A moment in a thought

My thoughts, in my life, of adoption and other such things

Depression is a bitch October 1, 2009

Filed under: Depression,life,Mental illness,Self acceptance,thoughts — Jessie @ 1:21 am
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Yep, you heard me.  It really is.  I have been struggling with depression since I was probably about 14 years old.  I don’t think it has ever really and truly gone away.  Sometimes I like to think that I feel better, and sometimes I REALLY do feel better.  Sometimes I think I might actually be free and clear of being just plain freaking miserable.

But alas, no, the depression always seems to creep its way back.

I have tried antidepressants, and yeah, they do help.  Really they do.  And really, I probably should be on them.  But I have no health insurance, no job at the moment, no money.  So it makes getting things, even simple medications, very difficult.

So I deal with depression.

Someone I know recently told me that in order to not be depressed anymore, I just had to catch myself when I started to feel like I was headed downwards emotionally.  She told me to make a list of things I liked to do that made me happy, and when I started to feel that down turning, to do the things on the list.  She gave me ideas like watching a comedy, and thinking of the really great moments in my life.

Well sure, that works… sometimes!  But not all the time.  Because like I said, depression is a bitch.

It makes me hate me.  Unfortunately I do hate me, especially when I am depressed.

When I am depressed, its hard to see past my faults.  I am totally socially inept when it comes to people.  I don’t understand why this is.  The closest explanation I have is that I never had the opportunities to learn proper social skills.  I didn’t really have any friends when I was little, and the few that I did got so annoyed with me, they would just give up.  I had one, and still have one, who just sorta accepts me for me.  That always amazed me.  But anyway, I didn’t have friends, my parents were USELESS when it came to trying to learn how to be a normal human.  My mother was uber strict about everything, so trying to figure out what was right and wrong was pretty much a hopeless cause since EVERYTHING I did was wrong to her.  In middle and high school I did get some friends.  But they were all like me, loners, hopeless, depressed, stoners who just sort of moseyed on through the day until they could get high, or go to sleep, or do something insanely stupid that would be amusing for a few minutes.  Even then, even with the loners, I was a loner.  I have many of these people as friends on facebook, and even the ones I considered to be some of my best friends, don’t know me at all.  Don’t know the slightest thing about me.  Probably don’t really care.  It hurts to know that I never really connected with ANYONE.  It hurts to know that is probably the main reason WHY I have no idea, now, how to hold on to a real relationship.

I have no social skills.  I am 27 years old and I don’t really know how to be NORMAL.  I mean I am not completely hopeless, but I struggle with basics, like how to react when people say things.  How NOT to say the first damn thing that comes to my head.  When to talk, when to shut up, when to give advise, when to listen.  All these things are learned by trial and error.  I didn’t have any of that, and now that I am older, not many people have the patience to deal with it.  I suppose I am not the only one.  But I guess that many people don’t really CARE that they don’t seem to have these basic skills, me on the other hand, I do.  I thank GOD every day for my Daddy (my bdad) for he is the only one who seems to have enough patience to not only love me unconditionally, put up with me, support me, be my best friend AND try to tell me WHEN I do something wrong, so that maybe I can fix it.  God bless the small miracles in life.

It’s like the core of my very personality is just defective, and try as I might, I can’t seem to make it completely right.

My body sucks, years of depression (theres the bitch again!) have taken its toll on me.  Everyone handles things differently.  I sleep, a lot, and eat.  Its my vice, my addiction I suppose I could call it.  Funny I can spill my heart and soul out but can’t talk about the fact that I have an eating disorder.  Due to this, the general nature of food is when you eat it in excess, you gain weight.  I have been getting fat since I was 12.  I succeeded fairly quickly.  And now my body is something I like to think belongs in a circus with little kids staring at me.  Okay so I am not that bad, but I am fat.  Fat enough to not really fit into clothes right.  Fat enough that I can’t just buy a bra at wal mart anymore.  Fat enough that EVERYTHING is difficult, that EVERYTHING doesn’t really fit.  Things people who are of more normal size don’t think twice about.  Like airline seats, lawn chairs, and sitting next to someone thats bigger than a toothpick at the movies.  Its embarassing, it’s the one thing I hate most about myself.  My Daddy is my saving grace on that too, he eats like I do.  Only somehow blessidly, as he is a man, is not QUITE as fat as I am.  But I am watching him die, from diabetes, from high blood pressure, from heart disease.  Its not a fun thing.  And knowing what is doing it to him, and knowing that I am headed right there.  He is 48 years old, he shouldn’t be as sick as he is, but I am going to be sicker than him.

