Archive for the ‘Helpless’ Category

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Control

November 10, 2011

I have none. I really don’t. I watched “The 8 year old Anorexic” yesterday and I was shocked by it but my unstable mind was mostly thinking things like this:

“I wish I had that much control.

Look at all the attention she’s getting, maybe If I starved…

I wish I could starve myself, It’s so extreme even exciting.

I could be emotionally and physically unstable, then I would get looked after forever.”

Although having BPD can be unbearable at the same time to recover from my illness means not having reasons for people to look after me. If I’m ill I need help from people.

Now back to the self control, I write myself a note yesterday it said:

NO BURGERS.

NO PIZZA.

NO CHINESE.

Eat fruit.

Drink Water.

STOP EATING.

I was completely determined to do this, as I am every time I try and start something like this. But then my biggest addiction is food (after sex). It makes me feel so good and I can have it any time (unlike sex) I can just go into the kitchen and stuff my face and it feels so so good. The feeling I get from eating some delicious is euphoric. When I feel stressed or anxious (99.9% of the time, the 0.1% being after I’ve eaten) I eat but it’s not just simply eating it’s gorging myself until I feel sick. And it feels wonderful. I get so determined sometimes when I see anorexia programmes to just not eat and I make a plan but then I get hungry or I feel down and J will say I need to eat something and he’ll tell me that I’m allowed and I’ll use any excuse to stuff myself again. The thing is I feel so determined not to and then when it comes to it I really can’t stop. I can not eat but the days that I don’t I have a hell of a lot that I have done in that day so I have been too distracted to eat. It shows that I can do it I just need more distraction, like writing. I’m not craving anything right now because I’m distracted by this but as soon as I stop I know I’ll want to get some take-out. Although we do need to do food shopping today and I’m going to order loads of fruit because although fatty foods is very pleasurable, I had an apple yesterday and the sweetness was so delicious. So I think If I live off of apples, water, salads and sandwiches I’m not being too dangerous but I’m still tricking my brain into thinking I am by not eating loads of food. This isn’t about hurting myself as such, it’s about satisfying my mind into thinking I am because it is adamant on doing so.

People never think food is an addiction but it really is. Like anything can become an addiction. They just think people are fat and should stop eating, they don’t think that maybe this person is eating to stop all the hurt that is controlling their head. It’s such a stereotype to see a picture of a girl who has recently broken up with her boyfriend eating a big tub of ice cream. Food is a beautiful comfort. It used to just simply be for survival but with our over indulgence nowadays it’s normal to eat too much food just when we feel like it. I do get upset that I’ve put on two stone in a couple of months, I do but then when I feel shit I don’t care. I really don’t. Who cares If I’m huge, I want to eat, it’ll make me feel better. But then I know if I carry on like this by the age of 25 I’ll be so big that I’ll fall into a horrible depression. Then I’ll die. So I have two options, eat feel good, kill myself because I’m obese. Stop comfort eating, find distractions, potential of depression becoming more apparent due to not having comfort eating, kill self with depression.

At least the not eating has only a potential of suicide, right? Maybe I should try that one. Now I know there is one thing that could potentially balance the two things I would want. Eating food as much as I like but then not gaining any weight and abusing my body. But then after having a brief affair with vomiting numerous times a day and not eating a thing, I lost a tooth and losing my teeth is something that would cause any even worse depression than being fat. I can’t get my teeth back. It’s sad though because after I did all of this, I loved my body. I was size 12, I had never been size 12 before, I felt really feminine. It seems strange with the fact that I have constant stress and anxiety that I don’t lose weight but then it shows how much I do eat. I don’t go out a lot, which limits exercise but I do have a very high constant sex drive so that’s my majority exercise.

