#88 Stop the Labelling

Many years ago, a respected and powerful

psychiatrist discharged

(and dismissed) me from his hospital

by telling me that I was

(and presumably always would be)

"therapy resistant!"

It depressed, terrified and paralyzed me

for long time.

Fortunately, a few years later,

I connected with a more respectful

and skilled psychologist

who had the patience

to wait with me

until I was strong enough

to move forward.

#87 worrying about tomorrow

i
should put off
worrying
about tomorrow
until tomorrow
but
what would i do
today

if
i put off
worrying
about tomorrow
until tomorrow
my worries
would get
stacked too high
to get through
in one day

if
the stack gets
too high
it might
fall
and crush me
and i would
die

if
the stack gets
too high
i wouldn't have
time to eat or sleep

if
the stack gets
too high
the things
i'm worried about
won't be prevented
by my worrying
about them

so
i don't think
i should put off
worrying
about tomorrow
until tomorrow

after all

#86 Dear Abby

02 Feb 19??

Dear Abby,
Today I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. I went to the library to read up on this psychiatric condition and I was very disturbed by what I learned. Apparently, people make money writing books about how to survive living with a Borderline.
Is it inevitable that everyone who gets to know me will eventually despise me?
signed
'worried in Border Country'

Dear 'Worried'
Yes, it is true, no one likes Borderline Personalities. Your only hope is to learn to keep a good distance between yourself and others. If you keep well away, you will be mostly invisible; but the closer you get to people, the more likely it is that they will find you insufferable.

Of course, you are already aware that your reactions to life are all out of proportion...
-your overly sensitive personality will confuse others;
-your need for control over the smallest details will annoy everyone;
-your difficulties with the simplest tasks will upset others;
-the choices you make to manage stress will confound everybody.

In other words, you will drive people crazy if you let them get close to you.
The best advice I can give is that you keep your distance from everyone. You cannot trust anyone to understand and empathize so you must never connect to anyone. Make every effort to remain alone with your illness and people will probably not hate you.

#85 Dissociation vs Anxiety

All I know of my life is alternating dissociation and anxiety.

If I was not dissociated, I was anxious;

if I was not anxious, I was dissociated.

I could always switch from one to the other as needed.

Not so much these days.

I can't or won't operate the switch and I am stuck,

very uncomfortably, in a constant state of fearfulness.

Nearly every sight, sound, or thought makes me afraid.

I definitely do not want to waste any more of my life

disconnected from myself and others

but living with rising panic has become daily nightmare.

#84 Not Fair!

My life was mislaid,
and my feelings were put on hold.
As my world got smaller and smaller,
my existence became irrelevant.

Decades went past,
scarcely noticed, barely remembered.

I met someone who could help me.
But my ability to trust
had been one
of the first things stolen.
Two steps forward, three steps back.

Panic. Pain. Terrifying black holes,
repair work needed.
Three steps forward, two steps back.

Rage. Pain. Hard work.
Connections made.
The little one begins to trust again.
She adds her voice to mine.
Three steps forward, one step back.

Now we are getting somewhere.
Much is learned. Much is understood.
I feel my life is expanding.

The missing ingredient now?
Time. “Time heals all wounds” my mother said.
But the White Rabbit said,
"Oh Dear! Oh Dear!
It is very, very late!"

It is indeed very, very late!
And I am so scared
that I have used up all of my allotted time.
I have just gotten into the game
and the clock is about to run out!

Not Fair! goddamn it, it’s just not fair.

#83 Too Late!

#82 Writing or Righting My Story?

Self-injury, in its various forms, makes my pain visible - in the past as well as the present. When there was no one there to care for me, I had to get through it on my own and each time I did, I was proud of myself. However, I was also angry that no one praised my strength and courage. No one noticed or seemed to care.

When I self injure, I am inflicting similar damage on my body and triumphing over it. The scars that I create, serve as a reminder of what went before. I want to show the world how I can survive anything. I want to prove that my survival is no random accident, that I am in control now and I will make it right!
As I re-play my painful childhood, my history is written on my body and I revive that child. I bring her back to consciousness. I say, “Well done, you do not need anyone anymore! You are in control of your survival. You are alive. It is all right now!”

I am not just writing my story, I am making it right.

#81 Writing My Story

My mother is dead.
My story is dead.
I am dead.

When my mother died, I was afraid that my story had died with her. My chances of a confession from her or some understanding of why she did this to me or an apology were gone forever.

Pain in my body is an echo of what was done to my body and it reassures me that I am not crazy and that my body did not die when I left it. If I ever feel safe enough to lift up the trap door and go downstairs again, my body is still there.

My body needed to keep the story alive. It needed to store the evidence and to show the scars. My mind carried the shame and humiliation but my body stored the memory. The scars from my self-injuries are a recording. Without my being aware of it, my body was writing my history...
Dear Diary; today my mother beat me black and blue and red all over. This is what it looked like.

#80 I'll Be Safe If I Stay Up Here.

#79 Lack of Ownership

Is this what gets me into trouble, over and over again?

Being disconnected from my body?
Not caring what happens to it?
Learning to manage the pain by not being there?
Wanting to just live in my head?

All of these and more besides, have brought me to a place of not owning my own body.

I think it is the source problem that has brought me to catastrophe many times in my life.

This time, I clearly remember the voice in my head:
"what is happening to my body is not OK; a normal person would get this stopped!"
instead of:
"I don't like what is happening to my body; I will put a stop to it!"

Sold! Title Transferred a Long Time Ago! No Longer Owned by Resident!

#78 She's Gone Missing!

#77 Who Built The Wall?

Is it that you have gone away from me
or have I gone away from you?
It feels like a wall has been thrown up between us.
I agonize over why you have done this to me.
What crimes did I commit to make you hide yourself from me?

In time, it occurs to me that maybe
I imagined the wall rising up between us.
But, in doing so, I moved away
because it hurt so much to be rejected by you.

Thus have
I created the very thing that I fear most.
Did you go away? Or did I?

#76 Entrenched Warfare

Alone on this battlefield, I am using up energy by constantly changing sides. I fight awhile on one side and then race across to engage in combat over there. I pause only to bind up wounds and take a short rest.

Everyone who was watching from the sidelines has moved out of range, into the growing shadows, beyond the hill.

The sun is setting. I am alone. I am scared.

I have no way of knowing where the carnage will occur next. I do not know who will get hurt or how bad their injuries will be. The observers have become bored and gone home. Combatants die on battlefields; no one misses them.