Depression does this.  And it works in mysterious ways since no two people react quite the same.  But its a disease none the less, one that eats at you from the inside out.

And for me, no one knows.  NO ONE knows.  Sure some people know I am depressed, but no one has a clue when I am in my room alone that really I am curled up within myself.  No one knows how often I wish I wasn’t born, because I feel like everyone I know would have benefited from this.  The really deep depression makes me feel like I just shouldn’t be here, that I was just a god damned f’ up to begin with so why the heck am I here?  What purpose do I serve other than to cause others stress and pain?  It makes me so angry that I just can’t seem to be the person I want to be.  I feel like life was wasted on me.  That maybe my aparents would have been happier if they had just adopted a kid that actually FIT in their family, one that tried harder, did better, and didn’t screw up all the time.  Maybe my bmom would feel better if I had just had the life she wanted me to have, if I just WAS that kid that could fit.  If I was actually a well established human being that she actually LIKED.  The grown up one that could be her friend and not annoy the f@%k out of her.  If I wasn’t born, than no one would even HAVE to know I had been here.  No one would have to have suffered the pain that I cause, no one would be any wiser.  Maybe they would be happier.

Then I wouldn’t have to hurt.

Because G Damn it, depression hurts.  It makes me think these things, it makes me FEEL them inside!

My only blessing is that somewhere deep inside me I do know the truth.  I know that I am worth something, and that my aparents probably wouldn’t have been happy with anyone.  My bmom is probably happy somewhere that I am alive, if for nothing else that she has someone to email all the time, and an eternal connection to my bdad.  That I didn’t REALLY cause undue pain to my bdad just because I am alive.  That I DO deserve to be here, and I DO deserve to be happy.  I DO come out of that shell, I am lucky, because I REALLY DO.  The deep depression, the deep dark nasty life sucking mean bitch depression isn’t there all the time.  I am blessed with that, because sometimes I look back and wonder how the hell I even survived that.

I think I survived because when everything is always dark, you get used to it, you get adjusted.  But now, now I get some light, I get some happy, I get some sunshine, and optimism and love.  I hold on to those for dear life when it gets dark.  Because now that I know what light is, the dark seems so much darker, and so much deeper.  But I hold on to that light.

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Where is the open window here? September 14, 2009

Filed under: Depression,life,reflection,Things,thoughts,Uncategorized — Jessie @ 6:24 pm

God I have no freaking patience today.

Not that I ever really have lots of it.  Through the years I have had different kinds of patience for different things.  But I think that has all just worn thin.  I am so just FED UP with my life.  Just fed up.  I have been for what seems like years now, and nothing I add to it, subtract from it, try to do with it, seems to change that.

I have had these brief periods where life seemed to be okay.  A little over a year ago I finished my degree, got a good job and started making a decent wage with a company that actually offered health insurance.  YES!  Finally.  I got my butt through school, that was hellish in and of itself.  And got myself OUT of my daycare job, which was great, because I just needed to be DONE with kids.  I used to have tons of patience for kids… but after seven years of working with them, my patience wore out, and I needed to do something else.  Went to school, got my degree in graphic design, and landed myself a nice KID FREE office job.  It really looked like things were going to start to look up.

OF COURSE NOT!

I lost that job just three months later, I am a massive fuck-up.  And I thought to myself, okay God, when you close a door you always open a window right?  There has got to be a reason for this.  There has got to be a reason why I just lost the best job I had ever gotten, and my best chance at actually making something of myself in the field I went to school for.  Because it was in the middle of the worst economic crisis since the great depression.  There has GOT to be some reason for this bull shit!  I got let go one week after my health insurance, which I had for the first time in five years, took effect.  There had to be some reason.

