of emotional upheavel are like my dog suddenly sprouting elephant ears and performing circus acts. Such was the case last night, my mom thankfully coming to my aid and bringing up the ice bowl while I was lingering on an extreme emotional cusp.
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I know I am going to be a sloppy mess for awhile. Even today mom and I had an argument, when just last night I surprised her with an 'unbirthday' since I had been in too much pain to do anything but stay in bed. I had run out of every last bit of my pain meds, and no matter how much I had twisted it out from the beginning of February this last week, the taper was still too fast after having been on them for far too long. Not to mention I am just flat in pain. Those two elements do not lend for a very mobile or happy Maria. No, not a happy Maria indeed.
Last night was worse than many- today I even got ahold of my therapist for some extra coaching I guess it's called. It helped at the time to know she is there for me. She responded quickly to my text. I wonder if she knows part of the reason I texted her was just to see if she is real- I mean, if she really does mean to stick with me for the year.... I'm so afraid to trust her, but she made it so easy. I see her again next Wednesday, and I have no idea how that is going to go. I'm not ready to write about last night quite yet.
I have a million feelings brewing about the topic, but... in the meantime...
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I bought a NookColor from Barnes and Noble. I absolutely ADORE that I can listen to Pandora while I read. I have spent a vast majority of today reading and listening to classical piano. Ok. I am done writing. I want to keep reading about how the handsome king squares off with the evil-doers and then makes sweet sweet looooooove to his new queen. HA. Romances. *chuckle*
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