How long can I run back and forth between opposing trenches? How long can I wage war on both sides? How long is too long?

#75 Sometimes

#74 I Don't Even Like Her!

I woke up this morning thinking...
"But I don't even like her!"

Even if I am avoiding saying this,
and trying not to think it,
she knows that I feel this way.

"Little Rylee" knows
that I don't like her,
or that I am angry at her,
or that I am afraid of her.

There are no secrets from her,
although she keep plenty of secrets from me!

Could this be one of the reasons
that make me so afraid of her???

#73 I Miss You.

#72 The Voice From Beyond the Wall

At some point in my life I erected a wall within myself. Maybe it was so that I would not have to listen to "her" babbling, crying or screaming. Whatever the reason, it has lead, I think, to the situation that I find myself in now.
It is true that I have often heard the voice from beyond the wall say things that surprised and frightened me. I immediately tossed them back over the wall and buried my bewilderment.
The very serious internal injuries that I have perpetrated against my body appalled me, even more than it did other people. Although I admitted that, at the time, I was the only one home (I was sure of that), I could honestly tell someone that only a truly crazy person could do such things...and I am not crazy! I just never understood where the capacity for that much pain came from (and I still don't).
Then I went and did it again.
The little one beyond the wall is still saying incomprehensible stuff but I will not deny her reality anymore. Together we are tearing down the damn wall.

#71 She Wants to Talk

When my therapist gave me her e-mail address back in August, I wrestled with what I would (allow myself) to write to her about. I realize, now, that I was deciding whether I would give "little Rylee” access. It did seem obvious, as it has all my life, that she would not be allowed to communicate and I was able to enforce that ban even on August 18th when she hurled herself out of her box.

All my life, when I have found myself on the edge, I have had to try to keep her inside until I got home, or at least until, I was alone. There was never a serious possibility that I would let her out into the world. Her feelings; her experiences were to be keep stored away, out of site.
She must not be seen or heard.

Without a doubt, she has taken over in therapy, on some occasions in the past. Even if I can’t quite remember the details, I know when she has been there. But she did it without my permission.
The reason I wrestled with the possibility of her communicating with my therapist back in August is because of how badly "little Rylee" wants to talk to her.
Now it is time to unlock the box.
She has finally found someone that she trusts.

#70 The MEs That Are ME

#69 torture

I know very well that I should not be writing here right now. Hopefully common sense will prevail before I click "post."

But I am so discouraged ("furious") right now. My "little self" has been showing up in therapy for 5 times now. Over the years she has only appeared to another person, under extreme conditions. Extreme fear and/or extreme rage.
But she has been appearing to my therapist for these last few weeks. She has been gaining confidence and losing her fear. She has been sharing her feelings and even some of her memories. She has only done this because of the level of trust we were able to provide for her.

Today that went bust. Therapists have private lives. They need to go off and do other stuff! Maybe lots of it. Maybe for ever!

I lay alone in the dark for a thousand years and no one came.
Who told you to give me hope that it will all be over one day?
Why did you make me think there would be no more burns or blood?
What right do you have to use "a little hope" to prolong the torture!

We are all truly truly alone here.

#68 Pain Unites

#67 I'm the One!

I'm the one who has to go back out into the world and pretend that nothing happened.

If it is the embarrassment of being seen at my desk crying like a baby;
or trying to hide the bandages on my arms;
or enduring the humiliation of the burn clinic week after week;
or avoiding mention of three months spent in a psychiatric hospital;

I'm the one!
I'm the one who has to clean up the mess.
I'm the one who has to explain it away.
I'm the one who tries to hide the truth.

I know that I am the adult here, but I resent it.

I'm the one who has to go back out into the world and pretend that nothing happened.

#66 The Three F's.

I've always heard
that fight or flight
are the choices we have
when fear overwhelms us.

Now I've learned
there has always been
a third choice on the books
if you think you are about to die.

I call it squatting down in the road
I experience it as numbing out
I feel it as floating away
It's known as dissociation.

It turns out
It's not unusual.
Not everyone has the strength to fight.
Not everyone has the means to flee.

Little kids
in particular
will find that their bodies
make the decision for them.

With or without
our permission or knowledge
Fighting or Fleeing
loses out to Freezing.

#65 Words to (not) live by.

#64 What Do They Do With Snitches?

I have used up all my energy, fighting this decades-long battle between she who remembers and she who refuses to remember.
Now that I have declared a truce, what happens now?

I have seen what she has written, many, many times, over the years. In the light of day, I tore it up, or put it away, and I forgot it.
Over and over again, I forgot it!

Today, I am keeping a piece of her writing on my desk, so that I know she is real. She is not a figment of my imagination!

But I am very, very scared? The tape-recorded message, "don't think about it, don't feel anything about it, don't tell anyone about it" has finally been erased. And I am scared.

What do they do with snitches???

#63 Flashback!

I used to be convinced that my bpd flare-ups came on as a result of stress. Not so this year.
For months, my anxiety level has been climbing, but my life is more-or-less crisis-free.
So why the anxiousness? And the meltdowns? And the firestorms?
And now, a major flashback!!!

I think I remember a few months ago, feeling good enough about myself to tell myself that I wasn't afraid anymore; that I have nothing to lose if I face up to my demons; that it is OK to remember.
I don't even know what I meant by that.

But, it apparently opened a door somewhere.
Now my body has remembered something truly horrific.

It is early days so I don't know what this is going to do to me.
But I'm still alive.
Uninjured.
Weirdly calm actually.

#62 Who's There?

#61 Monkey Mind

If I have not seen a person for a while, I panic. Even if I am aware of the reason for their absence from my life and the likelihood that it is temporary, I still panic.

Part of me is well aware that the panic comes from the six year old stuck in survival mode, but my monkey mind (the chatterbox) tells me that I have done something to make them go away from me! "You have screwed up; you did something stupid; you said something offensive; you revealed too much of yourself!"

And now they have abandoned me! And it is my own fault!

At this point in my life, I can hear that the voice is that of the scared six year old, but I still cannot stop my monkey mind from running away with the overwhelming feelings. It offers all sorts of explanations, rationalizations, justifications. "Yes, it was only a matter of time before this happened; of course they have gone away; it makes perfect sense that they would leave you some day; today is that day!"

Then, one day, the person reappears in my life as if nothing had happened, making me wish that I had been able to resist listening to the crazy, frightened, paranoid, little person in my head!