The reason behind BPD’s high sex drive and lack of self control is the extreme want of that thrill, that excitement to alleviate boredom and give pleasure. It takes you away from everything. The pleasure may not last as long as we wish but it’s something and if we can access it easily then all the better. Food is easy to get. Sex is easier to get if you’re in a relationship but then BPD promiscuity is of course a big issue in a relationship or not. I wouldn’t say it’s “sex addiction” I would call it simply addiction to things that make you feel good. Which with BPD is very limited. Simple things cannot please someone with BPD. I must say here again I am not promiscuous and I am faithful to J. But as a woman with a high sex drive, he can even  get frustrated with it. So I eat instead. When you’re so used to being ignored by parents as a child and often neglected you realise as you get older that sex can be a very good tool for attention. Again, I say this here that I know I’m started to sound like I sleep around and try and get men’s attention with my body but I’m only referring to the what I do around my Husband. My father loved my mother but only ever really wanted sex from her, so at a young age I learnt that men just want sex. Which, isn’t true but it is a dominating part of their lives. I won’t lie, I know women who when they feel a little neglected, walk past their partner in the nude and it usually get the desired result. Although I know that my husband doesn’t want JUST sex from me, it is so much easier to get his attention and time from offering it. It’s more enticing that sitting down for a nice chat. I just need to control it, I will use innuendos without noticing it and sometimes I just wish I would stop but then I’m so desperate for full attention that it just happens.

It’s sad to see how my father treats and looks at women because to a young daughter it teaches her to feel the need to degrade herself for a man to love her. I remember in the earlier stages of mine and J’s relationship and I would try and act a way that wasn’t me and he knew it. He would say to me, “you don’t have to do things like that to make me love you” and I was baffled. What was this? It had to be a trick. How could he love me if I didn’t take my top off. Was this what real, genuine men were like? It still confuses me and I’m still learning that J doesn’t just love me because I have breasts. My fathers view on women has really shaped the idea of who I am and his ideas are WRONG. We were be watching motorbike racing together and he would always say, “Look! You could be one of those starting line girl who wear mini shorts and hold up a sign”. He had some good future plans for me, he did. I know my dad was always a “lad” but then it doesn’t help your daughter to have any respect for herself. I never wore revealing clothes or caked my face in make-up. I had a lot of respect for my body and that was mainly down the the church I was in. But now I am not a part of it, I’m not AS strict as I was then. I still don’t walk around with my breasts out but If I want to wear a pair of shorts I will. J doesn’t like me wearing revealing clothing but he’s not one of those controlling men who will force me to change if I did. He just doesn’t want other men seeing me half naked.

Yes, I did completely steer off the subject but I always do.

I have learnt many dangerous things from my parents and this means that I do find it hard to have control over my actions because I know extreme actions get equally as extreme reactions. I would only get cared for if I was dying so sometimes dying can be very appealing. Not being dead, but dying. I want to be begged to stop harming myself. The fall that comes with that though is often with these actions, if you do them too many times, the person who has to experience what you’re doing can often just start to block it out. They think well you do this all the time and I give you the reaction you want yet you do it again so telling you I care doesn’t seem to help. As with everything, validation is temporary.

When being told to recover from BPD, it mean unlearning that bad things mean you get looked after. It means unlearning that para-suicide and suicide is the way to go when things get rough. It means unlearning that addictions will keep you going forever. But then it means learning that my husband does love me and I don’t need to keep asking him again and again and again whether he really does love me. It means learning that I have to look after myself sometimes and accept that everyone can’t look after me for me. It means learning Independence. It means you can’t just kill yourself when you miss the bus because you don’t want to have to feel any negative emotion. It means learning that food will help in the short term but in the long run your problems won’t just dissapear.

Both paths are hell but only one can lead to potential recovery. But then do I really want to recover. Not right now.

The reason I don’t go out much, why I study with distance courses is so I don’t have to be around people. Because the horror stories I hear about people with BPD  and how out of control their actions become scares me a lot. And I know I have a lack of control with sex, food and money and to put myself into the world gives a greater risk. I mean If I can have those problems when I don’t get out much what could happen if I were out there. I’m not willing to risk it.

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Children’s movies and bright eyes.

August 28, 2011

I often notice my inner child come out with I’m with my husband. He allows me to be a child and not feel embarrassed. I can watch children’s TV and cuddle a toy and he will stroke my hair and let me feel comforted. It may sound strange but my therapists have all said for me to have some time to be a child.  I don’t have many cuddly toys but my therapist told me to buy one special toy to have as a comfort. He is a wonderful penguin and he is a great healer and comforter. When I’m feeling upset my husband always brings him to me. It sounds strange even reading it to myself. I really am quite emotionally immature.

