Don’t play chess with Death

Mistrust and Abuse. Since writing that post yesterday I’ve had the evening when Evil-Ex tried to kill me on my mind. I need to get it off my mind and the best way I know to do that is to write it down and let it go. So hold on, this is going to get a little rocky.

Cast of Characters:

Evil-Ex … Malignant Narcissist. Need I say more?

Cutie … Met Evil-Ex around the same time I did. He lead her on, pursued her, they dated briefly and turbulently. When they broke up he created elaborate schemes to get revenge on her, make her life miserable and ruin her reputation. He tormented her in a way that made her feel like she was the one going crazy and he was really on her side all along. Sound familiar? It certainly feels familiar.

Doc….  Evil-Exes best friend who was slowly coming to the realization that there was something truly wrong about his friend. Went out of his way to open up and protect me. He tried to do this for Cutie as well and developed a very meaningful relationship with her. Eventually they started dating in secret. All in all a really good guy.

Blondi… One of Evil-Exes lackeys friends that also had a crush on Cutie.

…and of course, Myself.

This particular story starts around Thanksgiving 2008. Evil-Ex and I were ‘solidly’ in a relationship and living together. Evil-Ex was trying to pass Cutie off onto Blondi. He and a lot of his little minions treated women like objects; something to be passed around and handed off when they were done with them. Cutie was trying valiantly to be friends with our group despite all she had been through. Unbeknownst to Evil-Ex, her and Doc were getting pretty close and she was interested in him. Evil-Ex was done with her. Evil-Ex decided that Blondi should have a shot with her so Blondi felt entitled to her. She wasn’t interested in sleeping with Blondi. Taking a true page from Evil-Exes playbook, he felt like he deserved this and not getting it, wanted revenge. Evil-Ex, being the ingratiating friend that he was, offered to do this. What was the revenge? Blondi wanted a picture of her crying for his birthday. Evil-Ex was more than happy to do this. He started talking to Cutie more and more; hanging out with her when I was out of own visiting family or with my own friends. He always waited until the next day or so to let it drop, trying to make me jealous. He actually told me what his intentions were, about his little game. I was sickened and nearly told her. He got to her first though and managed to play us against each other for a while. He told her a slew of lies about me to make her hate me. He told me she hated me for bullshit he had made up and let me believe she was trying to get back with him so I would be jealous and not want to help her.

This built up slowly for two months before The Party.

About a week before The Party (@Blondi’s house) Doc called me and told me that he was bringing Cutie, but not to tell Evil-Ex. I don’t remember if he knew what Evil-Ex was up to, but he didn’t want to give him the chance to prepare something to hurt her. I asked him if she hated me and he assured me that she didn’t. We decided it would be best to clear the air altogether.   

The night of the party rolls around. It was a dark, snowy night. We got all dressed up and fancy. About an hour after we arrived and started drinking Doc and Cutie show up. The look on Evil-Exes face could have melted glass. His anger was barely contained, but bubbling just below the surface I saw some anxiety when he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. He’d been feeding me a steady stream of lies and smear trying to keep me from ever speaking to her again. He was paranoid that we’d confer and really be able to dig up the dirt on how truly terrible the deeds he pulled were. He was reasonably sure I believed him, but I’ve never been very predictable. This time was no exception.

As soon as he left the room, before he had time to think of anything further, I walked over to Cutie, asked her if I could talk to her for a few minutes and pulled her down into the den away from the party. I completely threw caution to the wind. “Look, I don’t know what you’ve been told, or what’s going on here, but I don’t hate you, I don’t even dislike you, I just don’t know you that well so I don’t know what to believe and what not to believe. I wanted to talk to you and get your side of the story. This is what he’s been saying to me…”  and told her what Evil-Ex was conveying to me about her.

We quickly got to the heart of his lies and uncovered the truth of what was really going on. I let her in on his game for Blondi as well, thoroughly ruining his ability to cause her more misery. Instantly we were allies.

As soon as Evil-Ex noticed my absence, then hers, he started looking for us. He barged downstairs, plunged between us, and dragged me back upstairs. Anytime we stood too close, sat too close chatting in a circle, he would wedge himself between us so we couldn’t ‘conspire’. There wasn’t any plan to do anything except figure out the truth. But that was enough. He was harsh, made jabbing comments, demeaning and cruel with almost everything he said to me. We drank more. And more.

