How I Handled Yesterday

Knowing I was feeling very depressed yesterday (see post below), I was afraid to be alone in my house for fear that my suicide ideation would begin. I decided to be proactive during the day. I already know that my front porch does not offer me much solace as it once did, so I decided to try the backyard. I sat in my camp chair (very comfortable with two cup holders) in the full sun while listening to my iPod for the duration of the day until the sun went down. It was 61˚F/16˚C and absolutely beautiful. I was still very depressed, but not suicidal. When the sun went down, I went inside to bundle up and stayed outside until the stars cam out and watched the moon rise. I was out of my house and safe, and that is all that mattered.©2009

How My Family Treats Me on Thanksgiving

How my family treats me on Thanksgiving—I am not quite sure where to begin. Usually, the feast is held at my nieces’ house with everyone in attendance, some of whom (as in my mother and my sister, the mother of my niece) have to travel about four hours to attend. I myself just live two-and-a-half hours away.

However, several years ago I found out that I was not welcome at my niece’s house. I just happened to call my nephew (who lived in the same city as my niece) to wish him a happy Thanksgiving where he, in turn, ask me what I was planning to do. I replied that I had no plans and he asked me to come with him to my niece’s house where everyone in the family would be attending (he seemed surprised that I knew nothing about it—while I knew my mother and sister would be attending, no invitation ever came from my niece). I told my nephew that I did not receive an invitation, but he just replied that that was nonsense and everyone was going to be there and wasn’t I part of the family? He insisted to the point that I agreed to meet him at his house and go with him.

When I arrived, my niece answered the door and when she saw that I was with her brother, she was clearly not pleased, but couldn’t say anything in front of all of the others. During the course of the appetizer conversation, it became evident to me that I was certainly not welcome by anyone, and my mother looked rather displeased as she must have known that I was not specifically invited. Of course, no one came out and said anything, but clearly, I was uncomfortable at my reception and the duration of the day.

Later on, the following day I queried my mother (the patron saint of protocol) and sister and asked them what the problem was. I was totally clueless. My mother said I shouldn’t have gone since I did not receive an invitation (it sounded as if she knew more, but didn’t say anything). Then I asked my sister and she replied in kind. I asked whatever did I do anything to my niece to warrant such treatment, and the reply I received was that my sister didn’t really know, but that it was my niece’s prerogative and that I should respect it. I was hurt beyond compare, not just at my niece’s reaction, but also by the fact that both my mother and sister appeared to support my niece’s position. On one Thanksgiving, it was actually held at my mother’s house instead (and of course, my niece and her family would be there). Stung by everyone’s long-standing support of my niece and her decision to completely cut me out, I told my mother I would not be attending if she was going to be there and my mother, fearing a scene, thought that would be advisable.

Thanksgiving has always been an important holiday to me as it represented the one time that everyone would be there. Even when my son was a little boy and travelling would make it hard to travel to my mother’s house, I always made a big deal about Thanksgiving, as I wanted to make memories for my son. We always made an ordeal about it from the cooking of the meal to our special outing afterwards to his favourite park he liked to play. I always took many pictures and was pleased that I was started my own traditions with him. As he grew up, we began to travel to my Mom’s house (five hours away) to be with the rest of the family (long before my niece had her own family).

Well, this year the holiday celebration is to be at my nephew’s house instead. I held out hope that maybe I would finally be invited, but no call ever came. I just cried, as it only firmly cemented the fact that I really don’t have a family outside of my son, who now lives on the west coast and celebrates it with his birth father and his grandmother. I cannot afford to fly out to be with them, although I know I would be welcomed.

I did receive a message from a couple at church to join their family at Thanksgiving, but having not attended church for quite sometime, coupled by the fact that her extended family (whom I really don’t know) would be there would make me very uncomfortable. I am sure, out of respect to me, I would not be peppered by questions as to my continued absence from church, but being around a bunch of people, some of whom I do not know is too much for me to handle right now. Following in my mother’s footsteps on proper protocol, I called back, thankfully to have her daughter answer and I just told her to give her mom a message where I thanked her very much for the thoughtful invitation, but I would be unable to attend.

So here I sit, all alone on one of the most important days of the year only to be reminded that I am not wanted by my family.©2009

Utter Contempt

This post was never meant to be. Late last night, with full resolve, I put into place my deeply rooted desire to carry out my intended plan so foolishly done with exacting ineptitude only five  weeks earlier. However, quite obviously, this did not transpire.