People with borderline personality disorder do have the emotional intelligence of a child due to things that may have happened to them. We may lack understanding due to confusion when we are actually children. Personally for me I had two very contrasting and chaotic parents, one parent is sex obsessed and lives on porn and the other thinks anything sexual is bad and wrong, for example. What does a child believe? Now imagine that happens with a lot of other life lessons, contrasting views, where each parent may change their view from one second to the next. Your mind gets scrambled and when you grow up you try and think what you believe but then you aren’t so sure. And with parents like that it is almost impossible to ever be a child. You have to be the adult and I was the only adult in my household. I took care of them.

Most of my family would think it weird or stupid if they knew J indulged in me acting like a child. But it’s not like I go out in public in children’s clothing and wear a dummy, I just allow myself to regress into a childlike state to experience the comfort from J that I never got as a child. When I’m in that state of mind I love watching children’s movies and my eyes light up with excitement when I see a pretty princess or a talking turtle, I sometimes even point and say “look darling that turtle talks!” almost in a child’s voice. It’s such a wonderful feeling. It can also block out the things that are happening around me because I’m a child so they no longer concern me. These behaviours have never worried me because they’ve never lasted for an extended period or to a worrying extent. I’m just able to enjoy being young. Surely when you’ve had no childhood it’s natural to try and be a child when you are out of the situation that took your childhood from you. I have a nice balance though because I am always very adult any other time but as soon as I get to watch a good cartoon or kid’s movie I have the childhood I wasn’t allowed! I hope to watch a turtle’s tale later 🙂

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Dad’s Birthday

August 17, 2011

I told my mum not to go to the hospital. The more goes the more he thinks she wants him back and keeps getting crushed when she says she doesn’t care. Me, J and my aunt went to see him, I made him a cake especially as I thought it would be the best present to get him as anything else he would immediately lose. We got there and they had made him a cake. It was difficult to hold back the tears, I worked really hard on it and it was pointless. I was then only one who ate a slice and the rest was brought home. While there he definately wasn’t well, it’s extremely hard going to see him. He keeps introducing me saying “this is my beautiful daughter!”, it’s upsetting because he’s talking like that because he’s unwell.

One more thing. He says he’s coming home tomorrow. This time it’s real. This happened last week too, the psychiatrist also said to him “we have to ask your family first”. He is NOT well. They keep trying to send him home and expecting us to look after him. There is no way in hell I am looking after him like this. He will get abusive if I refuse to do something for him. They did the exact same last week, so he knows if he doesn’t come home then it’s down to me saying no. They said they will have the crisis team and he will do activities in the day at the hospital but that is NOT good enough. He cannot be home. He will try and force himself on my mother and he will be demanding and unreasonable in every way possible. I was supposed to get a phonecall tonight but nothing has happened. I swear to God if they bring him home tomorrow without saying anything I will walk out of my own home. I don’t even have anywhere to go but I’m not staying at home if he comes back. He keeps talking about bringing women to the house and saying he won’t divorce my mum because she’ll get the money but he says she is still his wife.

It’s true that she is still his wife but it’s only in paper. In every other way she is not his wife. You can’t say “this is my wife” just because you have a piece of paper that says it’s true. You need a relationship with the person too. He wants his wedding ring back for goodness knows what reason but he intends to sleep around and chuck her out. I’m sick of explaining this to the stupid bloody doctors who are trying to kick him out for me to deal with. I reckon they will call me in the morning and cause hassle because tomorrow is my husband’s exam results day so it’s not like we’ll both be stressed enough.

BAH!

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Updates

August 17, 2011

I haven’t written in over a month. Sometimes I think that when I don’t write here it’s a good thing because it means I don’t have anything awful going on but that’s not the truth. I write less because I’m finding it hard to do anything anymore. It’s effort to admit how I feel. It’s difficult. I wish I was writing as much as I used to. I don’t really even have many people reading anymore, It feels like it’s dying out here.