By 1 o’clock I was well and thoroughly smashed. He made yet another verbal attack and that was as much as I could handle at the moment. Another of our friends took me into the living room where I sat crying onto his shoulder. He was being awful to me, to her, hell! To everyone! They just couldn’t see it. I didn’t deserve to be treated like this. At some point Evil-Ex came up behind us and sat down on the couch. As soon as our friend noticed he got up and left me to talk to him. I sat down next to him. He accused me of betraying him. I told him I just wanted the truth and I didn’t deserve to be treated the way he was treating me.

<Blur>

I don’t remember how he got me on the floor. That part of my memory is a black void. But there I was, flat on my back, lying on the ground with him on top of me. His hands wrapped around my throat, smashing my head into the ground. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. The room was spinning maddeningly from lack of oxygen and about two dozen too many shots of vodka. But my hands were free and my instincts from 15 years of martial arts took over. I was able to get him off of me. We collapsed lying there.

“I told you I can snap. See what happens when you push me?” This was all my fault? Apparently. Shame. Shame is what I feel now thinking back on this because all I wanted at the time was to make everything better. I wanted to fix it. He said he was going downstairs to sleep this off. I wanted nothing more than to curl up with him, have him wrap his arms around me and tell me we could figure this out. He refused and I didn’t push it. That was the first night my future Boring-Ex and I really hung out. He kept me company afterwards so I wouldn’t be alone. Treated me like a human being.

The next day we went out to breakfast with everyone who spent the night, pretended everything was ok. I actually thought it might be. When we got home we sat down to talk. Evil-Ex decided it was time for us to ‘take a break’. I agreed, reluctantly.

This was the beginning of the end for us. And possibly a blessing in disguise. We agreed not to hang out, not to even speak to one another for a while. I stayed away from our house as much as possible. Every night I went out with friends I hadn’t seen, or hadn’t had the freedom to see whenever I wanted. It took me about a week to realize what I had. Freedom. Every night I was going out with people that wanted me around. I was seeing people that treated me well. I was starting to laugh again. Enjoy my life again. Three weeks later he broke down, wanting me back…. But that’s a story for a different day.

Through all of this, I don’t feel like a victim. He tried to victimize me, but at no point did I completely roll over and allow it. It may have taken me a while but I always managed to fight back and look for the truth in what was happening. Ultimately, despite how horrible of an experience this was, I learned from it. That knowledge has made me a stronger person.  

Lucid Analysis – Trials in Therapy

Another night of therapy comes and goes. Therapist is so positive sometimes I wonder if she listens to me or is able to be realistic. Then again, maybe I’m too ready to believe the negative. I expect the worse without hoping for or even thinking towards the best.  Every week she tells me I’m a good person and a good friend, a joy to work with. I hear her words, but I still feel like she must be talking about someone else, some other idea of me that only she sees because I am a bad person. Though the people around me seem to support her to. I don’t know how to see myself as ‘good’, or at the least ‘not bad’. 

Therapist asked about the situation with Roommate. I talked to Roommate a few days ago. She thinks staying the full 6 months until the end of our next lease cycle is very reasonable. It’ll even give her more time to save and be more financially secure as well. That’s a huge relief to me. The holidays, especially December, is such a hectic time for everyone, and so fiscally strenuous, I couldn’t think of a worse time to add more stress. We ended up having dinner together and just spending a couple hours chatting. She also brought up that she wants to hang out more because we haven’t been doing that for a while. I can’t tell you how much better that made me feel. I’d been thinking the same thing, but you know me, I don’t think anyone remembers me when I’m not around, so to hear that she does think about me and wants to hang out more is reassuring. It gives me hope that even when she does move out we’ll be able to stay in touch and that she wants to make the effort to keep me in her life.

Reassurance. I hate that I need so much of it sometimes. I’m always afraid to ask for it. The thought of coming across as needy or clingy grates at me so I bury how much I need to hear certain things. This creates its own problems of self-doubt and loneliness though. Traits that I feel make me weak and bad. If I feel these things are bad, I can only believe that other people will believe it too, and who wants to be around someone like that? So I put on a mask of stone and solitude and slip slowly into myself. And really, who wants to constantly expound on the importance of having a particular person in their life? I’m sure it would get annoying after a while. I just can’t allow myself to come across as the kind of person that needs this. I don’t want to be an annoyance or a burden. A burden. That’s what I imagine having to provide this constant reassurance would be. I don’t want to be a burden on the people I care about. I should be able to take care of them, not a burden when they’re dealing with their own stuff.

