tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53216738947764174032024-02-21T04:15:35.165+11:00ZestlessnessZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-14810533095914449392009-12-18T16:30:00.003+11:002009-12-18T16:54:36.528+11:00PanicThings have been.....bearable I suppose.<br />Up and down, and not particularly smooth, but the pieces have held together, stitched somewhat roughly for a time.<br /><br />But now.....<br /><br />I've got to be more careful, with anything good comes a crash of seven times the magnitude, I've got to be more careful, not let things rise about the mundane and moderately nice.<br /><br />The panic is tangible, my cheeks are hot, my eyes water, my pulse races and blood roars in my ears. The air is filled with a white static that presses and closes in over my skin, is sucked into my nose and mouth, making me scared to breath above a quick shallow sigh.<br /><br />I've had the shakes so often lately; trembling hands, wobbly legs, flushed cheeks.<br /><br />Panic is so demanding. You cannot endure it, wait it out, hope it passes, it consumes you, every second, its behind your eyes, in the base of your throat, an insistent pressure that rises, ever threatening to climax somehow, clamouring for release, except the only release is pain, pain or oblivion and these are dangerous goals.<br /><br />I scratch because it stalls the shakes and cools the heat of my tears. It makes breathing slowly possible, waking; bearable, but pain is only a shield and I'm terrified of anything that might trigger a more violent climax....<br /><br />People talk about being pushed over the edge, about standing on the brink of sanity as if it were the sharp edge of a cliff - how far over the edge can you hang before you can't climb back up?<br /><br />I don't know where I am with the meds, I've been back on the prescribed dose for a few weeks, but the comforting numbness is not present, they do nothing for the panic, and the edges are still too sharp.<br /><br />I can't think of a way to find relief, I want to run away but....Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-75633886521899954602009-10-13T21:43:00.003+11:002009-10-14T14:34:26.490+11:00FWD/ForwardFWD/Forward is a new blog centered around the intersection between feminism and disabled activism.<br /><br />Amanda <a href="http://disabledfeminists.com/?p=272&cpage=1#comment-105">writes</a> from the perspective of someone with an invisible disability - fibromyalgia.<br /><br />It was very familiar, i responded with:<br /><br /><p style="font-style: italic;">One of my friends, who knows a bit about my mental state, has a habit of saying – ‘you look good today!’ Or, ‘you’re looking better, healthier, thinner!’</p> <p style="font-style: italic;">Among other things I have a near crippling eating disorder, so how he thinks telling me i look thinner is in any way a helpful statement is beyond me. </p> <p style="font-style: italic;">I hate it. I know he means well, but in reality it’s just selfish – he doesn’t want to deal with me being depressed or crazy, so he says ‘you look better!’ to distance himself from it. </p> <span style="font-style: italic;">And what am I supposed to say?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> ‘Actually I’m one step above cowering in a corner today so I’m out having a crack at enjoying myself?’</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> And what am I supposed to do? Not try to look, feel and act better? Isn’t that what you want me to do? Isn’t that the answer to all my problems? Am I supposed to cry and scream at all times like I feel like doing, do you not want me to wear my mask/ I thought you didn’t want to deal with this?</span>Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-89604183267250277592009-10-09T02:26:00.005+11:002009-12-18T16:55:18.067+11:00BreathlessTonight the sky is brilliant with stars, the air is sharp and I can feel my blood thundering in my ears. There's music everywhere and I can SEE everything, FEEL EVERYTHING. I'm higher than the clouds and my body is rampant with desire, no place could be better than exactly where I am at every moment, the night is never-ending. I know I'm talking too fast and smiling too much, and I know if I tried to sit still I'd get goosebumps, just so my skin could move.<br /><br />Yeah, I went off my meds.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-40587580719802454472009-10-05T18:16:00.003+11:002009-10-14T14:33:47.248+11:00Time PassesI don't even know what to write. Nothing exists in my head. I don't write because there's nothing to write.<br /><br />Every day is the same, every day I do nothing.<br />My mind holds no information. Thoughts circle constantly, never leaving me in peace but nothing sticks.<br />NOTHING STICKS.<br />I study, I read two paragraphs and I've forgotten what subject I'm doing. I watch a movie and it doesn't make sense because I can't remember the beginning.<br />I don't whether it's the meds or something else - I don't care.