Almost a year later I have still yet to find that reason.  I have been living off of unemployment insurance and the money I make watching a little girl named Zoey for a whole whopping five dollars an hour.  I have not been able to find ANYTHING in my field, had one group interview for a job at a UPS store that also did graphics work, and there were people there that not only had their bachelors degrees (I have my associates) but also experience in the field.  My crappy three months at my great job don’t add up to much as experience.  Which let me know JUST how bad the market is for graphic designers.  My Degree is essentially one VERY expensive waste of paper.  F’ing GREAT!  All that work, all that heartache, all that freaking money!  For nothing.  For absofreakinglutly nothing.

Now I have six weeks until my unemployment runs out.  Six weeks is nothing but a blink of an eye.  I might have another extension, in fact I am pretty sure I do, but I can’t risk it.  And besides… back to the patience thing, INEED TO BE DONE WITH KIDS!  I love Zoey, but Zoey is a kid, and I need to be done with them.  I just do, for my dwindling patience sake, for my sanity sake.  And I need to go back to having a normal schedule again.  I have meetings I want/need to go to at night.  But I have to watch Zoey from 2-8.  Kinda kills that since most of the meetings take place anywhere from 5 to 730.  Can’t make any of those.

And I just can’t take the impatience anymore.  I do my very very best not to take it out on little Zo.  I do love her, but gosh shes a little kid, and she gets into EVERYTHING CONSTANTLY.  Which grates on me, and creates a feeling within me that I am not a big fan of.  That feeling of rage… thats what happens when I hold in my feelings of impatience, that feeling of rage.  And most of the time the only release I have to let it out on is myself.  So my impatience turns into frustration, and that frustration just turns inward toward myself.  Which makes me even more angry at me for everything I screw up on to begin with.  Its like this horrible never ending cycle.

I guess what frustrates me the most is this feeling is not new, in fact, in my life, it seems like its ALWAYS CONSTANT.  I had that reprieve when I got my good job.  It was like a sigh of relief, I could feel my life setting into something that I could handle.  But no, as per usual, it just slipped away, right through my fingers, like a big joke on me.  Like the universe was showing me JUST what it felt like to take that sigh of relief, just long enough for me to miss it when it was gone, and proceeded to take it away from me.  Reminds me of my childhood, my parents used to love to do that to me in punishment.  They took anything good I had away from me.  The worst parts of my life I spent grounded with literally nothing, they would even take my music away from me.

So thats what all this feels like, a big freaking punishment, a punishment because I just seem to be the biggest f up that ever lived.  Because life never seems to stop punishing me.

There is a hopeful employment oppourtunity, I have spent so long sending in resumes and calling places and gotten no where.  But there is a temporary staffing agency at one of the hospitals near me.  Hopefully I can get hired there.  Its just a temporary position, no health insurance or benefits but it pays alright.  And maybe it will be alright for a while.  Lord knows what I will do after that, if I even manage to get hired there.  But for now, that will have to work.

Because thank goodness, that job is blissfully CHILD FREE.  Maybe I could manage to get some of my patience back.

I just wish my life wasn’t just so damn FRUSTRATING all the time!

 

What does it feel like to be a borderline? September 13, 2009

Thats an interesting question.   And I could answer it in so many different ways.

Its been a long time since I have defined myself as a borderline, an adoptee, an anything really.  For a while now, I have sorta just accepted some semblance of me and described myself as that. But there are parts of me I suppose that may never really go away.

I read about Borderline Personality Disorder and realize that even if per say, I don’t qualify for the diagnosis, what it feels like to be a borderline will never be far from my mind.   I will never forget what it felt like for me.  Hell still feels sometimes.  (although I feel like I need to put a side note here, that I have recovered from having to feel a lot of these things anymore, I am a lucky one)

It feels like being lost.

It feels like not belonging in your own body, in your own skin.  Sometimes its even hard to feel like you really do exist, that this body you live in exists, and that it is somehow connected to you and to the actions that you put it through.