#60 My Rant for the Day

In the newspaper recently there was an article about the trauma of identity theft. Apparently, the victims have a difficult time trusting others when they have been ripped off in this way.

I am here to say that there is another kind of identity theft. The victims are very small children and the perpetrators are their own parents or caregivers. Those who are abused or neglected by these people have their very unique selves stolen and distorted by the experience. They are truly robbed! Trust, forget about it! T hey may develop a personality disorder or other mental illness that will complicate their lives in ways that most people cannot imagine. Trusting others, normal relationships, holding down jobs, taking care of ourselves, are just some of the challenges we struggle with.

This kind of identity theft is not repaired by replacing paperwork and a new credit rating or by charging the wrong-doer. Where is the jail time for the so-called caregivers who demolish a child’s life before it is well begun? The real loss of identity takes place in the home and goes unnoticed by the outside world and goes on forever.

#59 Acting-In Borderline

A decision that I made when I was 12 years old, set the pattern for my life. I had just experienced another all nighter of screaming, by a family member, and I made a promise to myself. "I will never let it all out like that; I will never put it onto others like that; I will never hurt other people with my pain like that. I remember it as if it were yesterday.

A 12 year old is not mature enough to make lifetime decisions, but I have, for the most part, honoured that one. At that moment I became an "Acting-in" Borderline instead of an "Acting-out" Borderline Personality.

My life has been chaotic, but in a mostly private way. I held down a very responsible job in the health care field for more than thirty years. I kept a roof over my head and helped others financially when I could.

But I have always been embarrassed about my 'reactivity' and ashamed of my paranoia, my distorted thinking and my out-sized feelings. That's why I put so much energy into maintaining as much secretiveness as I can manage around my thoughts and feelings. I think I was so confused and terrified at seeing a member of my family "acting out" that I did not want people thinking I was crazy too.

My rage has always been directed at myself. It is only a few times, when my self inflicted injuries required medical treatment that I gave myself away. Of course, I was hospitalized, twice, for depression and I guess I gave myself away in the psychological testing. So the diagnosis was made.

Then I went back to my job and my life. And the secrets. The more stressed, angry, depressed or panicky I become, the more I isolate myself. I even feel like an outsider in "Borderline Circles". It has been a very lonely, closeted, and painful existence but would it have been much better if I had not made that decision at the age of 12?

#58 The Loud Voices Win!

Unfortunately,
what happens in my life is that
I don't manage big feelings
but instead I (try to) manage
the loud voices in my head.

The loud voices are always telling me
that I am doing and saying stupid things
and so I feel ashamed.

The loud voices are always telling me
that people don't like me
and so I feel sad.

The loud voices are always telling me
that this shouldn’t be happening
and so I feel angry.

The loud voices are always telling me
that there is a crisis developing
and so I feel scared.

The loud voices are always telling me
that I am forever going to be crazy
and so I feel hopeless.

So, in my efforts to suppress
this chorus of voices in my head,
I never give my feelings the chance
to breathe,
to live,
to be a witness in the world.

#57 I Have Always Been Afraid of Spiders

#56 My Mother's Inheritance?

It is difficult to separate my mother’s experience from my own when I look at my view of the world.

My mother’s childhood was filled with loss, sickness, poverty, and insecurity. Her mother died when she was just 7 years old and she tried to care for her two little sisters, but the Children’s Aid Society had to step in and remove them all from my Grandfather and put them in an orphanage for several months.

My father got sick when I was 7 years old and we left a very comfortable military life to live in broken down farmhouses filled with bugs, spiders, and dirt; without electricity, heat or bathrooms for the next 7 years. I was physically and sexually abused by people who should have been protecting me from these things. (I don’t know if my mother was abused or not.)

But she constantly told us that, “life isn’t fair,” and “expect that there is always a disaster coming around every corner and you won’t be disappointed,” and “we are not as good as other people so know your place and stay in it.”

Maybe because I was only 7 when things got really bad for our family, I swallowed these toxic messages like they were the gospel truth. I worry all the time, that whatever is happening, is the beginning of some awful catastrophe. I feel like I don’t belong anywhere. I know that I am not as good as/ as smart as/ as nice as/ as brave as/ everyone else I have ever met.

I am lonely, don't like myself and I am usually scared to death!

#55 What is the Connection?

If suicide is murder delayed, what is self injury? We refuse to recognize that suicide is rooted in personal history because the perpetrator is long gone when the actual dying occurs.

If we can't make that connection, how do we connect the act of self injury to the long ago abuser of the child?

For the most part, my attacks have been against my arms and hands. But for the worst two years of my life, I swallowed a corrosive substance about 25 times. So I was burning my 'insides.'
I don't remember finding any logic in what I was doing. I do remember a near hysterical voice shouting, "You swallowed what?", but I had not felt so calm in quite a while, and I didn‘t see why they couldn‘t appreciate that. Unfortunately, the effect didn't last long, and I had to keep repeating the procedure, increasing the amount every time.

I think now that something was 'gaining' on me and this was my attempt to outrun it. But I don’t understand how the particular method I used connects to the original crime (or criminal.).

Nonetheless, each time I experience the pain;
I can float away and forget again.

#54 Face To Face With The Next Step

#53 Forgetting

For some reason, that I have never really understood, my sister and my mother used to reminisce about the time my mother nearly killed me. They did this in front of me but, as if, it was something only they shared.

In my twenties and thirties, I got to hear about one incident in particular several times. My father was in the hospital. My mother heard my sister screaming upstairs and ran up to the bathroom. I had undressed for my bath and my sister had discovered that I was covered in bruises.
They always said it the same way..."Rylee was black and blue from her hairline to her knees."
Then my mother admits that she had lost it and nearly killed me.

(Today I have an untreated wrist fracture and a broken L5 vertebrae.)

Although I was about six years old at the time, I have no actual memory of this beating or any of the others. How can this be?
One possibility was that I knew I could not tell my father because he was sick and there was no one else to help me. Much as I might have fantasized about it, I could not kill my mother.
As time passed, I must have thought it would be easier if I just forgot .

#52 Back From Hell

I told myself that I would never blog during a firestorm. (#22 Firestorms - An Attempt to Explain). And I haven't. But today I am in recovery.

Yesterday my frustration with something physical triggered a terrible storm. It is often a difficulty with something that I can't make work, that releases the feelings stored in my body. Suddenly, there is not a millimeter of space left. The tank is overflowing!