<br /><br />Nothing is coming together, nothing is different, except that it doesn't matter anymore. I'm not happy, I'm not sad, I'm not numb, I'm not anything. I barely am.<br /><br />I count hours, that is all I do.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-41566548201615767402009-09-22T10:45:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:33:30.992+11:00DeflationI felt so good for a few days there, just a few days.<br />Now all the colour in the world has faded and I'm just living in soup again, thick and grey.<br />Nothing matters.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-91047896119750582762009-09-21T11:57:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:33:18.751+11:00PressureThe meds, they've been good. And by good, I'm not sure that I mean they're working as they should, but instead that I feel slightly below manic all of the time, which is, well it's fun, but I feel it might also be dangerous.<br /><br />It takes the edge off, the anxiety, it's much improved, I still have panic attacks, but I've always had to deal with them so it's not so bad I suppose.<br /><br />Everything is sort of floaty, and quite numb, but its not unpleasant. I don't really care about much, I don't really have any motivation, but I get flashes of feeling good which haven't been present for quite some time.<br /><br />I have a lot of physical energy, I can't walk to the kitchen, I have to jog. I don't appear to need sleep, the insomnia has lessened, I sleep most nights, but only for 3 or so hours.<br /><br />I've been wondering what would happen when there was finally some pressure put on me, how I'd cope. Well this morning, the sky fell in and the answer is: not very well. I lost a few hours to crying, shivering and whatever else I get up to in my dissassociative state. The rest of my day will be pretty shaky and tonight I'm certain to dream of razorblades.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-36505056377981867412009-09-11T11:25:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:33:04.887+11:00Little Yellow Happy PillsThings are kind of floaty...Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-17475718460402188672009-09-07T11:43:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:32:42.547+11:00Growing OldSometimes I get sudden flashes of the futility of life; the unstoppable process of aging and the ever-more-quickly passing years punch me full in the face and say "your life will be over before you know it."<br /><br />It takes me by surprise; I'm a planner, a dreamer, the future has always been a vast neverland of possibilities, now I see 30, then 40 - all of a sudden, hijacking all the outrageous excitement of youth, surely wasted.<br /><br />I agonize over every moment already lost to me, especially this past year which has been a blur of pain and delusion.<br /><br />The panic totally grips me, I'm terrified of every day that makes me older.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-83327713146470826502009-09-05T19:47:00.002+10:002009-10-14T14:35:45.278+11:00Crazy Tracy...Ah-Ha!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Yes, it may be the little borderline in me that still seeks her voice..."</span>Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-67217981670811156132009-09-04T16:53:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:32:18.437+11:00MedsSo The Doctor decided what he wanted to give me. Zoloft, which is, as he described it 'a garden variety anti-depressant.' I queried that at first, because people with Bipolar are usually adversely affected by anti-depressants, well that's what I'd read anyway, and the internet always knows better than the doctor. It makes them manic, and encourages cycling - supposedly. So I put this to the doctor, as humbly as I could manage and he said yes indeed, that is true, but everyone is different, and there are different types of Bipolar, and you need, at the moment, something for your depression and anxiety, and that is what this is for.<br /><br />Zoloft is Sertraline, a serotonin uptake inhibitor - which increases the levels of serotonin in your brain. Because I'm a nerd, and I can never stumble across a subject without learning everything about it instantly, I researched it, and every other anti-depressant, mood stabilizer, anti-psychotic and psycho-active drug on the market. The most interesting thing I discerned was that MDMA (the active ingredient in ecstasy) has the same basic effect as Sertraline. In fact, when discussing the side effects of the meds, The Doctor warned me that a sure sign the Bipolar was going to mess the sertraline was if I felt an ecstasy-like high, or any sort of mania.<br /><br />Sertraline in a restricted drug in Australia, it can only be prescribed by people with a specific license to prescribe it - mainly shrinks, this combined with the fact that my health care card reduced the price of 30 x 100mg pills to $5.30 makes me feel very inclined to do unethical things with my meds.