It feels like sometimes pain is the only way to make you FEEL like you exsist again.  Of course I am not talking mental pain, no that is something that is felt on such a deep level, you have to close it off just to remain somewhat functional.  No physical pain, physical pain is the connection to the reality of everything.  Without it, sometimes you can get compleatly lost in the non-reality of the disconnection you feel.

It feels like your mind is disconnected from everything sometimes, like you can’t quite get a grip on anything because there is just no way to grasp it, instead it just slips through your fingers just when you think you might get ahold of it.

It feels as though other people don’t really exsist once they are gone.  As soon as they walk out the door, or hell even just go to bed in another room, it feels like they don’t exist anymore.  Of course somewhere in that rational mind you know they still exist!  But you can’t feel them any more.  Like a light switch that just gets shut off, every feeling you have, every feeling they give you, dissapears as soon as they do.  As if every essance of there very being is gone until you see them again.  And when its that one person, the one that is the center of your world at that moment, Sometimes the pain of just missing someone is so unbelievable, its like the inner parts of your soul will just come apart until you can just know that they exsist once again. So sometimes you pretend they are there, just so you won’t have to feel what it feels like when they aren’t.  And of course, there is that rational brain telling you that you are nuts… and just deal with it.  But the longing is still there, no matter how many times you try to rationalize your way through it, the longing is still there.  The missing is still there.

It feels like lonelyness… because once you are alone, you are ALONE.  You can’t feel those who love you, you can’t feel their love towards you.  After they are gone, its like they don’t love you anymore.  After all, if they are gone, how can their love remain.  Lonelyness is so central, so inside the core, it feels as though you practically are the only person who exsists in the world, and yet that existance is so fragile, so unreal, that the lonelyness becomes your exsistance, and soon it feels as if the whole world has gone.  And without others, your own exsistance fades, hence herein comes the physical pain, as said before, physical pain can become the only tie you have to actual exsistance.

It feels like dark… dark dark dark.  Like all the light in the world was just somehow sucked out.   All the energy and all the hope, just gone, sucked away to destinations unknown.  Only sometimes then there is light, LIGHT!  So damn bright it almost blinds you.  Your eyes… your body are unaccustomed to so much light and it practiacally blinds you.  Happy is just as stong an emotion as sad, only even more scary.  Because I never quite knew what to do with that light… and before you know it, snap, its gone.

It feels like being compleatly out of control.  Anger, rage, at NOTHING sometimes.  But there is no hope in controlling that anger, none at all.  Let it out, and it is distructive, violent, dangerous.  Keep it in and it makes the darkness even darker, until finally everything just goes black…

or RED

And watch out for red… because when RED comes there is no help.  When there is red, there is no rational, only rage, uncontrollable, uncomprehensible, inexplainable, rage.

It feels like death, like death of your soul, death of your mind.  And you can’t get death OUT of your mind.  Can’t walk by a window without wondering what would happen if you jumped out.  Can’t look at your own wrists without knowing how simple it should be.  Can’t stop obsessing about how or when or if it would work.  Cant look at a bottle of pills without seeing death first.

It feels like black and white, and nothing in between… well except maybe red.  But everything, everyone, every place good or bad.  And every moment the black and white changes.  Good self, bad self, good mother, bad mother.  And somehow the ability to keep the good and the bad compleatly separate.  You can love someone you hate, and hate someone you love.  But never at the same time.  You either love them, or hate them.  But that can change in an instant.  Borderlines can love someone abusive… and be okay with it.

It feels like confusion, like never knowing the answer to a question.  Even one as simple as whats your favorite color?  What IS my favorite color?  Is it black, I’m wearing black today I think I like black.  But Purple is nice too, but wait maybe I like blue… do I like blue?

It feels like insanity, because through it all Borderlines are just intelligent normal people… with some kind of messed up brain sequence.  We know we are messed up, but don’t know how to make it stop.  Don’t know how to just BE NORMAL.  Don’t know how to just be ourselves.  Have no off button… have no on button.  Have no button that turns the black and white into gray.  Have no button that makes it easier when someone walks away.  Have nothing like that.  But do have an intense need to be loved… which proves difficult for others to do.  Which in turn makes our lives more difficult too.  It feels like insanity because you just can’t understand what the hell is wrong with you.  Why you can’t make sense of anything or anyone.  Why people look at you funny and ask you what the hell is wrong with you.  It feels like a complete lack of understanding and place in the world.