I got up this morning to survey the damage...to my body and to my soul. Minor cuts, nothing like past events. What did I write? Can I find the courage to read it? There are a lot of four-letter words. Flashes of memories that I can usually keep in the box. A great deal of pain. The desire to survive once more.

This time, I gave conscious space to the injured five year old. The writing shows that she used her voice. And, as hard as it was, I listened.

We both survived.

#51 I Am Invisible!

I used to think that I am good at being invisible when it suits me, but that I can be visible when I feel safe enough.

WRONG!
I am never visible.

I have just discovered the term, "acting in" borderline (as opposed to "acting out" Borderline). I have used almost all my energy, since I was about 12 years old, to keep it all inside.
In other words, to hide. The shame of my over the top reactions, my out of control feelings, and my bizarre acts of self-injury has made me run all the way home and slam the door behind me, before I let it happen. Dissociation was the safety valve if I could not get home fast enough.

So thanks to this program, no one knows me. Family, friends, co-workers, even health professionals were not allowed to see the real me.

I wear a paper bag over my head with a smiley face painted on it.
I am invisible!

#50 New Information!

For some time now, my BPD has been running amuck. The problem is that there is no problem.
There is no crisis in sight.

There is not much wrong in my life right now, so I am dealing with pure, unattached anxiety and impending rage. I keep wanting to blame something or someone in the vicinity but, even I am not convinced that I should be in tears because I have run out of milk.

I suppose the information here is that this is the way it has been since I became a so-called adult. The anxiety and anger of my childhood have always been transferred to the issues of my today life. It made sense. It was my problems with people, job, therapy, relationships, health, or finances that were the cause of my meltdown or firestorm.

Now it looks like the bread crumbs lead right back to my six-year old self.

What do I do with that information?

#49 My Family Tree

#48 What Did You Say?

Today I was climbing a mountain when I slipped and started to fall. Grabbing wildly at everything and anything, I found myself dangling 1000 feet in the air hanging onto a tree root.

I cried out for help.

A voice from above answered me, "Rylee, do you believe that I can help you? "
"Yes, yes I do. Please, please, help me."
The voice said, "Then let go. Don't look down, but let go."

"Are you crazy? Let go???"

"Does anyone else up there have any better suggestions?"

#47 Mad or Scared?

For several months, I have been increasingly anxious, but now the roller coaster is nearing it's breaking point.
At any time I can break down or blow up about something that is happening or, even, just something that I am thinking about.

Am I scared or mad? Does it matter? Some might say, it is enough to acknowledge the big feeling. But if they were inside where I am, it would be important to know what the hell is going on. I don't want it to impact other people, so I have to define it so I can develop a strategy to protect others.
But it is mute. Words are missing. Just this grinding in my stomach, difficulty breathing, and a pounding in my chest. Not to mention that my brain feels jumbled.
I am afraid to talk to anyone. How do I explain what is going on with me? If I open my mouth, what is likely to come out?

Something about
..."not being able to take it anymore"
..."no one wants to be around me anymore"
..."I need to hurt myself to get it to stop"
..."everyone is mad at me"
..."I am such an idiot"
So I dare not talk to anyone.

I wish I could know what it is that is making me feel so crazy. I understand now why I would like to injury myself just so that I can feel something that I can name!

#46 These Feelings Are TOO LOUD!

At times my feelings just get louder and louder in my head. I don’t know if that is because I am not listening to them or what. I generally want them to go away so I try to ignore them.

They start small by telling me to be careful. I may be getting frustrated or anxious. The voice in my head tells me to keep it to myself. I t becomes more emphatic and warns me that showing my anger or panic in front of others will endanger my life!

Now I really am scared. Someone might seriously hurt me if I do or say the wrong thing? It has certainly happened before. I'm always doing and saying the wrong things. My mind floods with memories of the stupid, ignorant, childish, embarrassing, crazy things that I have perpetrated in the recent past. Oh NO! No wonder people don't like me!

The voice is getting mean now. She believes that a good-beating will keep us safe. How crazy is that? But I am powerless to stop it.
You're an idiot! Everything you say is STUPID! You're fat and ugly!
These people don't want you here! You are not good enough for them!
You need to disappear!

The screaming is making me crazy.
So I disappear! I go far away where I can’t hear this racket for a while. I suppose my mistake was feeling feelings that are not acceptable??? Nice girls don’t get angry. Strong girls don’t get scared. Good girls don’t cry.

I hear nothing. I feel nothing. I have floated out of range.

#45 And then...

#44 Abandonment

I have never thought seriously about what abandonment has meant for me personally. It is a textbook issue for Borderlines but, other than the panic I feel when my therapist goes away, I have not considered how it runs throughout my life.

My mother did not welcome a fourth child and I grew up feeling no particular bond with her, only fear. I was just 3 years old when my Dad got sick and he spent most of the next 4 years in hospital. My father was gone and my mother was stressed beyond her capacity to cope. In those years, I looked to my oldest sister for comfort, but I was only 6 when she left for good to start a career and a family of her own. When I was 7 years old, we were forced to leave everything familiar and go live a hand to mouth existence where ever we could. When I was 16, my big brother and my father died.

For sure, this adds up to a mountain of abandonment. How does it play out in my daily life?
Lack of trust is a constant. How can I put my trust in anyone or anything, because they can just disappear without warning. Recurring panic. I continually watch for signs of impending catastrophe. It is difficult, impossible it seems, to ‘connect’ with other people. It will hurt so much when they leave me that I don’t think I can survive it again.

#43 Jamais Vu

Two or three years ago, I started having episodes of what I now know is called jamais vu. (The opposite of déjà vu, it means "never seen".)

It occurs in my own neighbourhood, the places that I visit regularly. Unexpectedly, I look up and the intersection or the street or the buildings look like nothing I have ever seen before.
At first, it is new and interesting. I’m curious about this place.
But then, I realize that I don’t know which way to go. I’m lost and I’m very scared.

Then, suddenly, I’m back and I’m really shaken!

For what was probably a very short period, I had no idea where I was. It turns out I’m only a few blocks from my house, but nothing was familiar. I could have been in another country or on another planet.

Where was I really?

Maybe it is some form of dissociation but not the kind I have always known. In the past, I have floated for hours, at peace, finding my way home by some sort of radar. Even though I was unaware of my surroundings, I was not the least bit frightened.

This new thing terrifies me every time it happens.

#42 The Last Refuge

The Angry Fortress

#41 What is IT?

