Tag Archives: battle

the greatest battle.

Two months ago today I was in a severe car accident. It was just me. I was drunk. I don’t remember anything from the actual accident. Partly because of the drinking. But mostly because I sustained a severe concussion. I was in an out of consciousness. I flipped my car down a hill. I vaguely remember the firefighters there trying to get me out of the car. The next thing I remember was being in the hospital. Miraculously I didn’t break anything. Even luckier still, I didn’t get a citation for the accident or a DUI. I still don’t know how. But that’s the truth. They told me the only reason I survived was because I had been wearing my seatbelt.

During my stay in the ER they did a complete CT scan on me. Everything turned out normal, except for the fact that I had an abnormal amount of urine in my bladder. I have battled kidney stones and infections for years now, but after this, my doctor began to become concerned. So I was sent to a urologist and testing. They determined that there is an extreme amount of blood in my urine. Looking back over my records, there has always been blood in my urine. Every time it was chalked up to the fact that I had a kidney stone and pain when my urine was tested. But now, it was raising concern as it was a pattern that before had gone unnoticed.

I am still going through testing. My bladder is three times normal size. It is severely inflamed inside and bleeding. I am having constant bladder and kidney pain, which is abnormal. At first they dismissed the idea of cancer because they said I’m too young. But now, as all other possible causes are being ruled out, it is becoming more likely.

To say I am terrified would be an understatement. The irony of all of it is that for the past couple of years I have fought so hard to control the BPD. I have fought to keep myself alive. I have fought against the pull of the abyss. I have fought to create a better life for myself. I thought BPD would be my life’s greatest battle. But in this, I am powerless. I fought to keep myself alive against myself. But I may be facing down a battle that I have no control over. I might have to fight against unseen forces that I can’t quantify or explain. I am scared. I am lost. I am at a loss for words.

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Pinky Swear

Pinky Swear (Photo credit: The Kozy Shack)

I have recently found myself reflecting a lot on the last year.  In all honesty, it has been the most challenging path I have yet had to venture down.  This time last year, I was deep in the throes of an emotional abyss.  I was struggling to find an identity.  To find a purpose for my life.  I was lost in a world in which not many people can find you.  I did not even know if I wanted to be found.  I was crying out for help that did not come at the time.  From there it only got worse.  My ex leaving me in the manner that she did, shattered any grasp I had on my life.  I was broken.  A shell of myself.  And I continued to spiral down.  I was beyond lost.  And I am too stubborn, or proud, to truly ask for help.  I have an innate belief that I can heal myself.  That I can maintain control over the demons inside of me.  I lie to myself.  And, by many accounts, I failed.  I never wanted to see tomorrow.  I never thought that it would get better.  I gave up on everything in this life that I had ever believed in.  Including myself.  And I found out the true extent of my disorder.  And the deep places that it can take me if I allow it.  The scars on my arms are fading.  But the memory remains as clear as ever.  I remember.  Everything. 

To this day, it terrifies me to think of the depths of my emotions.  And where they can lead me.  But I am still here.  I am a different person then I was 7 months ago.  To say that my life has changed over the course of the last year would be an understatement.  I have grown.  I have learned.  I have begun to build a foundation on the solid rock bottom that I never thought I would escape.  I still struggle.  I still fight my impulsive true nature.  I cry.  I battle against myself.  I battle with myself.  I know the darkness that can consume me.  And I understand that the darkness is still inside of me.  But I am here.  And I know that there are several reasons for that.  It cannot be attributed to just one thing.  And one of those factors was this place.  This blog.  

Whoever may be reading this, I want to take a moment to thank you.  Yeah, you.  I probably don’t know you.  I may never know your name or meet you in person.  But you’ve read my blog regardless.  And because of that I feel the faintest connection with you.  In this place I have found solace, and I needed that more than I ever knew.  Maybe no one is really reading this, but I will put my faith in the belief that someone is.  That even just one person out there cares.  And whoever you may be, you played a part in saving me.  Just by existing.  And for that, I will always be grateful.  

I am not “cured”.  I never will be.  I will still stumble.  I will lose battles within myself.  But I will continue to fight.  So thank you for providing me with one more reason to.  Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.  Never give up on me.  And I promise to never give up on you.  I’ll even pinkie promise if you want.


this time around.

I am accomplished on paper.  I know this.  I have a steady job that I have held for four years.  While I struggle with money due to impulsive tendencies to spend, I live a comfortable life.  I also own my own home at a pretty young age; which is pretty legit considering the times and what the majority of America is struggling with.  I also have a core group of people around me that I know will be there if I need them.  They have already proven their loyalty to me time and time again.  So if you were to look at my life from the outside, it appears pretty good.  Regardless of the BPD, I have made a pretty secure life for myself.  I am responsible and self-sufficient, which are characteristics that even those without a mental disorder struggle with.  As my psychiatrist terms it, I am “high functioning”.  However, this is all because I internalize everything.  All the hatred, all the anger, all the emptiness…..it houses itself inside me.  And I fight daily to ensure that I do not take that anger out on the people in my life.  Instead of hating the world, I hate myself.  While I am accomplished, I will never believe that I am worthy.  I will never think that I am enough.  And even with all the evidence to the contrary, I truly believe the people in my life would be better off without me.  I know that I am wrong in this assumption.  But it is still something innate in me.  I battle thoughts of suicide almost daily.  And the scars on my arms are proof of that battle.  At my recent therapist appointment I showed her the scars on my arm from my recent suicide attempt and her initial reaction was “Oh my god”.  She then said, “You really did mean it didn’t you?”  Yes.  Yes I did.