Because it feels like being able to function completely normally while no one around you has a clue.

No one around you knows the war you fight within.

 

The death of childhood December 17, 2008

Life has thrown many obstacles at me, as I am sure is the same for many others.  Some people just seem to go through life without too much difficulty, without ever knowing what it feels like to be abused, depressed, suicidal or any of those other fun things that come along.  

I on the other hand, am not one of those people.  Because of that I have been in therapy for what seems like an eternity but is really only six years.  I have a myriad of diagnosis including chronic depression, PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) and Borderline Personality Disorder.   However, I don’t really think of myself by those things.  In all reality I am just a person, thats all it is.  A person with things I have to deal with, and have dealt with, tremendously well all considering.  I am a completely different person now than I was six years ago, three years ago, even one year ago.  However, some things just never cease to amaze me.  New things pop up that I hadn’t even thought about.  

One of those was in a therapy session I had yesterday.  My therapist asked me to write a letter to my mother, and start it with Dear Mom, I hate when you…. and list all the things from my childhood that I hated when she did.  So I did.  I started with the pen to the paper and Dear Mom, I hate when you scream at me… and so on from there.  Without too much time passing, I found myself in tears and with a list that was four pages long.  The saddest part was that none of the things were one time only things.  They were ALL things that she had done to me, more than once, and not I hate it when you wouldn’t let me go to so and sos house.  Nothing like that, all things that were regulars in the list of I hate it when yous… 

When I got to the fourth page I stopped.  Simply because I was crying too hard and I didn’t want to go on.  I closed the notebook I had written it in and didn’t think about it again.  Didn’t remember a lot of the things I put in that list because I was writing from the heart and not from my head.  

In Session yesterday my Therapist, J, made me read the letter out loud.  I surprised even myself when I had a hard time doing so.  I don’t know why, I guess because A.  I knew it would hurt her, and B.  I knew it would hurt ME.  I knew that reading that list would transfer what I had written from a secret place locked deep in my heart, to a conscious place in my head.  I didn’t really want to do that.  I needed to do it.  

I did it.  In reading the list of things I myself wasn’t even ready to hear, I made yet another realization.  Well really J made the realization through the tears in her eyes that I didn’t want to put there.  My mother was abusive.  

I was abused.  Not just sexually abused, that I already know about… a little hard to forget, even though my mind had done a good job of it.  But I was abused, by the person who was supposed to love and nurture me and care for me forever and ever.  Not physically, no she didn’t hit me any more than the slaps when I did something wrong.  No she was verbally and emotionally abusive.  

I don’t know why this comes as a surprise to me.  But it does.  It hurts, it brings up things I don’t want to feel.  My mother was abusive.  Not an easy thing to deal with.  

Particularly since the worst part of it is, I love my mother.  I really do.  I don’t know why, I guess that deep part within me that loves her because she is my mother.  I love her because she isn’t ALL bad.  She isn’t a terrible awful person who belongs somewhere in the pits of hell.  Which is hard for me, because I would think that all abusers belong somewhere in the pits of hell.  

My mother does not.  She is a good person <BAH> really, she is.  Well I guess I should say she TRYS to be a good person.  She was the girl scout leader, the mom who always went on field trips, the one every other kid loved!  She made the best cookies, she made the best projects, she was creative, she is all sorts of good things.  

However, she is also abusive.  It wasn’t on purpose, I KNOW that.  All she ever wanted in the world was to be a mother (I know right?  Barf) I just wasn’t the right daughter for her.  Too bad there isn’t a store or something where you can pick the right kid.  Had things been different perhaps it would have worked better, but I was just not the right kid for her. 

I do not allow myself to still be abused, we have come to this relationship that seems to work, where we both pretend that the past never happened and we are just this happy family la te da.  