<br /><br />Speaking of side-effects, there's a massive long list of them, the most common being nausea, headaches, dizziness and tremors. It also tends to cause either drowsiness or insomnia, the latter particularly in those pre-disposed to mania. The side-effects are supposed to settle down after 2 weeks, and the meds take full effect within 4 weeks.<br /><br />I started taking the starting dose 3 days ago and I haven't slept since.<br />The nausea is like car-sickness and it's unpleasant but not unbearable. The shakes haven't been too bad either, but the headaches are pretty annoying. Everything else seems to be fine except for the fact that I HAVEN'T SLEPT IN 54 HOURS.<br /><br />I used to get insomnia as a young teenager and I had completely forgotten how much it really really sucks huge fucking hairy balls.<br /><br />I'm definitely in some weird low level of mania, I cleaned madly on the first day, talked four times the comprehensible speed for humans and did not feel the slightest bit tired until well into the wee hours of the morning. I'm alert, but my body is pissed off.<br /><br />I think people have the false perception that insomnia means you're not tired. Makes sense. But you still get tired, you just cant rest. All I want to do is sleep, so I lie down......and sleep never comes. I close my eyes, and I just don't sleep. I'm exhausted, but my thoughts are still racing.<br /><br />I've spoken to a few other people that can't sleep on their meds and who have to take sleeping pills on top of them to get any rest, that thought is not appealing, but at this rate I might have to do something. I'm kind of curious to see the effect of not sleeping for more than 3 days.<br /><br /><br />rabble rabble rabble.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-14554584738703343032009-09-03T07:34:00.002+10:002009-10-14T14:35:04.933+11:00More Crazy Tracy<p>Tracy writes about Borderlines:<br /></p><p><br /></p><p style="font-style: italic;">"Many people have asked me, "Tracy, isn't it time for your meds?" Wait, that's not it. They've asked, "Tracy, what is a borderline and when is it okay to execute them?" Well children, a borderline is many things and they have many traits (most of them hard to pronounce). I like to refer to them as "chaos makers" or "razor-toting shit-slingers." For the purpose of this highly fascinating blog entry, let's just say a Borderline is someone who makes things break and who can cause annoying body twitches and temporal lobe seizures. You won't find that definition in a book anywhere, but it is about as dead-on as you're gonna get. </p> <p style="font-style: italic;">Okay, what a borderline really is, translated into regular speech devoid of all psychobabble: </p> <p style="font-style: italic;">They have:<br /></p><div id="varXYZ514" style="display: block; font-style: italic;"><li>Intense relationships that usually result in the borderline getting hurt and which will suck every fucking bit of energy out of your pores, whether they are your patient, your lover, or your Avon Lady. They usually end up getting hurt because murder is illegal in most countries and you can always say they tripped down the stairs.<br /></li><li>Repetitve self-destructive behavior, (usually involving blunt objects which aren't even capable of opening an envelope, much less capable of sawing through very thin wrist skin), which you must promptly respond to by restraining said borderline and in which you must spend the rest of the shift filling out fucking paperwork or filing police reports.<br /></li><li>Chronic fear of abandonment if you have to go to the fucking bathroom and leave them alone for five seconds. Other such incidents that cause this separation anxiety are funerals you must attend ("You'd rather be with a dead person than with me?"), weddings ("You'd rather be at your sister's wedding than with me?" or major surgery ("You'd rather have your gallbladder out than be with me?").<br /></li><li>Hypersensitivity, meaning an unusual sensitivity to nonverbal communication. Your Behavior: *reading a letter and laughing out loud* Borderline's Thought Process: *she's not sharing that with me, she must not want me to know about it, what else is she hiding from me, she must be cheating on me, that fucking whore, where's a razor?* <p>It usually takes me five seconds flat to tell I've got a borderline on my unit. The twitch will begin in my left eye before I even put my purse down. Subtle hints will descend upon the unit like a black pestilence. There will be in-fighting among the staff. There will be a patient in restraints (probably not the borderline). The fire department will be on the unit checking for gas leaks. The stapler will be out of staples--the printer will be out of paper. The patients will be out of, well, patience. It's pretty damn ugly.</p> <p>It's probably best if you remember this old adage, "Borderlines don't have relationships; they take hostages." Proceed with caution, a big stick, and enough Ativan to drop a moose."