Instead, I have been up all night, in my castle without a drawbridge, inspecting and taking inventory of how fucking miserable my life really is. I am fuming, livid if you will that, I have been unable to carry forth my intent. I sat there looking at everything and just wailed at my utter, incompetent nature to go through this and curled up in fetal position and cried all this whole time, getting even more enraged at the stupid lack of action (spinelessness, my Achilles' heel) which only proliferated my feeling of being a total failure. Despite the fact that I actually carried out my intent 5 weeks ago, I am fuming that I was unable to go through this in view of the knowledge of the abject uselessness of my desolate life. I am quite numb at the moment, steeling myself from all other emotion. I cannot understand why the fuck I cannot go through with my actions now—so easily attainable such a short time before. I take back the feeling of being numb—I am enraged beyond all comparison. All I heard was this loud voice that kept yelling over, “Go ahead, kill yourself, I dare you to have the balls to do this, you inept asshole,” over and over, covering my ears and yelling at it to shut the fuck up as if covering my ears would make such a difference. I cannot believe, nor do I have the words, to describe the contempt in which I hold myself. My utter failure at my most piercing desire only proves to myself how stupid, miserable and useless I am.©2009

The Perfect Borderline Dream

This morning at 1145, I was out on my porch enjoying the beautiful sunshine when I found myself nodding off. I thought, shit I am not getting much sleep at night; I might as well try taking a nap. I went back to my dark bedroom and snuggled under the covers just so certain that I would finally get some sleep. After about three hours I was still awake (but still feeling very sleepy), so I just stayed there all cosy (such a different experience than at night). Then I *woke up* at 1715 (yay for me, I got some sleep). Almost immediately, I recalled this vivid dream (I always have vivid dreams, I just never remember them upon awakening—they are just fleeting images), and began sobbing. The emotions flooding through me were painfully piercing.

Evidently, I was a mother to this cute, precocious girl of about 6 who was very obese, yet happy as lark to my suggestion that we go out to our swimming pool. My husband (egad, is that Freudian or what) was played by John Travolta (I kid you not) and had disappeared on us yet again (this dream came complete with this woman’s memories). He was employed as a hit man and received his orders in the mail. Well, this little girl ran out to get the mail and I heard her shrieking. When she put her hand in the mailbox, a shard of glass had practically shredded her wrist at the site where most people slice their wrist (yet again, how Freudian) and was bleeding profusely. Then she goes limp in my arms. Somewhere there was this a strange man (a neighbour perhaps responding to her shrieking outside??) was standing there and I yelled to call 911 while I tried to staunch the bleeding without removing the glass. I remember feeling that it was all my husband’s fault because of the line of work he was in. All of a sudden, the dream flash-forwards to the ER while I am in there waiting, so sure she wasn’t going to make it. My “husband” magically appears running into the ER demanding to know what I had done to his daughter

OK, so here is the BPD breakdown and my reaction to the dream: 1) I hate myself because I am a horrible mother. I let this adorable child get as obese, so therefore I am a failure; 2) my “husband” abandons us at our time of need—rejected and abandoned yet again; 3) again I’m a horrible mother because I had no idea that my child had gone running out to the mailbox situated on a street curb nearby traffic that could have killed her if she had walked out into the street; 4) based on my “husband’s” reaction upon arrival to the ER, everything is my fault—more guilt and shame.

Give me a fucking break. If I am going to enjoy some sleep and have dreams, can’t they at least be dreams of escape from my wretched life?©2009

Outpatient Therapy, Day 7, the Gift Bag at My Door, & My Attempt at “Radical Acceptance”

I do not have much to say about today’s session. The therapist is concerned that I am not eating except a small snack to take with my Geodon. She is also concerned about my insomnia. I did not have much to share. Not much had changed from Wednesday, but I was able to report that I was not having any suicidal ideation Thursday night. Very depressed, yes, but I was able to leave it at that. She pointedly asked me if I could remain safe through the weekend and I could only tell her that I have demonstrated successfully one tool, and that was all I could promise her. I also told her that my psychiatrist has requested me to call him for a check-in call on Saturday and Sunday. She seemed rather pleased with that.

In actuality, my blogging has actually helped me with the ideation Thursday night. I spent a good deal of time writing, reading others’ blogs, and keeping up with my LGBTQ-oriented Facebook account (OK, a translation for you straight folks: Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered, Queer/Questioning), along with my Twitter feeds.

Something weird happened at break. One of the folks in my small group came up to me and wanted to know why I ignored her after trying to say hi two times. I had to honestly tell her that I really had not noticed her (remember me; I am all about blinders around other people). She started crying and I did not what the hell to do as she did this in front of everyone. Then everyone stared at me. Well, I am sorry that I must have hurt her feelings (I can recognize that from classic BPD symptoms), but I am not responsible for her feelings, only my own. I felt, with everyone staring at me, that I at least had to apologize. I really didn’t want to have to interact with her at all, but what was I to do? It is not as if I go around intentionally trying to hurt someone, or be rude or uncaring. I just simply want to be left alone. Soon enough, break was over so I went inside where both groups join and found my seat on the far wall. I also asked the therapist if I could crack open the emergency door right beside me in case I had to leave the room (I do not want to make a spectacle of getting up and walking by everyone to leave through the normal door). She said that was fine (no alarm attached to the door)