I’ve been fighting anxiety for weeks now.
I have had a couple of meltdowns, but no firestorms.
When the anxiousness materializes in my body, I tell myself that it is only a feeling and nothing bad is happening. Breathe!
It returns and escalates, so whatever I am doing isn’t working.

I feel cut off from the world.
As the isolation grows, I find I cannot think of anything else but injuring myself.
I know hurting myself will chase away the panic ( and the ghosts and the flashbacks) and I won’t feel so alone for a while.

Whatever this thing is, that can be sent packing by some pain and blood, is just out of my reach.

What could it be that a burn or a cut can force it back into its hiding place?
I think it originated with a fear rising in my body and a sense of being abandoned
…stretching on for ever.
It cannot be stopped.

#40 Identity-Loss

I was most like my Dad. We loved animals, had the same sense of humour; we even looked alike. Tommy and I were closest in age and were best friends, especially after we moved out into the country. We explored the fields and woods, rode our bikes, tobogganed and skated in the winter, fished the creeks together in the summer. I felt special to these two people.

When they died, I lost a very important part of myself.

I was still someone’s sister and someone’s child but I was not somebody. (For many reasons I had never been close to my mother or my two older sisters.)

Overnight I went from
being somebody who was important to somebody
to nobody who was important to anybody.

I have struggled with this feeling all of my life. This loss of self.

I am convinced that I am not, nor ever will be, important to anyone ever again.
I know people care about me. I know people like me. I know that I have done good work. I know that I have helped people. I also know that I will never be special in anyone’s life.

That was taken from me when I was just 16 years old. When Tommy and my Dad died they tore such an important part of me away that a great gaping wound remained.
I guess the sight of it scares people off.

#39 Promotion

Within an hour of my father’s death I was given an assignment. The family doctor handed my mother and my older sister tranquilizers; and he gave me a job. He told me that I had to be strong now, because I needed to look after my mother and sister. I was a 16 year old and not a very mature one at that.

It is amazing to me, now, that he would say this to the youngest member of this dysfunctional family. Maybe it was because he had not seen or heard much from me; no breaking down; no blowing up.
I do remember, at the time, being shocked by his laying all this on me and then thinking it wasn’t fair. (My older brother had just died a few months earlier.)

Nonetheless, every day of every year since, I have worried and fretted over their well-being and their financial security. Whenever something was going wrong in their lives, I took it as a certainty that I must step in and solve the problem for them. Many people in my life have been baffled by why I was making these sacrifices but I couldn’t adequately explain. It is my responsibility; their needs come first; they can‘t take care of themselves.

It isn’t often that I think about this man I hardly knew. Before my father’s body was removed from our house, this obedient child was elevated from vulnerable teenager to head of household, thanks to him.

#38 I Am So-Not-Here Right Now

I am so not here right now. Somewhere on a shelf, in the back of my mind, is the knowledge that I am dissociated.

I have that thousand-yard stare. (That’s when it seems like the sight from my two eyes travel parallel out to infinity without ever converging to land on anything or anyone.) All sounds are muffled and anyone who could be talking at me is just making unintelligible noise. If it feels like they are waiting for a response, I can manage to shake my head or mumble “I don’t know”. If it wasn’t a question, I guess that’s confusing but it isn’t about them.

It’s about me…
I don’t know where I have gone or what I am thinking or what I am feeling. I don’t have a clue about anything.
I am not in here.
I have had to leave my body. I no longer remember why.

Somewhere on that shelf in the back of my mind, is the suspicion that I am not depressed.
Even though I would like to curl up in a ball in the middle of a busy highway, I am not depressed.

I probably have been feeling too much for too long. There are some residual clues, like dust mites of the original scary feelings, they float around me. But nothing I can get a hold of, or want to, for that matter. No doubt whatever has been happening has overwhelmed my limited resources and the lights have had to be turned out.

#37 God Must Be Mad!

At my brother’s funeral, I sit frozen to a chair. But as they are lowering the casket lid, in my mind, I am streaking across the room to get inside before it is closed. “Please don’t shut him up in there all by himself. Please, I can’t stay out here alone."
I am terrified for him and for me.
Within a month, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer and, in our collective numbness, we watch helplessly when he dies 4 months later.
In some bizarre cosmic cruelness my sister’s baby, born one month after my brother’s death and named for him, dies in his sleep one month after my father’s death.
God must be truly mad! I thought.
My sisters, my mother and I retreat farther into our family tradition of silence and isolation. Our only connection to one another is our connection to this trinity of bereavement.
We are lost to one another.
I am very alone. Decades pass. I am still alone.

#36 It Must Have Been Awful for Your Parents

Yes, yes it was awful for my parents. They say that the worst pain in the world is to lose a child. Decades ago, a drunk driver murdered my parent’s only son. He was a healthy, well-adjusted 19 year old, about to start a grand new adventure and he was killed.

What I remember most about those days and weeks was how distraught my mom and dad were;
people asking me: how are your parents?
and the terrible silence in the house.
(In fact I wasn’t sure they wanted to go on living; what would happen to me then? I wondered)

But God Damn it! He was my big brother! I was 16 years old and Tommy was my best friend. He had been my only friend in the world and the one person I could trust in our house.
I wanted to be like him. I wanted to be him!

Six months later my father died.
I was still sixteen. In some ways, I still am.

#35 Anxiety Running-a-Muck

I can’t believe the things that are making me anxious these days.
I have this permanent knot in my stomach.

The weather scares me; the passage of time worries me.
I got upset because the garbage can was full.
I had a meltdown because the price of cat food went up.
I grow frightened when the bus doesn’t come right away.

I guess it is a free-floating anxiety that will attach itself to anything in my environment.
I will be almost asleep and suddenly I am kicked in the gut by some random thought…
“What if…”

There seem to be a thousand calamities just waiting to befall me or someone I care about. Everywhere there are accidents waiting to happen. There are catastrophes lining up in front of me.

I need for this fear to stop before it becomes a firestorm and I end up injuring myself.
But even more important, I really wish this panic would subside because it is starting to annoy other people.

#34 PUSH - PULL

I push people away so that my craziness doesn’t bother them, but, then I want to do crazy things to pull them back.

Uppermost in my mind, for most of my life, is that I must avoid doing or saying anything irksome to other people. One part of that is the fear of getting anyone mad at me, and the other part is a constant worry about bothering others. This is a more subtle anxiety, that, if I allow people to inconvenience themselves on my behalf, eventually they will resent me for it! It all boils down to avoiding and pushing people away so they don’t get the chance to reject me.