</p></li></div><span style="font-style: italic;">"Every nurse has a "favorite" patient, at least in the field of psych they do. Most nurses love schizophrenic patients. There is a reason for this: schizophrenic patients are incapable of bullshit. These patients suffer from the "cancer of mental health," and though they may tell you they've been abducted by alien hemotologists and had all their blood sucked out, it's not bullshit. It's not a lie. It is truth to </span><i style="font-style: italic;">them</i><span style="font-style: italic;">. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> That kind of delusion is much easier to deal with than the chronic alcoholic who refuses treatment, is in the hospital after his fifth DUI arrest, and tells you that he doesn't have the problem, the "fucking cops do." And that is easier to deal with than the fucking borderline who comes onto your unit, feels slighted by your "attitude," and decides to report you to the Patient Advocate because you won't let her have a cigarette and you haven't been kissing her ass well enough. That's still easier to deal with than the borderline who cuts her arms to shreds with a pocket knife she smuggled onto your unit inside her vagina and then blames you for not searching her properly and leaving her in an unsafe situation.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Fucking borderlines! *shakes it off*"</span><br /><br /><br />Fuck, no wonder The Doctor was all, 'don't ever tell anyone you're borderline.'<br />Weird, though, because I'm about 2 years into her blog now, and there's not an ounce of her that's not just like me - borderline traits included.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-67709835309092621102009-09-01T15:46:00.002+10:002009-10-14T14:35:21.476+11:00Crazy TracyTracy is a nurse with Bipolar, she writes so well, and everything she says fits so perfectly.<br /><br /><div class="title"><a href="http://www.crazytracy.com/blog/archives/cat_musings.php">A THOUSAND MILES WIDE</a></div> <div class="category"><a href="http://www.crazytracy.com/blog/archives/cat_musings.php" title="View all entries from MUSINGS Category"><br /></a> </div> <div style="font-style: italic;" class="blogbody"> <p>I don't know if it's being in love, or feeling a deep and abiding connection with my child...it could be anything, even mania, but I've been having episodes of what can only be described as omnipotent potential. The feeling is being so happy that one drop more will open my soul a thousand miles wide, and I am well aware of feeling it, and knowing that it is a danger signal. It happened for the first time last weekend when I proclaimed that is was a "GREAT Saturday! A wonderful Saturday!" I was as high as an eagle can fly, soaring and tumbling through the ether, feeling the uplift in the takeoff and the thrill in the dive through the open air. I had to consciously say to myself, "Come down...land. You're too high. It's a long fall." It happened again this afternoon, just walking through the grocery store with my lover and I had to pull myself back...I had to stop myself from singing, from dancing through the aisles. But I wanted to spin. I wanted to twirl with that free fall into heights so expansive, it would take years to traverse the divide. I managed to calm myself down and not cause attention to myself. I managed to reign myself in and be appropriate. At the same time I had to squelch the disappointment of the moment. Why can't I dance in the grocery store if I'm this happy? Why can't I sing out loud because I'm in love? Why? Because I am heavily medicated, that's why. And as much as the medicine does its job in keeping these manic symptoms at bay, the disease itself will strive just as hard to push itself through. It is a constant battle these days, both sides of my mood taking swipes and swings at one another with me in the middle blowing the whistle and throwing the flag. The medicine is not working as well as it used to. I realize this with a sense of dread. There will be an increase, or there will be a switch, but whatever it is will cause an upheaval. What I dread most is that it will rob me of these recent episodes of overt happiness, that I will go back to the middle of the road feeling nothing in the extremes either way. I've told the story of my patients from detox...the ones sweating and struggling through pain one can barely imagine--when asked if they would rather feel that pain or feel nothing at all their answers were always the same. "I'd rather feel pain." And so would I. Give me sadness with desolation so black one can scarely see a ray of light shining through, but my God, don't make me numb. At the very least, let me have these few moments of ecstasy. The depression that follows is worth every tear. The price to pay is worth having that feeling of being weightless, of being free, of being inside the unfolding of one moment of utter happiness. All I need to do is learn how to stop it from taking over. I need to learn how to hold it all in and not let it explode all over my life and the people I love. That has always been the trick. Controlling it. How do you experience the thrill of speeding down the highway in a red convertible with the top down without pushing that gas peddle all the way to the floor? How do you stop yourself in mid-flight after realizing the jump was too high and that you are going to hit the fucking floor face-first? I don't have any of these answers. All I do now is open my mouth and swallow the meds, and hope that it will be enough.