I came home and found this gift bag by my front door inside my porch. Curiously, I picked it up and brought it inside. The attached note said, “For your walks around the neighbourhood…a few things I thought would come in handy.” It was signed from the only church member (outside of my pastor and his wife) that I had been relatively honest with about some things. Evidently she has been reading my blog and noticed my entries concerning with my dissociative states while walking or driving. Inside the bag was some pretty neat stuff. It contained an atlas with very detailed set of maps of my city along with a street index finder. I found my house (conveniently already marked with an icon as there is a large city fire department up at the corner. Nevertheless, I am going to put an X right where my house is anyway because with a past dissociation, the fire department’s presence did not mean anything to me. I’ve even post-noted my relevant pages). It also marks subdivisions and schools—things I pass by on a regular basis. In addition, there was a device with a red blinking LED visible to one km with a range of 180˚. It came with a strap and three batteries. I can attach this to myself to make me visible when I take my late-night walks. There was also an LED pen light with a magnifier lens that only weighs 38g and has a metal clip attachment. The last thing in the bag thrilled me to no end—a new tool. This seven-in-one tool is only 12cm long. Get this—it contains an LED light, compass, thermometer, clock, safety whistle, safety mirror and a 2X magnifier. It comes with a lanyard I can wear around my neck. Now I can be all decked out in LED!

OK, time for an honest reality check here—my perception vs. my reality. This person does want to be close to me—not because of the gifts, but because of the intentions behind them. I wrote her a long email thanking her (I did not feel prepared enough to actually talk with her at that point). In the same email, I told her everything. I even attached two documents on bipolar and borderline personality disorders to help her understand the effects these have on me. She responded with such a kind email; it gave me some contact with another person who now knew me the way I wanted her to know me—no pretence about anything. She let me know that she clearly knew what my boundaries were and that she was not going to be in my face, but essentially would let me make any contact. Fearing that I would lapse into my normative state of isolation, I told her that it was OK to call me, but if I felt I was not capable to talk, she could leave me a vm. I was OK with that, so after reading the email, I actually felt better prepared to call her. I am trying so very hard to reach out, but I can only take baby steps. I fear rejection; I fear abandonment.

Now, onto my next hurdle—trying to use “radical acceptance.” The principles are 1) solve the problem, or, 2) change how you feel about the problem, or 3) stay miserable, or 4) accept the problem. It takes away the “judgements” and removes the “shoulds.”

The hurdle—all of the anger and resentment I have felt toward my pastor for placing the 911 call and coming by the house to show the police my text message. My perception? That he was disappointed with me, angry because I did not call first and ask for prayer before I got in that state, and that he would think less of me. Therefore, I took a very deep breath and wrote down everything I wanted to say before I called him so I could focus and concentrate on what I really wanted to say.

I called his house and thankfully, he answered. I am not really sure what I would have said if his wife had picked up instead…I wasn’t prepared for that scenario. I told him who I was not knowing if he would recognize my voice. Then I told him I had something to say and would he listen to me without interrupting me until I was done. I asked him if he would meet me because there were some things that I needed to say to him alone, that we could meet in a public venue of his choosing as long as I would not be seen as making a spectacle of myself if I got emotional, and it had to be a place where I could smoke (damn these city ordinances banning smoking to even include many outside venues). We settled on standing in the church parking lot (right across the street from me) for this Tuesday at 1630. When I finished what I said, he asked if he could say a few things. I hesitated momentarily—this wasn’t a planned two-way conversation. I wanted to say what I had to say, set the time and place and get off the phone, but I ended up saying OK. He helped fill in some more of the blanks. Evidently there were already three or four police cruisers and the EMS there across the street in the church parking lot before he arrived (I had been told earlier by one of the first responder cops that they parked there with no lights flashing on purpose so as not to alert me in case it was a situation of “suicide by cop”). The cops asked him who he was and he explained that he had placed the 911 call as a result of my text message. They asked to see the text message, but they would not let him cross the street to my house at any point. He told me that the only reason why he came over was that he was very concerned and worried about me. He said he had tried to call me after receiving the text message and I did not answer. Again, the problem with my perception vs. reality.

Am I ready for this conversation? I do not know. I have to find a way to let this anger and resentment go. While it is by no means my only trigger, I have obsessed over this a lot—primarily because I have always respected him. He is a WYSIWYG (what you see is what you get for you non-computer geeks) kind of guy—shoots straight from the hip with no guile. From the very beginning, he has accepted the fact that I am a lesbian and never has judged me. I owe him the same respect.

Well, I still have two days to process this. I am also going to discuss during my group therapy session on Monday. I also have my second appointment with my individual therapist on Monday afternoon as well. My question is am I sufficiently prepared to handle this type of conversation at this point so soon after everything has happened? I need to protect myself and not set myself up for failure. I am trying so hard to reach a point in my life where everything is in balance, but I have to put my needs first—a concept that never existed in my “I don’t give a damn” mode.©2009