So how does one go about dealing with something like this?  Dealing with a rationalization that comes in adulthood.  I guess I just keep going about doing what I am doing and hoping the eventually the majority of my demons will settle.  That hopefully I will know how to be someone that is not anywhere NEAR my mother.   I can’t make the past better, I can’t make it different.  I can keep going toward the future but I wonder how to effectively let go of the past, without burying it in a non healthy way, as I have done for so long.

 

Our scars remind us, that the past is real… July 17, 2007

Filed under: Adoption,Adoption reunion,Depression,life,Self Discovery,thoughts — Jessie @ 9:25 pm

…. I tear my heart open, just to feel. 

Oh but I have felt so much lately.  Felt so much I haven’t even been blogging.  Felt so much I re taught myself how not to feel… because I didn’t want to. 

I have pretty much cut off the world from the me that is right now.  Sure I go to the forum, sure I email, sure I speak.  But no one knows what I have been feeling lately, no one. 

Not even my therapist, who for weeks I was avoiding speaking truths, until I finally broke and discovered that pretending to be strong doesn’t always equal being strong. 

I wanted to be strong, I wanted this world, and everything thats in it right now, not to touch me.  I wanted to be this big strong rock of a person, I wanted to be mature, to be strong, to be everything that I wish for myself to be. 

In doing so, I have been letting go of myself piece by piece. 

I told myself I didn’t need support, I was wrong. 

I need it. 

Even if I just write, even if I just speak, even if I just something. 

Because this not letting these things out is killing me, slowly, but its killing me. 

I thought that allowing myself to feel, allowing myself to be emotional was the same as allowing myself to be fucked up, to be crazy, to be mentally ill. 

I am NOT any of those things… I am just me.  Sad little me, but me none the less.  And keeping these things inside is what is making me crazy. 

Life right now, is hell in a handbasket.  Most days I wake up and wish I hadn’t.   Some days I wish I could just go back to sleep, some days I wish I had never woken up at all.  Some days I just wish I had never been born. 

Oh yes, there are plenty of days I wish I had never been born.  The way I figure it, it would have made EVERYONE else’s life easier, including mine.  No one would have to deal with me, including myself. 

I have tattoos on my wrists… tattoos that remind myself that life is short, but death is an eternity. 

I am tempted to go get choose life… choose life Jessie, choose life. 

And not for an unborn baby, for the baby that was born that is me. 

I have a lot of things to be happy about.  Especially right now, with my bdad… who I just call Dad.   God do I love him, love him so much it scares the shit out of me.  And you know what??  He loves me back, so it doesn’t need to scare me so much, but it still does. 

Its been a long, long time, if ever really, that I have had safe touch from a man.  And this man, my Dad, oh he loves to touch, almost as much as I do, shit he will even wrap his arms around me in the grocery store.  He’s big enough to make me feel small, and that is quite a feat in and of itself.  He does it though… he loves to watch musicals… we watched Chicago together snuggled in on the couch.  Loves his salt water tank, we can spend hours just staring at it. 

Most of all, he just loves me.  I am not used to it, not at all.  I don’t know as if I have ever been looked at the way he looks at me… the way he just looks in to my eyes with love.  I feel it, just by a gaze, I can feel it.  Its amazing. 

So what the hell do I have to be so depressed about?

Oh just about every other shitty ass thing in my life.  My job, it sucks… I got into trouble, and now my work environment is hellish.  Its been hellish for a while, but its even more hellish now.  I have decided that working with children, at least for me, at this moment, is akin to working in the seventh circle of hell.  I can’t do it anymore, I just C A N T. 

Unfortunately I don’t have much of a choice.  I am looking for another job, but the job market isn’t exactly brimming with opportunities for an unskilled, uneducated young woman.  I don’t have a college degree, and I don’t have any experience in anything except… children. 

My brand new car, my brand spanking new beautiful baby blue jelly bean, has two major dents/scratches/slashes whatever.  Things that despite my insurance, I can’t afford to fix.  And because there are two of them, my insurance is throwing me two deductibles… that equals $1,000.  Oh yeah, hang on let me just go out to my money tree… oh wait thats right, I don’t have one. 

