Pain Reliever & Dr. Erin Terada

I feel good.  I feel so good I could cut.  Weird, I know.

The chewing of the inside of my cheeks died down.  Now it and biting the outsides of my tongue have picked up.  What's changed? 

I wish I knew.  It's too bad self-injury feels good physically.  Maybe it's because of all the physical abuse I endured that my pain tolerance is so high.   Or it could be from the car accident in 1992.  The back surgeries, both in my back and in my front.  Chronic migraine pain sometimes so severe that even the pain meds won't work and I end up at the ER.  Emotional pain that when I'm paying attention to it knocks the wind out of me.  Pain of some sort is causing this desire to cut.

Relational pain.  I'm still in it.  I need to initiate two conversations, neither of which I want to have.  As a follower of Jesus Christ, I am to be at peace with all people as much as possible.  I get it.  God never said it would be easy.  He promised to be with me in it and through it.

Pain is uncomfortable.
I'm trying to sit in the uncomfortable.

Dr. Erin said, "It sounds like you are having a difficult patch and I hope you continue to work on finding ways to manage through this in healthy ways. Keep using your support and know that recovery is not a straight path. Just remember many of the things that we did talk about are still with you, revisit them and get back to basics."

No cutting tonight.

Suicide: What Would God Say?

I'd like to tell you a true story.  

A few years ago I was having a lot of flashbacks about the sexual abuse from six perpetrators who abused me.  The flashbacks are detailed, emotional, scary and intense.  Sleepless nights, sweating, not sleeping in my bed but on the couch.  Normal when these flashbacks are on their way or are in full swing.

When these flashbacks occur or I feel out of my mind, instead of talking to someone, I have the habit of packing up my car and driving far away.  Sometimes I go southwest, sometimes north.  I leave my cell phone and I-Pass at home so I cannot be traced.  My car does not have any traceable devices.  I make sure the oil is changed, the fuel tank is full and I have plenty of cash because I don't use any type of electronic transaction.  I watched all episodes of Without A Trace.  I tell no one anything.  I drive off in the early morning darkness, the mid-morning sun or the late afternoon sunset.  I am not predictable.  I disappear.

The true story I'm going to tell is when I was at the edge of emotional pain, wanting to permanently relieve it so it never came back again.  I was crushed, I felt defeated and I needed a refuge from the war inside the battle zone of my mind.  I couldn't keep up with life, I was losing friendships because if it and I figured since I was a Christian and couldn't lose my salvation, why not commit suicide and go home?  Why not get to heaven where everything is peaceful and all the racket in my head would stop?  I couldn't imagine a better place to be.  

So I packed up and headed north.  I stopped to get a fishing knife and bottles of liquor.  I brought all of my prescription bottles.  I drove for hours once I had my stash, my suicide kit.  It was the middle of the day when I pulled into a rest stop.  It was deserted.  It was under construction.  The lodge that was used as a tourist center was open.  The dirt to the right of the lodge and up the hill behind it was being worked on.  There were no workers there that day but the bulldozers and other equipment remained.  I was sitting in my parked car formulating a plan. 

I imagined stepping out of my car and carry my sleeping bag and suicide items up the hill beyond the construction area near the tree line.  I would make myself comfortable and swallow all of the prescription drugs and chase it with alcohol.  I'd cut very deep into my arms and up into my stomach. I would lay down and wait to die.  I figured the soonest I'd be found would be in a couple of days.  I would be dead by then.  No suicide note, no explanation for my choice.  My life insurance covers suicide and I had a will that left everything to my family.  There were no loose ends to tie off.  I thought it through completely.

But then something strange happened.  I was looking down at my lap that held the camping knife and a white towel.  I looked to the right and saw the alcohol and prescription drugs I was going to take.  Then I started to cry.  Then I started to pray.  I told God how tired I was.  How I couldn't take all of the pain anymore.  How much the abuse has wrecked my life.  How I can't do the hard work of recovery anymore.  How I had nothing left to give to anyone, including myself.  How I LONGED to be with him and for him to take it all away.  And then I heard it.  That small still whisper of God.  The whisper of the One who loves me and longs to help me.

"It's not time for you to come home yet."