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="title">WHAT CRASHING SOUNDS LIKE</div> <div class="category"><a href="http://www.crazytracy.com/blog/archives/cat_musings.php" title="View all entries from MUSINGS Category"><br /></a> </div> <br />At first, you can't hear anything. The noise in your head is so loud, it drowns out any of the warning beeps and buzzers that might otherwise alert you in a healthier state of mind. There is a sensation of wind...as if you were quickly running downhill, like you did when you were a kid and you thought for a split second that your body might be too slow for your legs--right before you tumbled head over heels. There is a thrill in that. There is a charge in knowing that you are living large inside one single moment of absolute awareness of every sharp piece of evidence of life.<br /> But this is why you can't hear the crash coming. You are too busy listening to the buzz. It is pushing you, motivating you, oozing you into creation, sex, life, art, passion, housework. It is pushing your foot down a little heavier on that gas peddle. It is buying the colorful outfit on a maxed-out credit-card. There are so many things to do. So many things to do. So many things to do. So many things to do.<br /> You don't need sleep. Sleep is for the weak. Sleep is for people who can't get in touch with their manic side. You have this under control. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. The sound of the winded arrival of a helicopter causes you to glance momentarily out the window, until you realize that once again, the chopper is in your head. Incoming.<br /> And now people are pissing you off. They aren't talking loud enough. Or they're talking too loud. And they're standing too fucking close. Or they're walking too goddam slow. Or they're calling you all the time on the fucking phone. And they're trying to run your goddamn life. And why can't they just all fuck off and leave you the hell alone?<br /> Crash, crash, crash, crash...<br /> The energy wanes, but the insomnia continues. This is a cruel joke. You are not laughing.<br /> You wonder if you will ever escape. You wonder if there will ever be a resolution. </div>Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-46236094488246992522009-08-27T13:42:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:30:49.633+11:00Status Update:Is tired of working so hard to be 'okay' for the benefit of everyone around her.<br />Is tired of caring about how other people feel towards her.<br />Is tired of caring about other people.<br />Is tired of caring.<br />Is tired.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-16924559226875988762009-08-19T23:48:00.002+10:002009-10-14T14:31:09.958+11:00DifferentAn article that was sent to me by X, after a discussion we had about her smashing up the apartment she shared with her ex-boyfriend. I have no idea where it's from.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />QUESTION:</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Does a person who can be considered BPD have another type of reality? In other words, my future ex-wife would constantly say that I did not love her enough, but in the end she left. There was no explanation outside of a note on the door - she sold the house within a month. My question is how do you break the mental wall that now makes her view me as a stranger? </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">ANSWER:</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The short answer to your question is, you don't. The way that you put it, that a BP exists in a sort of alternative reality, is actually pretty accurate. Despite usually being very observative, they have a very difficult time recognizing and interpreting people's behaviour towards themselves, particularly positive behaviours, due to their inability to accept themselves as worthy or deserving of love and vaildation. This generally presents a problem for the rest of us because their perceptions, responses, and behaviors very often go against our expectations. The BP sees the world as black-and-white. That your wife would sell the house within one month of your separation is very typical. An aspect of the borderline's social construction of reality is the inability to distinguish between an object (meaning a complex that represents something to them psychosocially) and the person, thing or situation which they are confronting. So, black-and-white translates for them into good and evil or good and bad. When something is good, they are attached to it relentlessly and when something is bad, they reject it mercilessly (such as, selling the house or throwing out your clothes.