Tag Archives: lost

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.


a promise broken.

He vowed to love her. For better or worse. For rich or poor. To love her to the best of his ability for not only the rest of her life, but for the remainder of his as well. He promised to cherish her. But the reality, he is a promise broken.

One of the only ways I can explain what is inside of me is to say that it is an abyss. A swirling mass of emotions that sometimes rages. Sometimes calms. Sometimes swirls along at the bottom of my consciousness. And then soars to the very top of me. Covering every inch. Sometimes I stare down into the abyss. Standing at the very edge with my tiptoes on the ledge. And I look down into the emptiness and nothingness that is at the core of me. Sometimes it takes everything I have to not just jump in and finally allow the darkness to take me. Because it beckons me. Calls my name. Now the little girl that I used to chase around the house to hear her laughter. The little girl that I have shared every secret with, every smile, every tear, every hope and dream with, is staring into that same abyss within herself. And I do not know if I can stop her from creeping to the edge.
I don’t think she even truly understands what is happening. This is a new feeling for her. I know the abyss well. And while she has not had an easy life by a long shot, she has never faced the strength of that pull into darkness. To just succumb to the emptiness. She does not know what awaits at the bottom. I made my own promise to her long ago. I promised to always protect her. But now, I do not know if I can keep that promise. It is out of my hands. And I do not want to become yet another promise broken.

Last night I went over to spend time with my sister and niece and nephew. It was supposed to be an escape for both of us. An escape for me from the health issues that I have been struggling with lately. And a chance for her to get some help with the kids so she could get a couple moments to breathe. It turned into a nightmare.

My sister and her mom got into a screaming match. They are both wrought with emotion and strung as tight as can be. My aunt (that’s what I call my sister’s mom) is scared out of her mind that my sister will return to my brother in law. She is scared that my sister is breaking down into nothing, and that there is nothing we can do. My sister, on the other hand, is shattered. On the brink of a complete nervous breakdown. Unaware of the true extent of her brokenness. And so both of them just exploded against each other. Taking all of those other emotions out on each other. My sister was drunk and continued to drink. My aunt left the house for hours. I tried to talk to my sister, as I took care of the kids, but she could hear nothing that I said. She is so consumed with wanting her “family” back that she cannot see anything else. It is almost as though she has not examined her face enough to see the bruises that still circle her eyes. The marks on her neck that are only just now beginning to fade. I want to scream at her, “Look in the mirror! Look a little closer! A little longer! Truly see what he did to you!” But it would be no use. She is beyond words at this point. She would not hear me even if she was looking into my eyes as I spoke. She is in denial. I know this. But she is also about to jump into the abyss. With pure abandon. With both feet. And she doesn’t even know it.

It breaks my heart. It has broken me. And my niece and nephew, I want to protect them as well. The first time I held my nephew in my arms, I whispered into his ear that I would protect and take care of him to the best of my ability for the rest of my life. And I did the same with my niece. But from this, I don’t know how to save them. Any of them. “Well baby, mommy is going crazy and no longer knows what way is up. Yes, mommy is crying all the time because she’s sad. Yes, mommy’s face is black and blue, but there is no bandaid that can fix it. No baby, daddy is not going to come home soon.” I do not want to be a promise broken. But I have no idea how to destroy the abyss. It lives within me. I don’t want it to live within them as well. I promised.


I just logged into my facebook and the first two posts I see are from two different friends regarding them missing two different people that they lost in their lives. I take death hard. I don’t know if it is because of the BPD or that I’m just super sensitive, or what it is really. Just. When people around me are sad and broken, it’s like I soak it up like a sponge and feel all of those same emotions with them. I hurt for them. And I feel all of those emotions intensified within me. Even if the person that they are mourning for was not a part of my life, I still feel that loss as if it were my own. I know that sounds selfish, as if I am trying to seek attention or want people to feel pity for me, but I promise that’s not it at all. It’s just, I am so sensitive to those around me that I feed off their emotions. I don’t even know if it’s that I can read people well. That doesn’t quite explain it sufficiently. It’s like, I can feel them. Even if they didn’t say a word, my body and emotions inside of me would alter to whatever it is that is gripping them. I can feel what they feel. I can feel it almost more than they can. I hurt with them. And for them because I never want to see the people in my life that I care about feel emotions like I do. Maybe it is the BPD. I don’t know. But it sucks. I begin to think about everyone that I have lost. Those I still have yet to lose one day. Those that I am terrified of losing. Feeling that loss as if it were real. As if I could reach out and touch it and it becomes my own. I don’t really know how else to put it. Seeing someone that I care about hurt, I think it hurts me more than my own sadness. Because there is no outlet or reason for the pain. It isn’t mine. But at the same time, it is. And yet I have no explanation for it or way to ease it because it did not stem from me. If this is the disorder then it is one aspect that I cannot wrap my head around. It is something that I cannot change because I have no idea where I would even start.