Therapist was thrilled that Roommate gave me this kind of validation though. She also noticed that I didn’t seem to be personalizing Roommates reasons for moving out, and amazingly, I realized she was right. Roommate and I are good friends, she still wants me in her life, in no way is this meant as a way to surreptitiously end our friendship, she’s is just approaching a time in her life where she needs to take a new step. I’m going to miss her, I’m still not sure what I’m going to do and I can’t even conceive of living with someone else yet, but at least I don’t feel like it’s my fault and I don’t think I’ll lose her friendship.  

Therapist doesn’t think I’m an alcoholic either. Yay for me. If I were to start drinking multiple bottles of wine by myself every weekend; that would be a concern. If I wanted to stop drinking, but felt compelled to pour myself another glass and couldn’t stop; that would be a definite problem. The choice to sit down and drink, even a lot, as a conscious decision is pretty normal, though possibly not the best judgment. So she’s not worried about that so much, surprisingly, my trying to pick a fight with Friend was. That was what she found interesting. She said clearly I still have a lot of anger towards him that I’m trying to repress. And she’s right. I still have moments where I don’t understand why he would remain with someone like her when there seemed to be so much more passion in our attraction. That he does makes me feel like I must be even less worthy of a person if I rank below that. The displays of affection he/they put on in front of me, is like a constant jab reminding me of what was taken away. It’s compounded by the fact that I have so little respect for the kind of person that woman is which makes me doubt how much I can really respect myself. It’s the power that these things still have over me that really makes me angry. Alcohol sort of releases that cork that I’ve used to help bottle up my feelings. We talked a lot about expressing anger. I don’t often see my anger expressed in a healthy manner. I rage, I drink, I pick fights, I cut, when I was younger I would kick down doors and put my fist through walls and windows. I do have one healthy outlet for my anger, and that’s the gym. Running and working out are at least one way to channel that aggression into a constructive outcome. Therapist had a homework assignment for me but she forgot it at home so next week we’ll see what my formal assignment is. This week I’m to start getting back into my journaling which I’ve sort of let slip. Bad girl.

Med Update: The Pristiq seems to be working well for me. My weight is fluxuating a little, but I think this is more due to stress then the medication. My energy has been really good too. My mood does seem to be a little higher on average. My head is clear. I can concentrate better. I’m more productive at work. And so far it doesn’t seem like I’m having any side effects at all. Except the dreams. I’ve always been a vivid dreamer, but lately my dreams have been EPIC. I feel like I’ve lived days and nights between the time I lay down and the time I wake up.

Then again, that might just be the excessive sleeping I’ve been doing.  That’s been a switch from my insomnia for sure. For the last few weeks all I’ve wanted to do is read and sleep.  I found myself falling asleep at 8:30p the other night! I think I must have turned 70 at my last birthday haha. I’ve been so stressed out from my job and from people it’s all I’ve had the strength to do. I’ve almost completely withdrawn from the world around me, losing myself in the escapism of my books. Except for this blog I’ve shunned tv (not that I watch tv), movies, and even the internet. Therapist sort of dismissed this as needing some down time. I’m not so sure. I’ve been completely incapable of facing the real world. Completely cutting myself off from the outside. As soon as I’m home from work I shut down and retreat into the fantasy world of my books. Or maybe I’m just a little obsessive and this book series is really JUST THAT GOOD. Haha. Nah, idk.  I do feel like I should make an effort to get back out into the world though. Maybe branch out and expand my circle of friends. I still fight with myself regarding how close I should be to Friend. I’m afraid of losing him, but I don’t know how good it is for me to have him so close. I do know that spending more time with Roommate is a wonderful idea though and we are already making plans to do stuff this weekend =)

All in all therapist thinks I’m making a lot of progress. I’m in a pretty stable place, even a pretty stable headspace for me. I do sort of feel like I’m floating though. I’ve had many days where I question what my purpose here even is. I feel like I’m living each day simply to see the next and I wonder if that’s enough. Is that all there is? I’m missing something. There’s a hole somewhere that still needs to be filled to really ground me to where I am, and I’m just not sure what it is.

To Drink or Not to Drink?

I’m definitely feeling a little better though I did my body a great disservice with how much I drank this weekend.