But I am still here.  And there are a handful of reasons that I can attribute that to.  One of them, probably the main reason, is my godson.  He is the most amazing thing in my life.  And my love for him, I can’t put into words.  Part of that is because I want to be for him everything that my godmother was not.  I never want him to know these inner demons that I battle.  And I want to provide him with the stability that I was never given.  The other part of it is because I know that he saved me.  From the moment I first held him, on the first day of his life, my world was changed.  Shortly after his birth I went on the medication that is responsible for helping to control my emotions (an antipsychotic).  And I remain on the medication because of him.  His smile heals me.  And his existence makes me want to continue to be here.  To see him grow up.  To be a part of the structure in his life.  I know, this is a lot to attribute to a two year old who only recently was able to say my name.  But it is the truth.  From the first time his eyes opened, he has known who I was.  And his love for me is the purest form of love.  Because he does not know how to “fake” it.  I know that he counts on me and loves me just because I exist.  And for him I continue to try.  I may mess up.  I may lose control temporarily.  I may have to battle harder than others because I try harder than most to ensure that the majority of the people in my life do not know I struggle with something as serious as BPD.  Which means I battle internally with the emotions that most allow to take them over so that they can allow others to help them.  I do a lot on my own.  I falter.  I cry to myself and “wait out” my surges of emotions on my own.  It is harder for me at times.  But for his smile, it’s worth it.  It is all worth it.  He will never know the extent to which he has saved me.  And I never want him to know.  But I know.  I will always know.  And that is enough.


new chapter.

So I have talked about that night inSan Francisco.  The night that I almost didn’t come back.  But what I have not talked about is what else happened in that day.  Because while the night is a blur and I remember it only in fragments, the day was actually quite amazing.  Being with my best friend was amazing.  We have so much fun together.  And I also made a decision during the drive to our destination.  I decided that I was ready, after my breakup, to open my life to someone else.  To begin talking to someone that I had known was around and was interested in me even while I was in a relationship.  I decided that I was ready to begin talking to someone.  So I did.  On that drive I got the girl’s number from my best friend and I began texting her.  And from the first “hello” she captured my attention.  Most of what I remember from the beginning of that night is texting her while we were visiting all of the bars.  The trip was meant so that I could put myself out there and meet random new people and just enjoy my newfound freedom.  But I found myself meeting people to introduce to my best friend and then retreat to a corner of the bar so I could text her.  Like I said, she captured me from the beginning.  And that wasn’t supposed to happen.  It wasn’t supposed to be like that.  But against all odds, it was. 

And now, because of that day, my world is different in so many ways.  It amazes me that on that single day I could make two very different decisions that would alter my life.  It is the night that I almost didn’t come back from.  But it is also the day that I met someone who has made my life better.  And I am glad that I came back from that night for different reasons.  I have a newfound enjoyment of life.  I feel different than I did three months ago.  Very different.  And while it is an ongoing process, I am enjoying this new version of myself.  And while it is also an ongoing process of moving on from my decisions that night, I am glad that I am here.    

I am also glad that I was able to come back so that I could continue to get to know this amazing person.  The first couple weeks of us talking were pretty nerve wracking to be honest.  Because it was directly after the incident and so the scars were very fresh and held together by stitches and gauze.  I also felt extremely broken and lost.  But as I’ve stated before, I can hide emotional pain very well.  The physical pain was a little harder, but I would wear long sleeves on every date and every meeting.  And hope against hope that she would not touch my arm.  And if she came close I would grab her hand and direct her attention away.  But deep inside I knew that I could not keep up the charade.  I knew that, to this person that I was still getting to know and had just met, I would need to open up the darkest part of me.  If we were to continue, I would have to expose to her this secret part of me that I had not yet even opened to those closest to me.  I couldn’t hide it forever.  Not if I wanted us to progress.  And that terrified me.  Because I was broken.  I am broken.  And who wants to deal with that?  Especially so new into a relationship?  But it had to be done.  And I knew that.  As scared as I was, I needed to tell her because if she was going to leave, I would rather she have the chance to leave from the beginning.  She needed to know the truth as much as I did about how it would affect her and us. 

The night that I told her, I have never been so nervous.  She read me like a book and knew I was going to tell her something that was very hard for me to express.  She was expecting me to tell her that I was going back to my ex or something along those lines.  And so she was hesitant and extremely guarded.  Multiple times I thought she was going to tell me to get out of her car.  And that was even before I started talking.  But as I began, her eyes softened.  When I told her that the reason I had not texted her the day after those initial texts was because I was in the hospital, she started asking if I was ok.  I was shaking.  And crying uncontrollably.  I was a mess.  But she sat there patiently and listened.  Finally, I showed her the scars.  It was the only way I could fully express what I was trying to say.  Words couldn’t do it.  Nor could I find the words to explain.  So I just pulled up my sleeve and showed her.  The scars that day were horrible.  They weren’t even yet scars.  They were still fresh wounds.  And I had just had the final stitches removed and so it was red and swollen and hurt terribly.  The first thing she did upon seeing them.  The very first thing.  She grabbed my arm, traced the wounds with her finger and then gently kissed every single one.  Then she held me and let me cry.  