Well my updates. Dad is in hospital, it’s been over a month. He lashed out at my husband and was very clearly manic weeks before but my words were nothing due to him behaving when around drs, crisis team etc. Me and my husband had to leave because I was too frightened to be there, the police escorted us out because I refused to go near him without police there. Even if he wasn’t a threat, my childhood trauma wouldn’t let me go near him. This is the worst he has been since I was 6, when it all began. All these years this has been my nightmare. Yes, he has been unwell since then but not manic. Not manic. Mania is the single most frightening thing I have experienced from my dad, it always ends involves psychosis and delusions.

We came home after we were told he was in hospital and an hour later we had a phonecall from the police saying he had dissapeared. Absolutely petrified I locked myself in the room and of course he came home. The police came to the house and refused to take him, I screamed at them that I couldn’t have him at home and he was supposed to be admitted and I was frightened for my wellbeing and they could do bugger all. I made them call the hospital and get the information they needed to take him and as usual the hospital were useless.

The police finally managed to ask him nicely if they could take him to the hospital, he agreed but we had to go too so he wouldn’t dissapear again. We got to the hospital and were told we had to wait for him to have an assesment. All the doors in psych wards are locked so we were literally locked in a reception room with my psychotic father. 2 hours passed and he wasn’t having any if it. He started smashing things up, screaming and urinating on the floor. I banged on the doors for help. No one came. Some doctors even just walked straight through and ignored us. Some said they would get someone and never came back.

We were at the hospital for 5 hours for an assessment to say he needed to be sectioned. In that time we could have been seriously hurt. Including my dad who was trying to smash the windows so he could “cut his wrists and bleed to death”.

Even the most stupid person could see that he was unwell. He believed he has shut down the news of the world single handedly and he claimed he had loads of corporations that could kill us all at the push of a button. He said he was a millionaire and had loads of women falling at his feet and would do anything for his money.

And then there’s my ignorant mother. Ignorant is a nice word to use. She knew/knows he is ill yet she believes every word he says. She doesn’t understand why he would lie. And to be fair he isn’t lying in his world but in the real world none of what he says is true. So everyday my mum comes into my room and says he’s coming home, setting panic in my heart for me to realise it’s him that says he’s coming home. So it’s not true. But in she comes everyday, “your dad says he’s paying off my debt with his money” “he’s coming home tonight” “he says I need to go and see him and bring him home”. And then there’s his demands. Before he went into hospital he bought every paper he could find because he thought they were worth millions. He gave me and my aunt a stack of papers and said to take them home because he needed to keep them all, we just binned them on the way home. It sounds nasty, I know but at the time he didn’t remember one minute to another so he wouldn’t even know he gave them to us. So he calls mum up. “Your dad said he needs some newspapers and that I need to go and see him this evening”.

1. She doesn’t like him. She doesn’t give a damn about him.
2. She is too stupid to realise that he doesn’t need those things because he is fed at the hospital and the more she goes the more he thinks that she wants him again.
3. She said she is only doing all this because if she doesn’t he will go even more crazy.

So basically I have to deal with dad being in hospital, being frightened of him AND to top it off having a (excuse me) fuckwit mother.

I’ve visited him about 4 or 5 times in the past month even though the bloody hospital is 2 hours away (I don’t drive) and he’s started calling everyday crying and saying I have to visit him every night and if I refuse he gets nasty. I asked them to stop him calling me so he found a mobile phone and called the house saying I can get out of his life and get out of the house if I won’t be at his constant beck and call.

Yes it’s nasty him being in hospital but it’s the first break I’ve had from being emotional stressed out from him and being made to do EVERYTHING for him in I don’t know how many years. It’s nice him being away. And plenty of other people visit. I need a break and I get abuse for it.