walking contradiction.

“When you go through the valley. And shadow comes down from the hill. If morning never comes to be. Be still, be still, be still. If you forget the way to go. And lose where you came from. If no one is standing beside you. Be still and know I am.”

“But I will hold on hope. And I won’t let you choke. On the noose around your neck. And I’ll find strength in pain. And I will change my ways. I’ll know my name as it’s called again…So make your sirens call. And sing all you want. I will not hear what you have to say. Cause I need freedom now. And I need to know how to live my life as it’s meant to be.”

Lyrics to my life. Music is my escape. The beat that can put words to my emotions like nothing else can. I am a laid back personality type trapped in the broken life of a person suffering from borderline personality disorder. For most aspects of my life, I take trials and failure with a grain of salt. I try to take the high road in dealing with people. I have never sought to be immature when faced with difficult situations. When my ex left me with just a note on the computer, never returning to discuss the end of our relationship, I never exploded in anger. I never sent passive-aggressive texts. I never sought to fight for my honor as most of my family wanted me to. I never called her out on all of her lies. I simply let her walk. I let her go. In the majority of my life, I am the calm one. The one who sits in the background and enjoys good conversation. I like talking about the difficult topics that most people avoid. Religion. Politics. I try to understand differing points of view so that I can better understand my view on things. I change. I have been changed by factors that I cannot control. I seek to make my life better. I am a happy person with one of the most laidback attitudes you will ever meet. I am a walking contradiction. I view my world through a lens of my own making. When faced with rejection, even if it is a faction that I have created in my own mind, I break. I fight. I burst out in irrational rage. I survive with an unlimited amount of guilt. I fight to take it all back. I am impulsive. I can be responsible. I can be wreckless. I try to keep everything inside of me so that I can keep those dark parts of me hidden. I fail. I wear my heart on my sleeve. At the core, I don’t know who I am. Or what I am intended to be. I try to be what I want to be. But BPD changes me in ways that I will never be able to fully understand. Or change. I react differently than anyone else I know. I have studied my disorder. I have studied myself. I self-reflect every second of my day. But I will never be able to truly understand what I am made of. What resides in the core of me. I am an enigma wrapped in a mystery. A lost soul wandering in the dark. I am laidback. I am impulsive. I am happy. I pretend to be happy. I care too much. I don’t care enough. I am a good person. I am what I want the world to think I am. A walking contradiction.