Saturday I drank more than a bottle of wine as a buddy of mine and I watched A Game of Thrones.  I made sure to tell Friend the silliest details . In my increasingly drunken state I wanted him to be jealous. I clearly started to pick a fight with him via text as well and barely restrained myself from overtly expounding on the uselessness of his wife. Though I know I implied it. I also recall accusing him of hiding his true thoughts from me which I’m sure he does but he used my inebriation as an excuse. I wanted to push him away, make him mad, something… but he didn’t indulge me. He’s good about that. My buddy and I drank steadily for about 6 hours before I decided it would be a good idea for me to drive home. I wasn’t going to stay. Fortunately I managed my way home without incident or injury. Though I did pass my street, and once I turned around, passed my own apartment in the dark.

Sunday Friend texted me bright and early as if nothing happened at all to confirm I’d still be coming over for dinner. The wife was making something or other… turned out to be a vodka sauce for homemade pasta. The homemade pasta was a disaster. The sauce was, well, very much like creamy vodka. Not good. I made an Egyptian street dessert that did come out very well though. At one point the wife wanted grapey wine so Friend and I went to the liquor store where we bought 3 different bottles of potentially grapey wine (whatever that means) and a bottle of some Brazilian liquor. We got back to the house and proceeded to try them all. I probably drank another bottle of wine and glass of liquor.  

I worry about my drinking. My grandfather was an alcoholic so I’m afraid it runs in the family and I’m genetically predisposed to it. Friend had made a comment that we should just accept the fact that we’re alcoholics but appreciate that we’re functional alcoholics. In the moment I was all for this plan. Hey at least I’m not alone and what’s so bad about it anyways? It doesn’t interfere with work or providing for my life, what does it matter if it takes a drink or two to help me relax? Society says it’s not really acceptable but what are social norms besides imposed morals thought up by other people?

I’m not sure I have the answer to these. I could go either way. But I do know that drinking makes my thoughts turn black eventually, and spins me down into a darker place than I had been before. And that is not where I want to be. Hence, it’s a problem. Do I actually think I’m an alcoholic? No. I’m just afraid it can happen. I worry. That I worry about it probably is an indicator that I’m not, because if I was truly I’d accept it as a part of my life, and not something that needs to be monitored.

Does that make sense? If it was actually a problem, I’d probably be in the thick of it and not realize it was a problem. But since I’m worried that it might be a problem, I’m aware of it so it won’t actually be one?

Something like that.

4 days no alcohol! With no anxiety or anything at all, so that’s an indicator too that it’s not so much a worry as I fear. Maybe?

Quotes from the Borderline

If you know someone who tries to drown their sorrows, you might tell them sorrows know how to swim. 

 ~Quoted in P.S. I Love You, compiled by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

Sorrows may submerge for a time but they never drown for good. Oddly, not only do they come back, but they make all my thoughts that much bleaker. Maybe not so odd as water logging your brain in a depressant. Expected even. And yet, I continue to do it. I’m still very upset about recent changes but this is the wrong way to cope with the issue. Drinking. Drinking heavily. In the bottle I feel fine for a time, reveling in a momentary escape from my madness, and then spend days afterward in a deep, dark place. Clawing my way back to the surface, when it was me that jumped into the hole in the first place. I’m worried about my drinking. I had resolved to stop and at the first upheaval I lost my resolve. I’m disgusted with myself. I’m making myself sick.The beautiful thing about new days, is they provide new opportunities to begin once more.  Today I start again.  

Shadow of my Self

Losing control of my mask.

It was a weekend. A long, long weekend. I’m including Monday in this too, even though I was technically working. I took a day trip to Chicago for my job. Up at 4:30a.m. to fly out, back by midnight flying back.

Friday I hung out with Friend. I don’t know why I was there. Usually I feel some connection. I was alone in that room. Watching movies, geeking out, I couldn’t contribute. He kept talking, I wish he wouldn’t, I couldn’t think. I had nothing to say. I found myself mindlessly agreeing with him. About nothing particularly important, but I no longer had anything to say to him. He doesn’t even feel familiar to me.

No one does. Monday, waiting for my plane I texted all the friends I should feel close to. Nothing. Empty. Hollow tubes connecting where solid ties should exist. I don’t know what to do.