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Dear me,

June 29, 2011

Dear Little Me,

Why did you have to be so awkward. There are reasons why they never liked you, why they used you. Even your parents couldn’t love you enough, especially her, she only loved you if she wanted something. And he was always selfish, you were always second. Why couldn’t you just be good enough. You were always overweight and disgusting, that’s why they laughed at you. That’s why they called you a freak. You were just weird, not good enough to be their friends. They were better than you. Sure, you were smart but who cared about that? You thought maybe being smart would get you somewhere even if you weren’t attractive but you were just too quiet to be noticed. Plus, your friends were smarter than you anyway, so you were never smart enough. I know you tried to look nice but you made a fool of yourself. They laughed and asked what was on your face or what had you done to your hair. You just could never get it right. Your clumsiness made you stupid, your clumsiness made them hit you. You stupid child. Nothing made sense in your world anymore, you could never figure out why you were hated. But did they need a reason, you were just destined to be locked away. You hid a lot, I know, it was safer to be alone. You cried and made sure no one heard and if there was a knock on your door, your face was immediately bright and cheerful, of course nothing was wrong. But maybe you deserved to cry? Not that it mattered. No one would come. No one would know what to do with you. Even if they did, they would get sick of you and leave at the first chance. Why did you keep going? I don’t know what possessed you. Did you believe that one day, you would be saved? What made you think they would suddenly change and take care of you. Are you delusional? I think so. Who in your life has never stabbed you through the heart? Everyone is destined to break you because you are breakable. And hell, do you deserve it.

Love Adult Me.

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Competing.

June 25, 2011

So here I am, decided against self harm so I’m not a dissapointment and decide to go on a late night stroll. There’s not many people out and It’s deathly quiet so I thought I’d do some writing.

I thought I would write about the 3 people who (are supposed) to love me most. My parents and my husband. All 3 of them have something in common, something that drains the life out of me on a daily basis and makes the hole inside of me bigger.

Obsessions.

Now, from a young age I have had to compete against my parents obsessions, Merrill Osmond of the Osmond Brothers and Football. I always knew my mum loved Merrill more than me and my dad would never stop talking about football. The only way to ever be with them was to go to an Osmond concert or go to the football. Otherwise I was alone. I felt neglected for these obsessions, passions, whatever you want to call them and It meant I was always fighting for their love and attention although I never believed they would love me more than those things. I was fighting a losing battle so at one point I guess I just gave up fighting for their love and accepted that I wouldn’t get it and I didn’t want to keep havig to do what they wanted to be with them, I wanted to be their choice not their option. My dad has started to be with me more, my mum has never changed.

My husband spends more time gaming than he spends being with me. It feels like exactly the same thing I’ve got through, I feel neglected, unloved and at some points I just leave because I would rather sit in a dark street than sit in a room with my husband feeling more lonely than ever. You can feel lonely if you are alone but the worst lonliness is when you’re with other people and they choose
Not to be with you. At that point, I just wish I didn’t exist, to see if that would make them come away from their obsession and see that I’m alive too.

I’ve screamed, I’ve cried, I’ve cut. In the end they use their passions to further ignore. All of these people have been damaged in their childhood and need something to fill a hole, yet I don’t seem to fit the bill and that makes my hole even bigger.

I try and justify it by thinking maybe it’s just me, maybe I make it all up. Maybe I just want attention too much. Maybe they get so damn sick of me that It’s my fault they would rather be elsewhere and with other people. Maybe if I were better they might love me enough to fill that gap. And that I come back to reality and go and cut myself again.

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Parents, growing up and suicide.

May 2, 2011

Well, wouldn’t you expect a happy blogger after getting hitched? Tis not so. Everything has gone excessively worse in my life since. Not my fault of my marriage but everything else (Okay I admit being married is called borderline anxiety problems but leave this for now). While my anxiety has increased massively since getting married and being diagnosed OCD, I knew something else had to go crazy in my life because my life can’t just have one huge problem at a time. Since I’ve gotten married my dad has finally said that he wants to divorce mum, this is a God send because their marriage is part of the reason that I am, well, writing this now. It just seems so many years too late for it to actually benefit me but at least for it to happen now means that my dad may be able to benefit, as for my mum she is socially inept, can’t make friends, is easily bullied, has a low paying job and has narcissistic tendencies and I believe BPD. I can’t imagine her ever being happy with any situation. Even though I am trying to fuel this divorce, along with my dad’s sister, every now and then I break down and cry. I know I’ve never really had a family as such but the fact that they were physically in the same home meant I could pretend.