last night. *caution: may be triggering*

Last night I broke down. I have a phobia of throwing up or feeling nauseous (emetophobia) and it occasionally gets really severe. It affects what I eat, where I eat, and I have a fear of germs because I’m terrified of getting the stomach flu. Well, last night I surprised my girlfriend by making her dinner. When she was making herself some tea before we went up to bed she discovered that some of the cups that were in the cupboard weren’t clean. I immediately freaked out thinking that I hadn’t run the dishwasher like I thought I had and so I had accidentally put away dirty dishes. One of the dishes had contained raw chicken and so I began panicking that we would get salmonella poisoning. My girlfriend battles with emotional issues of her own and so she got upset with me for freaking out. Which is pretty much the worst reaction you could have to me. It only causes me to freak out more and get angry. I can usually contain my anger pretty well, I’ve become fairly good at it over time. And I know that when I have those surges of emotions they will fade after a while so I just keep it in because I know it’ll eventually go away. But sometimes I lose that battle. Sometimes I just let the emotions overtake me. And I don’t really know it’s happening until it’s over and I look back on it. But in that moment, those emotions are my reality. I can rationalize what I’m feeling. It feels right. We fought over really nothing. But at the moment, I couldn’t hold back my impulsive emotions. My girlfriend eventually left the room and went into the spare room. When someone does something like that, it causes me to panic. I think they’re gonna leave. That they’re never coming back. Doesn’t make sense, I know. Sometimes people just need a little space for a while. I can rationalize that in my brain. But in that moment, my impulses take over. I can’t control my actions. In other words, I freak out. To an extreme. I started yelling things that I knew I did not mean. But I couldn’t stop myself. I went back to my room and grabbed one of my pocket knives and practically had to talk myself out of cutting into my thigh. I guess it’s a triumph that I didn’t give in to my desire to cut. Yeah, that’s great and all. But it took every ounce of energy I had to fight it. I sat there bawling my eyes out and spun the knife in my hand. The coldness of the blade felt amazing against my skin. To be honest, I have been struggling with the desire to cut for the last couple weeks. I want it so bad. What’s wrong with me? I don’t know how I kept myself from doing it. That’s not a triumph to me. That’s not a success. And the worst part about the whole thing? Fifteen minutes later we had reasoned with ourselves and were fine. Just like I knew in the back of my mind we would be. After that initial surge of emotion, I knew everything would be ok. But I can only tell myself that now looking back on it.

But what that moment did is reaffirm to me that I’m still so broken inside. I can sit here and say “Oh the meds have done wonders. My therapy is really helping. I feel great.” But really, I don’t. I’m not okay. I can still find ways to sabotage the relationships in my life. I cause the pain that my rational brain prays that I don’t have. Everything is still just a complete mess inside. The meds just numb me so that I don’t feel it. But it’s still all there. Just lurking, waiting for the opportunity to come out. I am my own worst enemy. And it’s never going to go away. People have told me that I like to play the “victim”. Or that I use my BPD as an “excuse” for my behavior. But I don’t want to be a fucking victim. I don’t want this. And I don’t use my disorder as an excuse. It just us what it is. I try so hard to be normal, but I don’t even know what that means anymore. No one understands. No one. And I don’t know how to explain it any better than I already have. I never really thought about how numb I feel. I just think that being numb is so much better than feeling too much. Because, well, it is. This is better than what I was six months ago. But I’m not better. Not even a little bit. It’s just a lie to myself. Everything is still there inside. I’m still the same person I was six months ago. Broken as ever. Fuck.


For several years now I have searched for answers as to why I feel the way that I do.  I know that a lot of what goes through my head or the emotions that course through me are out of my biological control.  But I still try to rationalize to myself.  I want to understand, to truly understand, what has made me this way.  Blame enough can go to my mom, both from a nature and a nurture standpoint.  While I love her with my whole heart, I do understand the damage that both her genetics and her bipolar disorder have done to me.  But there are also other answers that I seek.  

I seem to get stuck on the idea of “family”.  Stuck on what that concept is supposed to mean and what it means to me.  I am somewhat obsessed with it.  Maybe it is because I have never really known what family means besides what I have been given by my parents.  To clarify, that is by my blood relatives.  I have family in the sense that I have people who have become my “family” through longstanding friendships and the support they have provided to me over the years.  I am lucky to have them in my life.  I have so much more than most.  But still, that concept of true family alludes me.  The people who were supposed to care about me from the time I was born, never have.  Or at least they haven’t in the sense that they have never fought to be an active part of my life.  

My dad maintains a relationship with his older sister, but I have had no contact with her since I was in my teens.  I can barely remember what she looks like.  My dad’s brother died when I was a sophomore in high school.  His sons, my first cousins, are both in their late 40s.  My dad has a very strong bond with one of them, his name is Scott.  My dad talks to him just about every week.  When I moved to Arizona after graduating college I started working at Scott’s law firm.  We struggled to build a relationship when there had never been one for the first 18 years of my life.  We failed.  Or rather, he failed in his attempt to connect to me.  Perhaps it was doomed from the start.  He is of an age where he can be my father, not so much a friend.  And I am also partly to blame because at the time I was struggling to define my own identity as a gay person (I don’t like the term lesbian, not sure why).  In one conversation with him he told me that I would never get far in the corporate world because of how I looked; the fact that I had short hair and wore guy’s clothes.  I attempted to explain that I do not dress to try and look like a guy, I just dress how I’m comfortable.  He met that with a blank stare and just threw his hands up in the air.  I put in my two week notice the next day and have not talked to him since.  It was clear that he could never, for personal reasons, support my lifestyle.  And I would never force him to. 

