This Is Raw and It's Real

No anti-depressant for 8 days.
Eight days.
Today the call came that the call was made.
Twelve days after the first fax was sent.
12 days later.

I don't care who you are who is reading this right now but I want to cut so deeply all over my upper body and bleed out the amount of stress I have been under, the amount of mental energy it has taken to hold myself together while not medicated, the waiting and broken sentiments of "I'll call now," the absolute toll this has taken on my psyche, my ability to advocate for myself, my cry out for prayers from friends whom most live a mental illness free life, to learn to breathe through the anxiety, to let the tears roll down my face in utter numbness to a situation I have no control over, to beg God to have there be good news when I call the pharmacist only to be met with the same disappointing words over and over and over and over again until the time when the "good" news comes and all I do is go into a mania state where I can't stop going from one task to another to another to another and I know the medicine is ready but I have one more thing to do and another and another and another and I make a call to my therapist who picks up the phone and wants to know if I am going to cut myself or do anything else to harm myself and my mind can't wrap itself around the question because I was supposed to get her voicemail so I struggle to answer the question because I don't know I mean I don't think so and so I say, "No," but then she asks the next question and I know it's coming because all therapists follow the same protocal so I'm trying to figure out if I know the answer to it or not and I don't know if I can say no to it or not and then she asks if I'm going to harm another person or others and I flashed to this morning when I was going to drive to my doctor's office and grab that bitch who lied to me and didn't call in my prescription last week then she told the Pharmacist the wrong type of medication and the Pharmacist knew the history of the problems in getting this drug refilled yes I said refilled because you see this is not a new drug this is not a let's try it and see drug this is a staple in my daily medication that she fucked with and not matter what I did no matter what I did no matter what I did nothing worked and so was this bitch safe and was my doctor safe to those I had to say yes because I held it together long enough to not drive to the office and grab her and slam her into the wall beat the shit out of her and attack my doctor with my fists not just my mouth and beat the shit out of him so yes I said no.

Breathe.

Tonight I did drag race the other car.
I felt no value of my life.
I didn't care if I slammed into him or lost control and flipped over a few times.
My life had no value in my eyes.

When I was driving home, the faces of everyone who loved me flashed in my mind.
I have value to them.
It didn't matter if I wanted my heart to stop beating.
My life has value to them.

And the cutting?  It's either don't cut or hospitalize yourself.
Sometimes it sucks to put self-care into action but you just read it.
I'm on my couch with no cutting.
No cutting at all.

Being committed to my own wellness can be exhausting.
The above writing exhausted me but in a good way.
I got it all out without any interruptions.
I had to get raw with how I am feeling.
Vulnerable?  I can't tell you how naked I feel right now.

But I tell you this with a racing heart, tears streaming down my cheeks and a good cry about to ensue:  God wants us to heal and to keep healing and keep healing and keep healing and then He wants us to live in the victory of courage through faith when we take these HUGE steps.  Because in the end?  It's God and us.

Two and a half years ago I would have been drunk, attempting suicide, cutting everywhere I could reach and starving myself as a punishment.  Not tonight.  I'm sober, I overcame the suicidal thoughts during the weekend, my body is clean and clear and I took myself out to dinner.

Today is a good day.

Dreams of Past Friends

I've been having dreams of my safe people.

In the first dream I am sleeping at her house and I must have woken her up when I had a bad dream.  She sat on the end of my bed, put her arms around my shoulders and tenderly kissed my cheek.  She kept holding me as my fear continued.  She reminded me that she was here with me and I was safe.

When I woke up I felt self-conscious even though it was a dream.

The next dream I had I fell asleep in another friend's house and slept walked into her bedroom where I curled up on the floor and fell asleep near her feet.  She found me sleeping there and let me stay there.  No words were said, no physical touch.  Just safety in knowing she was there.  When I woke up in the dream and realized where I was I went back downstairs to the couch and fell back to sleep.

That's when something strange but wonderful happened.  There was a gathering of young adults from my childhood twelve step groups and some adults and some children I have loved who were now young adults and older gathering to thank me for the difference I made in their lives.  I had no idea there had been so many.  I had no idea some of those lost relationships still hurt.

Beginnings and endings.
Every person has a name that mattered to me.

I guess in my need to be loved and in my need to make sure they know how very much I loved them, there's a longing to see them all again.

Borderline Personality Disorder and Depression Unmedicated

I have two lovely friends I can depend on no matter how busy they are in life.  I communicate with these ladies through email knowing it could be a few days before they get back to me.  Both of them have seen me at different medical stages of my life.  Mental stages, too.  Neither of them have ever walked away, even if I have quietly left one of them out of fear of them leaving.  They have made their love for me known and no one can replace them.  One lives a couple blocks away.  The other in Arkansas.  Both are my prayer buddies.


Having BPD means I feel things much more intensely than people without BPD.  I interpret facial expressions, tone of voice and text, eye contact and other body movements as something I did or said wrong.  Since I'm an introvert (a quiet person who can be around groups of people for a short time), my BPD hooks up with another quiet friend or a close friend who knows how I am around people.


Nine days ago there was an error made with a prescription of mine.  Never happens but it did.  Since I've been feeling angry, alone, lied to and unsupported, I decided to send a better descriptive letter to my two friends.  It helped to talk about it even if they don't fully understand.  Here's a sample of what I said:

"I wish I had the energy to ask how you're doing but this "no med" thing is really hitting me hard.  Thank goodness I'm dog sitting.  Rascal is great.  I lost 7 pounds last month but since I haven't had my meds I fear my weight is slowly going back up again.  I'm trying to be careful but I'm doing a lot of sleeping (short naps) today and trying to eat well in between.  I even gave myself a chore to do- put a/c in my car.  Never done it before and it works.  Problem is now there is a hissing noise coming out from the front of my car and I can't find it.  Doesn't matter if the car is off or on.  Fix one thing, ​then another pops up. 

Anyway, I need help with my mood which is downcast and my anxiety.  I'm having lunch with a dear friend who is in from Indiana tomorrow.  I've already asked her not to drink alcohol. 

I just want to scream, "Why aren't I important enough to call in a prescription that only needed to be corrected and that was 9 days ago?"  Between Walmart's faxes and my phone calls (2 direct conversations and 1 message), I've been promised it would be taken care of three times and it wasn't.  That's why I'm going to my Dr's office on Monday.

I hate having (diagnosis) or whatever else they want to call it.  Even if you call it an egg, it doesn't make it any easier to deal with."

Borderline Personality Disorder unmedicated is hard enough to deal with and when it's complicated with other unmedicated mental illnesses the outcome is very difficult to manage.  So for now, I tell the suicidal thoughts to go to someone safe and fall asleep.  I tell my mind alcohol won't take away the feelings of neglect and being alone.  I coax the depression into activity that won't overwhelm me but will give me something to do that is safe.  This is called self-care.

All of it, myself and my spirit, I commit to my loving God in whose hands I am completely safe from all things harmful for He created everything and called it good.