They other side of the coin is the isolation box that I have constructed for myself from this reasoning. It gets more and more unhappy and lonely in the box so that I have to imagine extreme ways to get anyone to notice me. Sickness or self-injury would probably work, at least temporarily. Letting some of my crazy mixed-up feelings spill over gets attention. Crying over every little thing causes people to come over and look into the box.

Unfortunately, the next day, I am horrified at my desperate actions or words and I immediately return to the push-away scenario as the only way to live.

#33 It Keeps the Pigeons Away

#32 I Am Not Just My BPD

Today I want to say that I am not just my Borderline Personality Disorder. I want to write that I am also an intelligent, mature, creative human being.

I want to but I can’t. Maybe I just picked the wrong day.

Because today I am feeling overwhelmed and confused.
I am frustrated but I don’t know what about.
I am anxious for no specific reason.
I am sad but I can’t figure out why.
I am mad but I am not sure who at.
I am ashamed for feeling like a 5 year old.

And it feels like it has been like this forever.
I have never been intelligent, mature, creative or fun to be around.
Maybe, I have had, and will have, good days, again but, having BPD is like falling into a dark hole.
I cannot see backwards and I cannot see forward. There is only the hole and I am drowning in oversized, inappropriate, very scary feelings.

#31 Is it All in My Mind?

Is it all in my mind or all in my body?
Whenever I feel unexplained pain or sickness, I jump to the conclusion that it is the beginning of the end. I can’t stop worrying that I am deep into some catastrophic illness. It takes some time before I worry my way into my doctor’s office, but nine times out of ten, the thing goes away before I get there. Thank God for that because it means that I don‘t show off my hypochondria and embarrass myself too often.

It is a weird situation for someone who self-injures. When I burn myself, it is an ending. The worrying, the anxiety, the panic stops. I feel in control again and because the pain strips away the fear, I can tolerate it. In fact, it calms me. It actually makes me feel safe again.

But, I guess, the unexplained weakness, pain, and bruising turn out to be all in my mind; perhaps suppressed emotions, a childhood fear of dying. It frightens me to think that they are also all in my body, a different kind of remembering the past. Perhaps, a drawing attention to, or a re-enactment of, some past experience that is impacting my daily life.

Apparently, my body has a mind of its own. It has its own feelings and it holds its own memories. But I don’t know how to listen to it.

#30 My Body is Not My Friend

#29 The Biggest Lie

"Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.”

A wise woman called this the biggest lie that we were told as children.

We all know that words can hurt but, for some of us, they were soul-destroying. Little kids called useless, stupid and hopeless will spend a lifetime scanning their surroundings for confirmation of this. We will find words, looks and gestures that bring back the pain and humiliation. We will continue to think of ourselves this way.

My mother used to say that, “that which does not kill us, makes us stronger.”
I disagree. Words, used as weapons, are not a way to make a child stronger. They break hearts and minds and lives. The words change all of us, for sure, but they cripple some and annihilate others.

#28 Voices From the Past

Today I heard myself say, "But if the bruises are gone, no one will believe me!" I was referring to a situation in the here and now.
But, a few minutes later, I realized that it was also a voice from the past. It even sounded like a six year old on the verge of tears.
It is a very strange phenomenon...
I hear things come out of my mouth that I just did not know or I did not know that I knew.
And I hear things come out of my mouth that only seem to be about the here and now but, on reflection, they are more applicable to some thing or some one from my past.
So much of my life these days, how I think and feel about stuff, is not just about the here and now but it is also about the there and then.

#27 Shattered!

#26 The Real Me?

I hear a faint cracking sound. I ignore it.
I’m too busy thinking that people don’t like me anymore. People are mad at me for something that I have said or done. Every thing that I say is embarrassingly stupid. I know I have been making a fool of myself for some time. Every kind of art I do is garbage. Every word I write is juvenile and amateurish.
It just happens. One day I wake up and I sincerely believe that all of this is reality.

I keep it to myself because no one takes me seriously. They think I am being ridiculous. They see no evidence to support any of it.
Sometimes it lasts for days or weeks. It makes me want to avoid people or at least not talk to them. It keeps me from attempting any creative tasks. It makes me very sad.
Its disappearance is a great relief. But I’m not so sure that the replacement is really me.


Am I the one who feels just good enough? Or am I the useless, hopeless, borderline crazy one?

#25 My Fragile Self

my self
is a fragile self
sometimes
i feel it weakening
i hear it cracking

there is no warning
but there must be reason
a thousand reasons
each one different
a look a word a feeling

my self
my fragile self
collapses into itself

rejection stalks me
fear overwhelms me
despair crushes me

i wish i could fix this flaw in me
i am tired of breaking so easily

my self
my fragile self
deserts me
yet again

i have to chase after it
gather up the pieces
stick them together again
the best way i can

and go on

until i hear that cracking sound again

and I know
my self
my fragile self
is about to
destroy me
all over again.

#24 What's That Clanging Noise???

#23 The Helpless Observer

During my countless meltdowns, I always have a sense of someone, or some part of me, watching the-goings-on.

But she wasn’t inside me (#15 Watching My Brain Work) but remaining at a safe distance somewhere outside. She is as baffled, as any bystander would be, at why I am doing the things I am doing. Throughout my life, whether I was banging my head, or I was doing something far more dangerous, she just watched.

She held onto the belief that I would be dead within hours if I was not allowed to do what I needed to do.

She did not intervene.

Now I don’t know how to feel about her. She stood by and let me take extreme risks. Was she really powerless to help? Did she just not care? Where and when did she learn this trick of stepping outside and just watching?

She is my witness.

These days, as I acquire the ability to feel my feelings without acting on them,
I think of her…the Helpless Observer and I thank her.

#22 FIRESTORMS - An Attempt to Explain

A Firestorm follows weeks of tension, gallons of worry, tons of fear, acres of frustration and a simmering under-the-radar rage.

Attempts to shut it all off and dissociate inevitably bring disaster.

What I experience in a firestorm is nearly impossible to remember, let alone to describe.
It feels like I’m disintegrating, breaking into a zillion pieces.
Time stands still. I am suffocating. My brain is on fire.

I AM GOING TO DIE!

It is so terrifying that I sometimes, literally, try to outrun it - racing up and down in my apartment. I’ve smacked my head against a wall to stun it into submission. I’ve decided, time and time again, that the only thing that will bring relief from it, is suicide.

When I can‘t do it anymore, I will hurt myself.