The rest of that side of my family are strangers to me.  Just names on a piece of paper that evoke no emotion when I think of them.  Perhaps my relationships with my dad’s side of the family were all doomed from the start.  My first cousins are all at least 10-20 years older than me and so even when I was little we had no reference point on which we could connect.  Their children, my second cousins, are closer to my age, but most were just babies or not even a thought in my cousin’s minds yet when my parents and I moved out of Los Angeles.  We never spent holidays together.  There were no celebrations over anyone’s good news.  It is not that we have bad relationships.  It is more that there was never a relationship to begin with.  Which is a strange concept to me.  Most people have some sort of opinion about what family means to them.  Good or bad, there is some form of a relationship.  For me, with that side of my family, there is nothing.  There has always been nothing.  And I am not completely sure why.  I struggle with that.  When I was little, my aunt and uncle never tried to be a part of my life.  Neither did my cousins.  When I got to an age where I could make my own decisions, they were so far removed from the picture that there was no foundation on which to even try and build a relationship.  They are strangers to me.  The pictures I have in my mind of each and every one of them are more from actual pictures that I saw of them then from real memories. 

Now my mom’s side of the family, that is where the majority of my childhood memories lie.  Besides my parents, my grandma was the closest family member to me.  And that was from birth.  Seriously.  My mom was forced to remain in intensive care for two weeks after I was born.  It was my grandma and dad who took care of me during that time period.  I was not only the youngest grandchild, but also the only girl, so to say that my grandma spoiled me would be an understatement.  My uncle was removed from the equation when I was growing up because he was heavily into drugs and in and out of prison.  But I grew up with not only a grandmother who doted over me, but also with two aunts, an uncle (by marriage), and five cousins.  We were close.  Two of my cousins were like brothers to me.  I did everything with them.  One of them was only six weeks older than me, his name was James, and so the first seven years of my life I grew up with him.  Almost every memory includes him.  And almost every picture of me includes him as well.  

Then my parents and I moved to Nevada and the whole dynamic changed.  It shifted.  We still would spend holidays together, but we all built lives of our own.  One of my oldest cousins told me during one visit that he would protect me for the rest of my life, he was a big brother in ever sense of the word.  As more years went by, we grew further apart.  But while I busied my life with school and sports, my cousins struggled to remain relevant in an environment that grew rife with gangs, drugs and guns.  To my knowledge none of them ever joined a gang, but they learned their lessons from the streets of LA, where I learned my lessons from books.  Two completely separate worlds.  But yet they remained, at least in my mind, the closest thing to me.  James actually moved in with my parents and I during my senior year of high school.  He had already dropped out of school two years previously, but I helped him obtain his GED.  He lived with us for almost a year.  I got back the “brother” that I had known from my childhood.  And I cherished our relationship more than any other in my life.  Then he moved back to LA, had a child, and struggled more than ever to find a clear direction for his life.  We remained in contact, but once again our lives were in two separate worlds.  Then two years ago, everything changed forever.  

My mom is the oldest of her siblings.  She has always had a tumultuous relationship with her two sisters, but there was at the heart of it, a relationship there.  Even if they argued or had differing opinions, they talked almost every day.  My uncle had found his way back into the family and had moved in with my grandmother a year previously after the death of his wife.  He was “changed”.  However, I think it was more that he had relied on his wife for so long for financial support that he was too old to learn a trade and become self-sufficient.  He was too old to live on the streets and sell drugs.  But that’s just my opinion.  Either way, he was the one to find my grandma’s body that day.  From that point on, everything I had ever known about family from these people was altered.  