It took me a minute to process it.  Once I did, I got out of my car and threw away my suicide kit, except for the prescription drugs.  I told God, "Okay."  I thought about how I could feel closer to God.  I always feel close to him when I camp.  I wiped the tears from my eyes, turned my car around and drove to a camping supply store.  I bought a tent and other items I'd need.  Then I remembered the campground I'd passed.  I pulled in, was able to get a private site and stayed there for a few days.  I read a couple of books and my bible.  It was exactly what I needed.  I didn't feel alone anymore.

I returned home feeling better.  My family wasn't worried at all.  They knew from time to time I needed to get away.  They knew I would be safe because of my relationship with Jesus.  My friends, however, were another story all together.  Three of them couldn't understand why I behaved this way and why my family wasn't concerned and calling the police.  They were tempted to.  Moments like what I went through test the elasticity of friendships.  Some of them snap and have to be thrown away while others are able to ride the storm and pray for you.  

I always wondered what God might say if I committed suicide and was standing before him.  I believe He is the only one who truly understands mental illness.  I never thought He'd punish me or take away my mansion or send me to hell.  Why?  Because He's the only one who knows my true heart.

I like to think God will wipe away my tears, stretch out His arms and hold me with love and compassion.  What will He say?  I don't know this for sure but I don't think He'll say anything.  

Sometimes words can be too much.

Self-Care

Self-care isn't easy, at least not for me.  I spend more time thinking about what others will think of me than I do the benefits of how taking care of myself will ultimately benefit everyone.  For example:

I called Faith and told her I would not be at group today.  I cannot handle the stress of the energy and dynamics of the group.  Not today.  Depression?  Yes.  Just want to be by myself.  Don't want to sit and listen to other people sharing and commenting on each others comments.  Especially mine.  Don't want to bond with anyone.  Don't want to help anyone.  Don't want to receive help from anyone.  Just want to "be."

There was a day when I would go just to please everyone but myself.  That's an unhealthy way of living.  That causes more stress than it's worth.  I'm worth more - I'm worth saying "no" to others.

I'll probably go to the library.  Probably empty out my car.  Probably put the air conditioners in the windows.  Probably get some duck tape.  

I'll probably be okay.

Yes, I'll be okay.  Because taking care of myself is the one thing I can do that no one else can do for me.  Doing this more often will strengthen the love I lack for myself.

Flooded By Thoughts

I'm swimming in thoughts:

• Should I go to group tomorrow morning?
• Should I make an appointment with my therapist this week?
• Should I keep the phone appointment with the person who didn't return my emails for about eight months?
• Should I ask another friend if I'm too much or if I did something?
• Should I just stay at home and hide for awhile until I feel more brave?
• Should I put in my air conditioners even though I can probably still wait another couple of weeks?
• Should I buy more food or use up the last of it?

Then there are these feelings:

• Fear, confusion, sadness, doubt

It's hard to figure out.

So, I sit and think.  It doesn't help much.  In fact, I believe I will let all of it go.  I can do what I need to do when I need to do it.  Relax.  Everything is going to be okay.

Father's Day, A Teary Day

I cannot celebrate my earthly father.  And for that, I am sad.  I hear in my head people saying, "Surely there was something he did right that you can be thankful for."  If there is, it eludes me.

I hate Father's Day in every way imaginable.  I hate it because it reminds me of all the abuse that I may never heal from.  I hate it because it reminds me that I'm supposed to be thankful for him and I'm not.  I hate it because he is dead and I feel guilt or shame for being grateful he's no longer here so I don't have to deal with him. 

The tears I shed are not for him or about him.  I cry because I am so afraid of doing something wrong in the very few friendships I do have.  When I feel like I've done something wrong because that's how I interpret people pulling away from me, I want to delete them out of my life.  Quickly, so I don't get hurt anymore.

I'm having a lot of difficulty not doing it to two people.  Part of me pretends everything is okay.  The other part of me is ready to bolt.  Huge fear of abandonment causes me to leave before they do.  Then again, it's the hint of them leaving that causes me to cut the cord.

Sometimes, the only word I can find to drive the point home of how hard it is to live with BPD is a curse word.  But since I don't use those words except in extreme circumstances, I guess I will say:

It's a bleep.

A List of Borderline Personality Disorder Symptoms