I sometimes require medical intervention but mostly I have managed the injuries myself. The second the physical pain bursts onto the scene, the firestorm stops.

All is calm. My mind can breathe again.

I dress my wounds, if necessary. I put away anything that I have written during the storm. I try to swallow the shame and embarrassment. When morning comes I want to be able to pretend everything is OK.

I HAVE SURVIVED ONE MORE TIME!

#21 A Firestorm

#20 Circular Thinking

Jane is rejecting me
I avoid Jane
Jane doesn’t see me
I don’t look at Jane
Jane won’t make an effort to know me
I’m not good enough to be Jane’s friend
I avoid Jane
It feels like Jane is rejecting me
I never make eye contact with Jane
Jane looks right past me
I obviously don’t belong here
Jane refuses to connect with me
I avoid Jane…

Today I realize that this kind of circular thinking
is typical of Borderline Personality Disorder.
Unfortunately, tomorrow I won’t see that
and it will just be the pain of rejection that I feel.

#19 Two Memories

For the more unpleasant events of my life,
I seem to have two memories.

The most fragmented one
is the one from inside the experience
and it is mostly feelings.

The other one is incomplete as well,
but it is the one stored as still photographs
by the outside watcher……


the only light comes from the bathroom across the hall
the only sound comes from the kitchen below
the smell of whiskey and cigarettes enters my room

the mountain of a man
huge and bristly grey and greasy
stands over me

laughter floats up from below
apparently something is very funny down there
not so up here

in the corner of the bedroom there’s a hole in the floor
it ‘s the reason i can hear them having such a good time
i wish there were a stovepipe in it
as the farmer who built this place intended
it would provide warmth for me
and a connection to the people downstairs

there is none

my bedroom floats free
they are oblivious

my body floats free
i am oblivious.

#18 This Is My Truth

One of my recurring nightmares is that people do not like me and they are trying, in different ways, to tell me. I am constantly on the lookout for the signals because it is my truth that no one will ever like me! I work hard at being funny or nice and work equally hard at not appearing crazy or childish. But some days I can’t do both and the certain knowledge creeps back into my body that I am basically unlikeable.

I am afraid that people can see my anger and my sadness and that it makes them uncomfortable. But mostly, it is my anxiety which frustrates them, I am sure. I’m afraid to talk, terrified of saying something stupid. I prefer to go unnoticed. My extreme self-consciousness about my body is just one reason that I find it painful to be visible.

Hours, days or even weeks after being with others, I will remember something that I said or did and I am overwhelmed by shame. Telling myself that no one else remembers does not help.

It makes me withdraw from people, which feeds the vicious circle. But it seems like the right thing to do at the time because, in my imagination, I am doing them a favour - they don’t have to tolerate me or pretend to like me for a while.

It all sounds so crazy and embarrassing for a grown-up person but it has been my constant companion since I was a kid. I would be so much happier if I could only break this fear driven cycle.

#17 My Rope Is Too Short!

Everyone has days when they reach their limit. They know what it feels like to get to the breaking point. When you are at the end of your rope, you have used up all your resources.

One way that I know BPD, is how quickly and how often I get to the end of my rope. Worries pile up in my head; stresses build up in my body, and then BOOM! Suddenly, it is just all too much. I cannot handle it. I am so angry or depressed or frightened that it seems as though my body can’t contain it one minute longer. I must do something!

(My personal choice has always been to injure myself because, among other reasons, I don’t want to hurt anyone else. My mother mentioned “the end of her rope” quite frequently when I was a child but she had no qualms about who might get hurt when she arrived there.)

So, I have to try so, so very hard to recognize the warning signs because, apparently, I was issued with a rope that is just too short to do the job.

#16 I'm a Failure!

Since I was a little kid,
I have fantasized that …
if only I can think of the right thing to do,
I can fix this situation,
I can get all of us out of this mess.
if only I can think of the right thing to say,
I can fix these people.
I can fix, my Mom, my Dad, my sister.

Why can’t I think of it!!!
It has left me feeling like a FAILURE all my life.
I can’t fix anything!

No matter how fast the squirrels in my brain run
or how loud the voices get,
I cannot make anything better!

I am, indeed, useless!

#15 Watching My Brain Work

I wonder if most people have the experience of watching their brain work. It is new to me.

Mostly my brain is on autopilot but, all too often, it is rolling downhill, gaining speed, losing control, headed for a large black hole.

Sometimes now, I catch myself, or some part of myself, watching my brain doing its job. I see it, or hear it, I’m not sure which, getting hurt by an informal remark or getting frustrated by the same-old-same-old or twisting a normal situation into something I should be scared about.

I guess, it means that my brain is engaged but the next day I feel it careening down the hill again.

#14 I Got My Feelings Hurt Again Today!

#13 I Got My Feelings Hurt Today!

It doesn't feel like I am getting better at this. I am getting better at keeping it to myself. My embarrassment keeps me from showing my hurt feelings these days and that is a good thing.

But I still feel invisible before certain people. I still feel judged and found not as good as other grown-ups. My thoughts, feelings and struggles are dismissed and I get upset about it. It seems that it is all my own fault! I am not trying hard enough! I never learned the basics! I have heard this and felt this, from others, and from inside myself, thousands of times.

I suppose my mother was the first one to dismiss my feelings and she was the first one to make me invisible, anonymous, insignificant!

Nothing new here!

I got my feelings hurt again today!

It still has the power to shame!

#12 Which One is Me?

Why, when I feel so disconnected from myself, do I think only of hurting myself?
I had a warning, first thing this morning, that I labelled as a loss of confidence - actually a loss of self, I think now.

Gone now, is the OK Rylee who can get through the day being seen and heard much like other people.

Here now, is the Rylee that no one likes; the one who bothers other people; who makes a nuisance of herself; who gets underfoot.

Here now, is the Rylee who presumes too much; who takes up too much space; who wants to be noticed.

Here now, is my mother’s child; who gets people mad at her; who, herself, is probably very, very angry; who doesn’t deserve to be here at all.

Here now, is the Rylee who is sure that these are the things that everyone else has been thinking.

This then, is the ME who wants to hurt ME. Feeling all these things about myself is excruciating. I need to replace that with something I can deal with, like physical pain.

Self-injury can also make some of my hurting visible. It can start to make me visible again.

But my craving is not for any benefits such as these but for the pain itself and the blood, burns or bruises that will make me feel real again! The pain itself can be a friend who will not judge me, who will not hate me, who will not leave me until I choose!!!