And it was all attributed to a letter that my grandmother had written nearly 14 years before.  In it was her “will”.  She had been talking about writing a new will and what she wanted done with her estate and even had stated several months before her death that she had written it all down in a new “will”.  But it was never found.  All that was found was this letter, handwritten by my grandmother in 1993.  It was a rambling mess that was hard to understand.  But the gist of it was that she wanted her estate split between two of my cousins, myself, my two aunts, and my mom.  Nothing about my three other cousins or uncle.  In one sentence of the letter she stated that she wanted the “majority” of the estate to be given to my two oldest cousins.  And in that sentence lie the weapon that would destroy our family forever.  My aunt and cousins clung to that sentence.  The bulk of the estate was to go to my two cousins, with the rest divided between my mom, me, and my two aunts.  Everyone that had spoken to my grandmother in those months before her death knew exactly what she wanted done with her estate and it was not this.  But no, my aunt said, it stated it perfectly in the letter.  The letter.  The letter.  The letter.  That is all we heard.  We are now in the midst of a legal battle.  Not over millions of dollars, but over a $100k estate.  My aunt has stated multiple times that after the situation is done, she no longer wants any contact from me, my mom or my other aunt.  At the beginning of this I reached out to one of my cousins and asked him his take on everything.  I wanted the situation to be discussed between our generation, I already knew where my aunts and mother stood.  I wanted us to be able to discuss things as the close family that we once were.  He accused me of starting drama and trying to twist his words so that I had something against him when it came time for court.  Mind you, he is 13 years older than me and should be perfectly able to handle an adult conversation about serious matters.  I told him that I wanted nothing to do with it, I wanted to follow what I knew my grandmother had wanted, and that meant nothing going to my cousins and I; the estate was to be split between my grandmother’s four children.  He said that I had no right to come after him as I did and he would fight for what he believed was his.  He portrayed nothing but hatred for me.  That moment broke me.  I realized the battle lines that had been drawn and that I had no more family to speak of.  My aunt and cousins destroyed what remaining relationships we had over such a small amount of money that would never truly pay for anything of worth.  The concept of family was tossed into the fire as greed consumed these people that I no longer knew.  Mind you, that aunt was my godmother.  The one who was supposed to play a part in my life, to nurture me, guide me, lead by example and show me the true meaning of life.  She cast me aside without a second thought.  They all did.  For nothing.  Everything I believed that my family was, was just a lie.  An unstable link that was destroyed at the first inkling of a payday for my aunt and cousins.  Maybe somewhere down the line I’ll reform a relationship with my cousins.  But deep in my gut, I know that that’s a lie.  This is too big.  Too deep to just be ignored and forgotten.  The relationship with me was worth less than the ink it took to file the lawsuit.  

And so, at the end of all this, I struggle to define what family truly means.  I feel abandoned.  Tossed aside.  I have no siblings to fall back on.  I have family that is that only by title alone.  I understand that family does not necessarily mean blood.  I have a “sister” who has been the closest thing I’ve had to true family in recent years and gave me a godson and “nephew” that I could be proud of.  I have “cousins” and “aunts” that have always supported me.  I love them.  And know that in them I can always find solace.  But still.  The thoughts of family that never was haunt me.  The memories of what family could have been fight their way to the surface of my mind.  I can’t help but feel that I am always abandoned.  Left.  That I am not worth the time.  Or the trouble it takes to maintain a relationship with me.  Because if I couldn’t be worth it to these people who were supposed to love me from the first moment of my life, how could I be worth anything to anyone else.  On one side I have family that barely knows my name.  I do not exist to them.  On the other side I have family that disregarded any relationship I had with them in their pursuit for a minimal amount of money.  

I have amazing parents.  I am blessed in so many ways.  But yet I cling so tightly to what I want “family” to mean because I know how easily people can cast you aside.  I mourn for people who never even knew me.  Who never gave me a chance to truly know them.  It kills me.  It eats me up inside.  All I want is just to matter.  To someone.  Anyone.  I want people that will be there no matter what.  Who have known me my entire life, have known all of my mistakes or poor decisions and love me anyway.  I know families like that exist.  They surround me.  So how come I was never worth it?