So my brand new car doesn’t look so brand new anymore.  No, no it doesn’t.  It looks like its been through a bit of a war.  I want to cry just looking at it.   Fixing it?  I am going to try… I have 550.00 from the insurance company to cover $1,550 worth of damage… we shall see what ‘fixing’ it turns out to be.  And I have to wonder, what the hell is so wrong with me?  That I can’t just have something NICE for once in my life.

Oh yeah, and I can’t afford the damn thing, the car I mean.  My adad was SOOO into me getting the thing, I will help you, I will help you.  Thanks dad.  My credit card is maxed, my rent is over due, my electric bill hasn’t been paid in months, the only reason I have internet/phone is because I only have one phone… and my sister also has a line on the same plan.  My insurance is automatically deducted… and my car payment?  Well I am just making that. 

I am in so far over my head, without a life vest, I am drowning.  I can’t even afford to see my therapist, I figured I am a big girl, I don’t need her.  Yeah fucking right.  

I don’t know what to do anymore, the depression that I have dealt with for years is creeping back on me.  Yeah sure life with Dad is great, but life with Dad lasts for exactly two days out of the week.  That and he lives over 80 miles away… 80 miles… gas = $3.00 a gallon?  Oh yeah, cuz I can afford that. 

And it breaks my heart when I have to leave, I hate it, because its like back to reality Jessie.  Back to this life where everything sucks and you really wish you could just crawl in a hole until Friday reappears again.  

I am staying with my asister at my amoms house for three weeks.  That in and of itself is a bit of a trigger.  And I love my sister, but being with anyone ALL the time is difficult for me, much less with her ALL the time.  My sister, while not ‘retarded’ does have some special needs.  She needs someone here, I am used to not having to answer to anyone.  Its difficult for me, and she doesn’t understand the concept of a lot of things… like money.  Like the fact that I have N O N E. 

Its a little bit like having a full time babysitting job, without any of the bennies.  Like my own bed to sleep in.  I have to sleep in my amoms bed, in my amoms bedroom.  The effect that sleeping in my Meemo’s bed has on me??  Exact opposite of that effect is the effect that sleeping in my amoms bed has on me.  Bleck. 

I have no one really IRL (in real life) to talk to.  I have a buddy, A.  I love him to death, and he is cool to hang around with.  Cool to shoot the shit with, not so much when I feel like I am drowning in my own life. 

My other friends?  I really don’t have any.  One who is very caught up in her own life, always has been.  I see her maybe twice a year, and thats about it.  The other… well the other is a relic of a best friend that I had in the days when being a borderline was the story of my life.  I don’t even consider myself borderline anymore, don’t qualify for the diagnosis. 

When a diagnosis is all you have in common with someone, and you loose that… you loose what you have in common. 

My Meemo?  I don’t like to burden her with the shit in my head.  It scares me sometimes what she will think, react, say.  I don’t ever know what her reaction is going to be to me.  I never know, and I don’t like the unknown, so I avoid it.  She doesn’t like emotional… got that.  So I don’t do emotions… I am strong, I can shut them off!

Just not forever. 

Hopefully just writing this helps… I have the forum.  For any of you adoptees out there who aren’t on the forum, you must be.  Its like a safe haven for us adoptees to talk about… well… being an adoptee.   Click here for forum

I haven’t been sharing enough on there either.  I need to start opening myself up again, for my own well being.  After all, emotions aren’t bad, they just are.  I deserve to feel whatever I need to feel.  Right now I feel suffocated, suffocated by my own circumstances in my life right now. 

I realized, that I am doing a lot of the suffocating to myself.

 

I’m A Crab Apple May 29, 2007

I hate being so moody!!!  

I am a crabby apple today.  I guess this wouldn’t be so bad if there were an actual REASON for being a crabby apple!!  I just get in these moods at times I guess.  I don’t understand it, and to be perfectly honest, I wish it would go away. 

I have dealt with borderline personality disorder for years now.  If I had to say when I GOT the disorder, I would think it was around 15, when I first started cutting I guess.  I had all the other symptoms of it I guess, but the cutting is what really threw it over the edge.  

I was not in therapy at the time, I didn’t first enter professional therapy until perhaps a year or so later, at 16.  Late in my 16th year.  I didn’t get diagnosed with the disorder until I was 20.  