Saturday I knew it would be a bad day. As soon as I got home from Friends the night before I knew I was alone. Utterly. I slept as much as I could. Forcing my sleeping drugs down my throat to not feel. Saved by an unlikely source, my tattoo artist called me and I hung out at the shop going over his design. It’s not right, not yet. I’m obsessing over it. Figuring out how to make it more my own. I’ll sit down with him again this week, but I need to do it before Saturday when I’m having it done. I’m dreaming about it, how it can go wrong. How I’ll settle to not upset him since he put so much work into it already. But this needs to be about me, not just his talent. I will live with this and I can’t let someone else   I can’t. I have to remember this. Too often I let others have too much leeway. This is one area I cannot compromise. I’ll take this for me, because it is for me.

Sunday, I hung out with another guy I’m becoming friends with. I don’t know how to discourage him from liking me in a way that is more than I can offer, more than I care to offer. I don’t want to lead him on. I’m suspicious this is the only reason he’s around. I’m unable to not question his motives. I don’t know if I’m paranoid or perceptive. Got home that night and I finally gave in. Alone in my apartment I drank, ate, binged, purged. The last thought before going to bed should not be, this is how bulimia is supposed to be.

Monday I took a day trip to Chicago for my job. Up at 4:30a.m. to fly out, back by midnight flying back.  Me and a colleague, networking with others in my industry.

I couldn’t maintain my mask. People talk about masks occasionally. That image you present to the outside world to cover up what hides inside. The shroud thrown over your true Self to blend in with the crowd. Masking the madness within. It didn’t crumble completely. The weight of being someone I’m not for so long at one time, for someone that knows nothing of me other than the professionalism I present. There was no walking away. No slipping out to slough off the pressure pulling me down.

I work alone, occasionally mingling with coworkers. I can take a break when I need to drop the façade with no one monitoring me. During the day, meeting other professionals in my field, I held up. I held up for a long time. Too long. Usually I can walk away, take some time to release the pressure building up from crushing down my core. No opportunity this day. Not even a minute for me.

 

Walking the Ring I felt myself floating away. My mind reeling in that depersonalized spiral. My surroundings surreal. Watching the wall of electronics and machinery I floated two feet to my right. Hovering heady and light. I felt too tall; disembodied.  I’ve become so used to my dissociated emotions, but I have generally felt grounded. My body my own. Not this time.

Next, visiting a manufacturer, touring the machine shop my vision blurred. I viewed everything through a foggy lens that wouldn’t rub from my glasses. I love machine shops, the noise, the smell, the rush of productivity… too much, too much for me that day. I couldn’t focus my thoughts; I couldn’t tune my attention to what was being told to me.  I relied too much on my colleague to keep up the conversation. Interjecting only when I knew I needed to.

By the time we got back to the airport I could no longer project the professionalism. Not an emotional crumble, but too personal. Talk of school, spending my time alone, geekery, movies, forgetting to watch my pronouns, I felt like I was lying when I mentioned past boyfriends knowing that this was not my preference; knowing I did this only to redirect attention from a part of me I’ve embraced. I’m not used to repressing parts of me that I am believe in. Hiding in a closet has never been my way; however I never spend time socially with colleagues making it easy for me to never mention it. Professional is not personal, and my personal has no place in my professional. My identities don’t bleed together. There is no seamless transition. There is one, or there is the other. I tried to toe this line, but even talking about subjects that were safer I felt myself hunching over my beer, staring into the amber liquid looking for a way out. I played to my exhaustion, and his. It’s all I could think to do.

Coming into work this morning I feel well rested. I feel utterly out of place. This is not my environment. It’s wrong. Clothes that don’t fit, an office that is not me, air I can’t breathe. I no longer have a choice. I picked my path and now I have to see it through, but something broke. I don’t know how to pick up the pieces; glue them back together. The cracks in my armor are apparent to me and everyone will see that my façade is a fraud. I’m sure of it. I’m living someone else’s life.

Understatments understate

“Your risk for relapse of symptoms of borderline personality disorder is greatest when you feel threatened by being left alone (abandonment).”

Relapse – is the reappearance of or increase in symptoms in a person with an illness or disease after a period of improvement

Saw this statement over at Health.com.

I’m so amused. As if the symptoms of BPD aren’t expected to reoccur. As if they ever go away in the first place (without treatment).

OMG Don’t leave me!

Maybe we should try a twelve step program. Personality Disorders Anonymous or PDA (Public Dispalys of Affection are acceptable for the Histrionic). Eh, hem. Step #1, “Hi, my name is Haven. I have a generally untreatable personality disorder but I hope by sitting with other emotionally volatile people I’ll be able to stop being emotionally volatile.” What? This may help if Step #2 comes with a straight jacket and step #3 is a lobotomy. Not that I haven’t considered lobotomy a viable option on occasion, but even I think that’s a little extreme after a couple hours.