I went to the in laws yesterday and it was my father in laws birthday, the family gathered round the table and a cake was brought out as the family sang and my heart broke into a million pieces. Even though my husband’s family are also quite dysfunctional, they love each other and do nice things for each other. I’ve never EVER witnessed either of my parents do something nice for the other and it hurt so much to see that even the most dysfunctional family can still be a family. It hurt that I don’t have a family. I have a mother and I have a father but no family. And now I’m married, I have even less of a family because the part of my parents that made me feel like I had parents was the occasional care of which now they feel they don’t need to give because I’m my husband’s responsibility now. I had this particular conversation with my mother yesterday.

I came home from the in laws for my mother to casually say “your dad went to hospital”, I questioned why she didn’t call to tell me of which she just shrugged her shoulders (her usual response to anything to do with dad) , this then brought up a conversation about how I’ve always loved dad more and how she needs to see the one she loves again (her celebrity obsession who has stepped over the boundaries by being her “friend”). She said she didn’t want to tell me that she was going away because I would “go off on one” I didn’t I said to her, “He (the obsession) cannot solve your problems.” To which she cried to my husband “see I told you, there she goes”. I tried my up most not to judge her and to just tell her that this celebrity can’t make her huge life problems better. She sees me as attacking her no matter what I say, I told her that she needs to sort out this home situation too and that she should of left years ago. She, of course, attacked me again, “you said you wanted to live with dad and he would’ve of raped you!”, she’s playing the hero, living with him to protect me. My dad has never touched me in any way that has ever been inappropriate. If anything she’s been the one who’s been over sexual with me throughout my childhood. She starts to tell me that she is trying to sort out the situation at home, so I asked her what she’s trying to sort out. She wouldn’t tell me, she said now I’m married and moving why do I need to know what’s going on with my my home because I’ll be gone. I told her that just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean I’m just forgotten about but she was set in her view that if I’m gone then I no longer exist in her life and it’s not important what goes on in my family because she doesn’t seem to understand that anything would emotionally effect me. She has a very one person view, she can only understand the way that things affect her. I thought maybe she was going to try and sort out a divorce as well so I tried to get her to tell me what was going on because how ridiculous would it be for both parties to be filing for divorce and the other not knowing. You can see how much communication there really is. She ended up saying how she doesn’t want to say anything because it’ll cause problems, J kept telling her she had to tell us. So she starts crying and says she’s talking to someone at the crisis team. After all she’s put me through I can be horribly unsympathetic to her so I stopped myself blurting out, “IS THAT IT?” To me calling the crisis team is not a big thing at all, I just know that they’re shit. So, she’s trying to get herself emotional support…but I still don’t see how that solves the home problem. She wants to continue living at home but have emotional support? She spent ages saying how nobody ever helped her when dad was first ill but every time we asked if she asked for help she said no but she expected it to just happen. So she feels let down by mental health services and she’s angry at them yet how do you receive if you don’t ask? She complains that dad got help and I got help but she didn’t. One, dad had a psychotic episode, of course someone is going to look after him in hospital. Two, I was a child, when you’re a child, you aren’t expected to ask for help when you go through a traumatic experience. I feel like she blames me but I did all I could throughout my life to help her and yes I did give up because of her constant “nobody cares about me, what about me, nobody ever looks after me”. J kept being sympathetic to her and I couldn’t stand it, she would cry and he hugged her and I just got so mad. If he hugs her and comforts her, she will attach to him and because I refused to hug her, she will have more reason to attack me. There were times that I cried and cried and she shrugged her shoulders at my feelings and said “what about me” and I can no longer let her in emotionally because I only get hurt. I only get left behind. So J’s compassion will be her reasoning for me not caring. He also kept telling her I do care and I do want to listen and I do want to help. I don’t. She is a grown woman, I want her to grow the hell up and start taking responsibility for her actions. She has created this life and she takes no responsibility at all for any of the wrong that happened, It’s all everyone else fault. She only thinks I’m ill because of “your crazy dad”, she doesn’t understand situational depression or that anything she has ever done being a cause for my trauma and pain. And until she accepts responsibility for her own actions I can’t help her. She says she wants to die, yeah well you know what, join the queue.