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">They tend to see the world through a distorted lens that is much different than the one the rest of us peer through. Although we may be able to appreciate and understand their perceptions, we cannot shift their gaze.<br /></span><br />We talk about these articles a lot, because it's so weird to hear the things you do and the way you think discussed as abnormal behaviour.<br /><br />We all (X, Y and I) only discovered recently that anything we did was different, because that's all you know until someone tells you otherwise. Y sees shadow people, faceless black shapes in his peripheral vision, always has. Never thought much of it, never mentioned it specifically. We both hear voices and/or music emanating from household appliances, washing machines etc. That looks really weird written down, but I never really thought about whether other people did or not.<br /><br />In the same way it never occurred to any of us that the way we think or feel was any different to anyone else. The wife's behavior, in the article, does not seem the slightest bit strange to me.<br /><br />The group therapy X goes to often includes people who are not BPD, but who have BPD friends or partners. They are SO CONFUSED by the behaviour of their friends - X always tells me their stories and they make PERFECT SENSE to us.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-2838597541437588682009-08-19T22:56:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:30:14.069+11:00Ups and Downs.I'm <span style="font-style: italic;">sick</span> of my moods being all over the place.<br />I'd almost rather go back to being lethargic and depressed and completely uncaring, it's easier than this ridiculous rollercoaster.<br />For five minutes in the morning I'm fine, then I'm crying in the shower, then I'm sitting on my bed staring into space, then I'm so irrationally angry I smash the lamp I bought last week, then I'm crying on the floor, then I'm fine.............I'M SO TIRED.<br /><br />I just want to sleep.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-43560593385670021292009-08-18T17:00:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:30:01.133+11:00Incoherent.Last night i accidentally cut my hand, slipped and gauged a knife halfway through my index finger. I don't mind blood etc. at all, but the thought of what I'd done scared the shit out of me and I completely freaked out. Today it aches so much and I'm so cold I'm exhausted though I haven't done much. I'm still agitated, but the twitching of my muscles hurts because my body aches so much, and things I thought were looking better yesterday have fallen apart one by one and waves of panic keep washing over me. I'm too tired to keep being around people, Its so much effort to just not cry all the time. I want to sleep for days, but I still cant empty my mind enough.<br /><br />Ramble.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-33548860946775942922009-08-17T19:37:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:29:48.252+11:00My psych is leaving for a month.<br />Awesome.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-15722459712454343232009-08-17T17:43:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:29:36.409+11:00IrritableI feel like I've had 7L of caffeine intravenously injected. I cant sleep, I cant study, I'm tired, my body's tired, but I can't stop twitching. I can't watch tv, because everyone speaks too slow, I cant go out with friends, because I'm too restless to get involved in a conversation. And I don't want to snap at anyone.<br /><br />If I just sit for a second and do nothing, it feels like my blood is trying to force it's way out of my body, explode out through my skin. My mind is constantly on the edge of panic, if I relax into it, everything will go white.<br /><br />At least I had the energy and inclination to get some things done today, but 7 hours in 5 airless offices, half a tank of fuel, 8 dim-witted receptionists, 6 phone calls and a headache later, I'm not feeling very friendly. I've been dealing all day with people whose job it is to make my life easier, and yet, save one, their sole desire seems to be to make it harder.<br /><br />I used to really like feeling this agitated, I used to go out and get drunk and be the centre of attention. And everything was good, and life would be good, and there were colors everywhere and music sounded so good it was like a drug.<br />Right now everything is sharp, but sound is annoying and the colors are making my eyes hurt. I'm surly and angry at everyone, without reason.<br /><br />Life doesn't feel pointless or hard, it feels like it's moving too slow, and it's pissing me off that it doesn't keep up.<br /><br />Hypomania......yeah, cool.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-37776102889352814262009-08-12T13:51:00.003+10:002009-10-14T14:36:03.445+11:00CatRackham<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://www.catrackham.com/?p=13">Depression</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.catrackham.com/?p=32">Comfort</a><br /></span>Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-67241403691135335852009-08-11T22:34:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:29:06.694+11:00TodayToday was really awful. I spent most of it in bathrooms crying. I cant do this anymore.