Heh. Treatment for BPD is difficult,  though certainly, not impossible. The outlook is actually getting better and better every day, but relapse is going to be part of the process. Relapse is going to be a very common part of the process. To say that the risk of relapse is greatest when threatened by being left alone:

1.) There is no consistent cause for what sets us off.  

2.) Does not automatically imply abandonment.

Being abandoned does mean being left, but being left alone does not necessarily mean abandonment.

Or maybe it does but it’s a mild form of it.  Personally I need to be in a relationship for the thought of being left (not necessarily alone) to make me most crazed. That’s the kind of abandonment that would set me up for the greatest relapse.  Left and removed from someone’s life forever, abandoned to the ether to never be seen again. This does not mean just anyone leaving me alone.

I’m alone a lot. I live with one Roommate who has a boyfriend so she’s out of the apartment all the time. I’m very happy for her. She deserves someone who makes her happy. She’s one of the best people I know. Some people might consider this statement as me Splitting her into the all good category. She’s never let me down though, and until she does she’ll stay right where she is. I’ve known her for years. Hell, my very first memory of significance concerning her was of her taking care of me after I unintentionally gave myself alcohol  poisoning on vacation (I didn’t know I was drinking Everclear – never again). She didn’t know me and yet she took care of me. That’s not something that is easily overridden. Years later and she still hasn’t let me down in a way that people inevitably do. That said, I have begun to notice that I drink a lot more when she isn’t in the apartment. Drinking takes me out of my head, even just a little bit so the emptiness isn’t so bottomless. As I type this I wonder if part of it is some subconscious connection to the fact that my first strong memory of her was of her taking care of me because of alcohol. I digress.

I do have a pretty severe intolerance to being alone. I have a lack of object constancy. If you’re not with me, I lose my connection to you. What’s more, if I’m not with you I cannot internalize the thought that I am still a part of your thoughts or your life. How can I be an part of your life if I’m not doing anything with/for you? You’re gone. I’m gone. I don’t know where I am.

What also gets me is the statement of ‘after a period of improvement’. What improvement? I’m far from healed. I’ve just begun this process. Just because we’re not in a constant state of suicidal ideation or ripping open our arms doesn’t mark a period of improvement. It marks a period of lessened triggers. My symptoms don’t go away, they just aren’t as apparent.

As mentioned, I’m alone a lot. And yes, some of the absolute worst times for me have been at the thought of being completely abandoned by someone. Even someone I didn’t really care for. Take a look at my trip to the Psych ER. I didn’t even like Boring-ex. However, relapses are relative. My being alone when Roommate is gone is a pretty mild ‘relapse’, though frequent. When I was at University the stress and anxiety cause by the course load I took on, the fear of failure, the need to punish myself for lack of perfection drove me to some incredibly traumatic tailspins. I had a nearly complete nervous breakdown when I received a ‘B’ in a class. Keep in mind that my major was considered one of the hardest majors to complete. The pressure I put on myself was unreasonable, but it had nothing to do with being alone. All relative.  

There are so many things wrong in this write up. Maybe I’m nitpicking. Maybe I’m just rant-y. Bad article. All bad.

I guess my amusement comes from the incredible understatement of this sentence. One sentence. Totally enough to sum up BPD abandonment implications. Right.

Angry penguin is angry

It’s Your Party and I’ll… Do Something Better if I want to

Fuck. So it’s Friends 10^th year wedding anniversary coming up in a month. The wife sent out invites a couple weeks ago and I’ve known about it for ages. I’ve been completely ignoring it. I DO NOT want to go. I’m also trying to reign in the venom and not say “you guys are awful, leave me the fuck alone, can’t you see you bother me?”

I’ve been avoiding the whole thing, leaving the room when it’s mentioned, ignoring the inevitable FB invite.

Friend and I were having a day of our usual geekery and philosophical chatting. Out of nowhere he asks if I’m coming to the anniversary party. I ask him when it is (even though I have a vague idea). Two seconds later Wife IMs me and asks if I’m coming. She’s as neurotic as I am, if not more, decided having Friend ask me would be too slow and IMed me directly. Our conversations go like this.

Wife: Hi

Me: Hi Lady

Wife: How’re you?

Me: Was bleh, now better. How’re you?