I do not know where this path is going to lead.  Or months from now, when I look back on this post, I have no idea if she will still be in my life.  But for now, she is.  And I could not be happier.  She brings out the best parts of me.  And loves the bad parts as well.  There are no secrets, no hiding these worst parts of me.  She knows it all.  And continues to stay.  And all I want is to live in this moment and embrace it.  She is not perfect and has her own storied past as well.  But for now, she has made me feel accepted.  For exactly the person that I am.  I feel no shame when I am around her and I no longer hide the scars that have come to define that one moment in my life that I regret.  And in this moment, that might be the greatest gift of all.  Maybe I will never be ordinary.  She won’t either.  But together.  Maybe.  Just maybe.  We can be extraordinary.


Different While Being Ordinary. *TRIGGER WARNING*

TRIGGER WARNING:  To all who might be reading this, I just want to take a moment to inform you that I will discussing some things that may be triggers for some.  I want to warn you first so that you have a chance to stop reading now.   This story is very real to me and something I need to discuss.  But I do not want to make anyone worse for reading it.  Consider yourself warned.

It’s really hard for me to write anything right now.  I want to just shut down and embrace the numbness that I feel inside of me.  But I know that I need to write.  Even if I don’t really have anything to say.  I need to put myself out there.  So.  Here I am.

It’s three weeks ago today that I sliced up my arm.  I have not written an actual post about that night because I still find it very hard to talk about.  I have repeated the main storyline multiple times to people in my life.  But it is the specifics that are hard for me.  But I promised when I began this blog that I would open up my life to the world.  The good and the bad.  And I need to honor that.  To see inside my head is to see constant mess and confusion and doubt.  To see inside my heart would be to see nothing but broken pieces and self-hatred.  My outward appearance and what I portray to the world is in sharp contrast to the inner turmoil of my reality.  I have been asked before, “what are you thinking?”.  And if I were to ever answer that question honestly, you would never believe me.  My reality is broken.  But it is mine.  And that is what I need to share.

It is still amazing to me how quickly that night three weeks ago turned into something out of a bad dream.  The night started out with so much promise.  But I spiraled so quickly and effortlessly.  Basically I still can’t believe it happened.  I have cut myself numerous times as just a release for emotions.  I would rather feel a physical pain then an emotional one.  And the physical pain was my release for emotions that I could not quantify or talk about.  But the cuts were always (ALWAYS) minor and on my inner thigh.  While the concept of suicide has always been an annoying thought in the back of my head, I have never ever allowed myself to get to that point.  Even in my darkest moment, I would never allow myself to lose that much control that I felt like that was my only way out.  I always knew that tomorrow would be a new day and that it would be better.  But on that night, I lost all control.  Due to a combination of alcohol, my meds and outside factors, I lost any semblance of control that I had.  In every sense of the word, I broke.  And I did not care what I did or how it affected anyone.  I just plain did not care.  I wanted all of the pain inside to finally stop.  And I never wanted to be a disappointment to anyone else again.  I no longer wanted to be the burden that I felt I was.  So when I went to the bathroom and saw my best friend’s haircutting shears, I just started to slice my arm.  And I didn’t stop.  I didn’t stop until there was so much blood that the smell of it filled my airways.  I didn’t stop until everything started to go black.

Today the scars are healing.  And I tell everyone that I’m okay.  Because essentially, I really do feel okay.  It was like the ultimate release.  Not that I ever want to go to that place again, nor do I recommend it, but for me it released every buried emotion.  I had always been so scared of what would happen if I gave up and lost control.  I constantly worried about what would be if I just, for one moment, let everything consume me.  And now, I found out.  I don’t carry that fear anymore.  Because I know.  I know what will happen if I lose control.  And, essentially, I don’t want to go back there.  I don’t want to go back to that place.  But in that same breath, I also know that I’m not okay.  There is so much about me that is not okay.  I am broken inside far more than I ever imagined.  And all I can do at the moment is just keep living minute to minute.  Try my hardest to keep that control that I need.  I need to keep fighting against myself because if I let go for even just a moment, I know that I will return to that place.  I know the statistics for BPD and suicide.  I do not want to be a statistic.  I want to be different.  I want so badly to be ordinary by society’s standards.  But with that, I want to be different when it comes to BPD standards.  I have everything negative inside of me.  As hard as I try, I cannot change that.  The fresh scars on my arm are proof of that.  It will forever be lurking inside of me.  Just waiting for me to lose control again.  But I refuse.  Right now all I want to be is just not another statistic.  I want to be different while being ordinary.  And if anyone can understand that, then maybe you are one step closer to really knowing me.