#11 They Say I Am Too Sensitive

Do you think that you can tell, instantly, when someone is in a bad mood?

The minute that I see someone, I get a sense of their mood. They say that I am too sensitive.
(I believe they mean sensitive like a two year old!) I am often paralyzed into silence by that first impression. I will withdraw in fear, which, sometimes, puts the other person into a bad mood if they weren't already.

But if I ignore my concern and carry on - trying to start an interesting or entertaining conversation - so often the response is negative, thus confirming my earlier feeling.

I don't know if I am reading body language or facial expressions or if there is something more to it. But I do know that it would be better if I just turned around and went home, rather than suffer the fallout of another person's pissy mood.

#10 I Don't So Much Live...

I don't so much live in the moment but I feel in the moment.

Much of the time, I am “living” somewhere other than where my body happens to be. I could be in the next room. I could be stuck in the past. I could be safely floating in outer space.

But my “feelings” live in the moment. Emotions flood my body, seemingly at random. They flow fiercely through me, triggered by ‘god only knows what.’

A little frustration can mushroom into rage; a hint of sadness becomes despair; nervousness erupts into panic mode. Most of the time, I don’t understand why and, later, I cannot explain what happened.
I may not be living in the moment, but my emotions are tuned in to everything that is going on around me. Suddenly I have to come back and deal with this catastrophe, with barely a clue as to what is the real cause of it.

#9 Childhood Memories

I was a shy kid,

socially awkward.

uncoordinated

and overweight.

easily frightened.

a worrier from birth.

disconnected,

withdrawn,

solitary, lonely.

#8 I'm a strong believer

my belief that
"I don't belong here"
is the strongest
thing about me

is it mostly made up of
a childhood sense
of being an outsider,
of never being good enough,
of not belonging anywhere?

NO!
those slippery, sleazy feelings
adapt to every situation
they gain new life
each and every day

I can tell you very specifically
why I deserve to be on the outside
I can tell you with examples to spare
why I'm not good enough to be here
and I can tell you endless reasons
why I will never really be part of this group

the feeling that
"I don't belong here"
is able to morph into any set of truths,
to fit any set of circumstances.
right here
right now
for ever and ever.

#7 It's all up to me!

Within a space of an hour this morning, in three different ways, I faced up to my responsibilities in the world.

It began with a panicked reaction to an invasion of a place I was visiting. I was wracking my brain about what to do to keep the other people safe. Then I overheard the person, who is actually in charge, taking care of it.
When I calmed down, I went to see some people I barely know to tell them about an event I am involved with. They already knew about it from several other sources. My worry that, I alone, am able to get the word out, to make it a success, suddenly seemed greatly misplaced.
Finally, I heard Psalm 46 read: “Be still, and know that I am God.”

You’re kidding! It isn’t me, Rylee, who has to fix everything? Isn’t it my job to keep everyone safe? Isn’t it my responsibility to be in control of absolutely everything?

When did that happen? I missed the meeting! I didn’t get the memo!
If I worry constantly (24/7, for most of my life), bad things almost never happen. Ergo, my worrying is keeping bad things from happening!
I don't think I should give it up!

#6 Who Me?

Some days I get the

sneaking suspicion

that I may be the one

who is mad.

But at whom?

and about what?

and for how long?

#5 You, too, could be my Mother

Having had a fear filled relationship with my mother, my priority in life has been to avoid getting anyone angry at me.

Mentally racing ahead to find where the traps might be, makes it difficult for me to relate to the "real" person in front of me. Weighing every word to be sure it won't offend leaves me speechless. Agreeing with the disagreeable hurts my stomach. Letting people push me into doing things I don't want to do makes me resentful.

I imagine that the other person's body language, words, looks, or silence proves that they are already mad at me. So I shut down, withdraw to a safe distance and beat up on myself for whatever I did to make them angry.

Some time later, I realize that I had made that person into my mother and not in a good way.

#4 Faulty Operating System

Long before Microsoft developed Vista, I was saddled with a faulty Operating System. That is what Borderline Personality Disorder is; it is a way of operating in the world that works sometimes (under ideal conditions) but pushes you to the edge of insanity at other times (when you are least able to handle it!)
I didn't create it! I didn't buy it! It was handed to me when I was too young to know how to send it back!
I see people on TV who are justifiably enraged at finding that their savings and pensions have been stolen by some faceless corporation. How can I accept that my life has been stolen from me - not financially - but really, really stolen from me by a faulty operating system.
It deprived me of friendship, family, intimacy, peace, calmness, self-confidence, sexuality, trust, love - in other words - a LIFE!

#3 Feelings, What Feelings?

The feelings inside me stopped having names attached to them because my mother didn't want to hear about them. She found my fears, my anger, and my sadness absolutely infuriating, so my feelings stopped being "feelings."
Only the gut-wrenching, heart-pounding, head-exploding sensations remained. Eventually, I felt less "crazy" if I attached these to whatever was happening around me - the people, the places, the events of my life! So now "it" is all happening "out there." Whatever "it" is...
I think that I am starting to realize that all this stuff is not coming from outside me. It is actually coming from inside me. It's the feelings that my mother said I must never have - or else!

#2 Management 101

It was nearly 20 years ago but I still remember how angry I was. A psychiatrist at the hospital where I was recovering from a self-injury, told me that there was no hope for me. "Your life will consist of a series of crises and the best you can hope for is to learn to manage them one at a time."
Who the hell was he to pronounce me incurable and condemn me to living through endless firestorms until I found myself in one that I couldn't escape.
I was devastated. I left the hospital in despair.
Much, much later, I wondered if there was a sliver of a choice somewhere in this haystack? Were there actually, management methods that I wasn't aware of? Did I have to die of this?
By then I had a therapist who didn't think I was doomed and who was helping me to do more than just survive.
I have gradually found ways to contain, shorten and recover from the crazy times.
I don't know why the all-knowing shrink delivered his prognosis with all the delicacy of a sledge hammer. I am still angry about that.

First Steps

Three wise women (you know who you are) have encouraged me to share my experiences of living with Borderline Personality Disorder and Self Injury. I have always taken pen to paper when I feel that I am about to shatter into a million pieces. It is safer than a lot of things I would like to do and, when I read it later, I learn the most amazing things about myself and my screwed-up operating system.
Maybe, what I write here will help others understand what it is like going around the bend on a roller coaster.
So I will send my musings out into cyberspace where I hope they will be helpful to someone, somewhere, sometime.
Rylee