My first diagnosis was depression, just give her anti-depressants and she will be fine.  My first therapist sent me off a year later to college saying I would be fine.  She listed me as not in need of therapy anymore.  

Oh REALLY!  

I guess if you don’t SPEAK to your therapists… they don’t really KNOW whats going on.  What a silly thought.  

My secondary diagnosis was PTSD, stemming from the abuse I endured from the time I was nine until my fourteenth birthday.  Abuse I endured from my cousin.  I wish I could say he is an evil being, but this just isn’t true.  He isn’t inherently evil, just messed up in the head.  He was in a car accident when he was two, and hasn’t been ‘normal’ since.  He just doesn’t have the brain capacity to understand that what he did was wrong.  

At least this is how its always explained to me.  He didn’t have the brain capacity. 

Doesn’t make me any less f^*ked up because of it.  

Oh well, I learned to deal with it, just as I learned to deal with just about everything else that’s been handed my way.  
I got the diagnosis of borderline at 20 years old, when I was landed in a day treatment program in a psychiatric hospital after threatening to kill myself.  Whew, I’m just spilling it all today.  I will never forget that day… the day I handed a note to my boss explaining I wasn’t going to be at work for two weeks… because I was going to the hospital.  “why?” “whats going on, are you ok?  Why do you have to go to the hospital?” 

Oh yeah, I am fine, just crazy thats all.

And for the first time, something in my life made sense.  Borderline Personality Disorder.  Finally!  Finally someone was telling me something that I had know a long long time. 

I was one screwed up individual.  

And I finally had a name to put to it,  BPD. 

After that I read every book I could find on the subject, everything I could read, everything I could discover that might help me get through this.  For everything that I am, I have always been a fighter.  

I met my current therapist there too, thank god for that.  Very few things in my life have ever gone smoothly, but finding my therapist, and finding my biological mother were among the two easiest.  

After that, life hasn’t been a pancake, in fact, going through therapy has been probably even harder than living with myself the way I was.  The thing is, I knew I COULDN’T live with myself the way I was.  I knew I wouldn’t survive it.  

Finding out I had BPD gave me hope, it gave me hope because while it is one of the most difficult mental illnesses to treat, it is treatable, curable if you will.  

Only there is no magic cure, there is no ‘maintenece’ to being borderline, no medications that can fix the symptoms.  Just a whole hell of a lot of hard work.  

And I have worked hard, very hard.  Gone places I never wanted to go, spoke things that I never wanted to speak.  
Learning to live with BPD is like learning to live all over again, starting from the beginning. 

You have to learn new coping mechanisms, you have to learn new relationship strategies.  You have to learn, basically, how to be a normally functioning adult.  Because with BPD, thats one of the biggest things that’s missing, that whole normally functioning thing.  

Granted, even at my worst, I was always high functioning.  I held a job, I lived on my own.  I had relationships, crazy messed up relationships, but relationships none the less.  

Things have changed so much.  So much that sometimes it is scary to me.  So much that when these little tail ends of the BPD still get to me, its frustrating.  Its frustrating to no end.  

This moodiness is frustrating to no end.  When there is so much else going on in your life its hard to see being moody for what it really is.  When you spend every day swinging from one extreme to the other, its hard to see the forrest through the trees.  

Now I see the forrest, and the trees.  I see my life, and I see myself.  I guess thats where the frustration comes in.  I wish I could kick the last of this thing.  Its like that last 10 pounds you just can’t lose, or the last flecks of dirt you just CAN’T get in the dustpan.  

Perhaps it is just something I am always going to have to deal with.  Perhaps it will fade as time goes on, or I will learn to deal with it more.  

Perhaps its just because this whole adoption/reunion thing really kicked up a LOT of those little flecks of dirt that don’t want to go in the dustpan.  However, this whole adoption/reunion was like that last step for me.  I NEEDED to get through this so I could move on.  I needed to meet her so I could find myself.  So its hard for me to know if that’s all the rest of this is, the final bit, or some kicked up dirt. 

Perhaps it is just me.  I am not sure.  

Whatever it is, you can bet I will learn to deal with it.