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-71115456338077056112009-08-11T00:45:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:28:55.461+11:00SplittingI kept reading the word "Splitting" in articles and conversations about BPD, didn't really understand it, this lady explains it pretty well. Except in terms of colour, my white people are green, and my black people are white.<br /><br />Taken from <span style="font-style: italic;">Walking the Borderline</span><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /><a href="http://walkingborderline.blogspot.com/">http://walkingborderline.blogspot.com</a></span><br /><br />"It is very important to me that you understand that the terms "white" and black" are terms in regards to splitting.<br /><br />Splitting is a round about way for the bpd to protect themselves. It's a division of the world into "good" and "bad".<br /><br />The "good" things are "white". They are the people in our lives we consider safe and good and pure. If someone is white you see no bad in them. They may be rescuing you from something bad or they maybe be keeping the world around you white.<br /><br />The "bad" things are "black" or "evil". They are the people who cause us pain, or won't give us our way. They are the people you turn away from and seek out the good people instead of.<br /><br />Splitting is an inability to hold opposing thoughts. If they do something wrong or hurtful they must be bad or black, and it is therefor impossible for them to have any good in them. And if someone is white, they can do no wrong. They are a shelter, a protector from all the is bad in the world.<br /><br />It is easy to think you are in love with someone who is white to you. They show a little affection, you show some back, and you have it made. They are your personal savior and you are head over heels with them on a pedestal. They can literally do no wrong. Until they hurt you. And then there is very rarely any going back. That person is suddenly black. It's easy to go from white to black, but much harder, if not impossible, to go from black to white."Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-51637525113023989782009-08-10T17:45:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:28:28.779+11:00Normal BehaviourToday I thought I was going to throw up on the bus. This was extremely unpleasant, particularly as managed to cry a bit at the bus stop. Vomiting and crying on public transport is not normal behaviour. As of last night the darkness seems to have abated.........i guess I should get used to the cycles. I nearly threw up on a bus because I'd spent the last hour trying not to throw up on a disability worker who though kind enough, made me feel like a complete idiot. There isn't really anything she could have said that wouldn't have made feel like an idiot considering she was questioning me as to why I missed my appointment last week and didn't answer my phone. I'd really rather things didn't cycle, because the moment I start to feel like I might be able to speak to an actual person in the flesh, I'm confronted with the mess that's accumulated through not functioning for a week. And that makes me want to go straight back to not functioning.<br /><br />My short-term memory is totally shot too, something Y complains of often. I wander into the kitchen and cant remember if I've eaten, I messaged my mum 3 times in an hour because I forget that I've already talked to her, I cant remember anything anyone says to me, or anything I read for more than 20 seconds. I've always been a bit scatterbrained, but even when I write things down or make a conscious effort to remember them, I cant, or I forget where I've written it.<br /><br />I have no sense of time. Last week feels like a separate existence, I cant distinguish the days, nor can I put to a time to anything the happened in the few days preceding it. My psych's going to ask me what's happened since he saw me last, and I really don't know, I don't even know when I saw him last. I'm also struggling to separate dreams from reality. There are few things that I know happened, people I spoke to etc. Except I didn't. I didn't leave the house. When the doctor first started mentioning delusions and hallucinations, I totally baulked at the idea. I don't hear voices or see things that aren't there. I'm not that crazy.<br />"Do you ever hear your name called and turn around to find no-one there?<br />"Of course, everyone does that."<br />"Even when you're alone?"<br />"Yes......."<br />"Everyone does not do that."<br />"Oh."<br /><br />Turns out I see and hear a couple of things not everyone does.<br />So I started paying more attention and questioning what was real and what possibly wasn't. There are people, that I think about fairly often, that I'm no longer certain exist outside of my dreams, places too, and events. This isn't something I've taken too kindly to.<br /><br />I can't sleep and I look like hell.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-8498560429838911992009-08-08T15:23:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:27:46.174+11:00LowerIt's been 4 days since I did anything functional.<br /><br />I actually got out of the house, I figured if I could just walk around the block i'd feel so much better.<br /><br />But I don't, I feel worse. I finally understand why depressed people 'self harm' I.e. cut themselves without intent. I'm totally numb and I haven't felt anything for days.<br />I walked and then I jogged, and I'm unfit, and I've barely moved for days, I shouldn't have been able to jog for more than a few minutes.<br /><br />Except nothing hurts. Eventually I stopped because i'd gotten home, and I'm vaguely aware of stitches and what I suppose is pain in my chest, but I cant actually feel it.<br />I stubbed my toe earlier and it bled, but I didn't feel it, I dropped the kettle on my foot this morning and my skin's all blistered where it was scalded but I didn't pause in making a cup of tea. Nor can I be bothered doing anything about the burn.<br /><br />My hands are purple and the skin is splitting from washing them so often after throwing up, but I don't feel it.<br /><br />The skin on my face is peeling off and scabbing for the same reason and I keep picking at it but it doesn't hurt.<br /><br />I feel like I'm watching a psychological horror film where the person slowly rots to death in their own room, getting madder and madder, except I don't feel mad, I don't feel anything.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-6056197403556167432009-08-08T15:13:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:27:32.308+11:00LowI know I have to get out of the house and do things in order to fell better but despite knowing that, I have no motivation to do so. I think I'm getting addicted to the wallowing because it's so easy to just not see people or deal with anything. Having said that its hard, because then I think about the things I should be doing and panic.<br /><br />Its like I went from functioning pretty normally, but with all these 'symptoms' to something snapping and all the same things become massive issues. And new ones. I cant concentrate, on anything. I cant watch TV because I cant keep track of the plot. If I look up from the screen while I'm typing something I have re-read the whole thing to remember what I was talking about. I've completely lost track of time. The last 4 days feel like at least a month and it feels like there are almost no daylight hours.<br /><br />My hands have gone purple permanently and I don't even care. I cant really feel them that well.<br /><br />I haven't spoken out loud, save one phone call for well over 48 hours.<br /><br />I don't even feel lonely, I just feel like there isn't anyone else. I cant stand the idea of anyone touching me, every time before the last 3 days that I went somewhere i'd just sit/stand there amongst all these people who are my friends and feel only the compulsion to leave.<br /><br />I don't think anything. I read a shit magazine and got mildly offended by something but had forgotten what I was reading by the time I bothered to formulate any actual thoughts.<br /><br />I got hired for a job that starts in a few weeks and I have no real intention of going, I'm making plans for the christmas holidays and I don't even feel like that far ahead exists.<br /><br />The doctor's office keeps calling, as does the crisis team who I'm supposed to update but I don't call them back, I don't see the point.<br /><br />I'm very tired.<br /><br />And the extent of me feeling better since waking up has culminated in me writing a few paragraphs and thinking about having a shower. Steps forward are completely pointless.Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5321673894776417403.post-52728630955551373412009-08-08T15:07:00.001+10:002009-10-14T14:27:18.591+11:00Emptiness'Feelings of emptiness' are a criteria for the diagnoses of BPD.<br />These are definitions from borderlines:<br /><br />"The void, the hole, something's missing from me that everyone else seems to be in possession of. Something that makes you able to sit and be content. Everything, the emptiness is the lack of being in the moment, getting so anxiously bored in the midst of being unrelentingly busy. Not being here, and not being anywhere else, all at the same time."<br /><br />"You don't know what it is, but something's missing. Something vital and powerful and profound. You have plans for the future, for yourself, but they mean nothing. They're not even yours; not really. I feel a lack of desire for the future"<br /><br />"Life's a dream. There's no meaning, no substance, no point. Emptiness is not destructive, it's not without hope, its just a total lack of everything, of motivation, of emotion, of desire. There's no feeling, physically, you're numb."Zhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05441996133586985469noreply@blogger.com0