Wife: Doing pretty well. Oh! Randomly, are you coming to the party?

>> How is this random? She doesn’t IM me unless she has an intent. I know this. If she doesn’t know this she’s retarded. Why the pretense? Anyways.

I tell her it’s still a ways off and it’s going to depend entirely on my moods. I’ve been exceedingly angry lately and I shouldn’t bring that to a party. She says “I’ll put you down for a maybe, even though it’s a probably.” Really? You think so? Unbeknownst to her because I don’t talk to her about personal stuff I’m mostly  just uncomfortable being around the two of them together and I sure as hell don’t want to celebrate them being together. Fuck that noise.

So back to Friend. I had asked him when the party was, he still hadn’t responded so I informed him of the date. Told him Wife’s idea of random was surprisingly not random. To which he responded with, I’m sure she just wants to know how many to prepare dinner for. 

What. The. Fuck. Ever.

She’s neurotic like me.  She just wants to know who’s coming to her party. They’re BBQing for Fucks sake.  I told him it will depend on my moods. Don’t plan for me, I’d show or I won’t. He said… ok. And then that was it. I sent him a link for a fighting school I was contemplating joining because we’d just been talking about this stuff and 15 minutes later all I get is “Neat”.

So I’m sitting there freaking the hell out. I’m sure he’s pissed at me. His silence in response to my, I’m not giving you a definite yes is obvious. He’s mad. Our friendship is probably over. He’s going to hate me. But I’m not wrong! I don’t want to be there so why should I be! I’m a masochist. I know this. But isn’t the point of getting better to not be a masochist? So going and sitting there as they’re all cute is just going to make me all uncomfortable and sting at me. Why put myself through that? Because he’d want me to? I was just all impressed by how well he perceived me at the Sci-Fi Con and then he’s all oblivious today. Either I’m really good at hiding my problems or he’s an idiot. I’m sure he was just asking because the wife asked him to. He’s a guy, he didn’t even remember when the thing was, he didn’t care. But since I said idk it’s a problem. Now he’s not talking to me. He didn’t show up to my f-ing birthday when he knew it was important to me, why should I show up to his thing? It’s obviously not that important to him because he doesn’t even know when it is. But considering he hasn’t spoken to me since there’s clearly some hostile feelings there. Passive-aggressive. So sick of it. I want things to be ok. I actually have thoughts of going just so he won’t be mad. But I DON”T WANT TO! I’m sick of doing everything for everyone else. I know this will only hurt me. Why should I do it to make him, or her, happy? No fucking reason at all. He obviously doesn’t get it, or wants to ignore it, and yet I’m supposed to be ok with it? So now he’ll probably never talk to me again. Or even if he does he’ll be resentful. Pull back and not care so much because I couldn’t do this one thing. Our friendship is going to be over. My stomach has been in my fucking throat since I said I’d show or not. Minute by minute I’ve wanted to take it back, but not take it back. I want that entire minute of conversation to have never happened. But no, they have to push it. Fuck it. I’m so sick of having to make decisions that are hard for me. 

Our friendship is probably over.

Can’t I just do engineering? Quantum Mechanics? Astrophysics (my University minor)? Those are easy for me. No really. I started those things when I was 12. People on the other hand or so bloody hard for me. I don’t know what to do. Except throw wine at it. Wine makes so many things better. Like right now. Writing this? Way easier. 

Ghost of friendship present

Well, there was that.

I’m starting to spiral down again. Have been all week, slowly. Spent most of last weekend with Friend. I was alternatingly irritable, anxious, avoidant, and numb.

Friday, staring at the TV watching Aladdin {of all things?} was all that kept me from bitching at the wife. There’s only so many times I can tolerate being cut off before I’ve completed a thought process.  I shut up, retreated inwards, and refused to look at anyone.

Friend and I went to see Sucker Punch. If you like cute girls in short skirts with multitudes of weapons and excellent explosions and no expectations that it will be much more than fun eye candy and escapism, this movie is for you. I thought it was a ton of fun. The empty space surrounding the beginning and end of the movie though… It was odd for me, before the movie it was like talking to someone I knew a long time ago but now I’m not sure if we have any common ground anymore. I feel no connection to him. Afterwards was equally as strange. I could have been talking to a random stranger that had seen the same movie, who coincidentally happened to like all the same parts I did.

Next day I went over to work on a project. He wanted to bump up the start time, but I hadn’t pulled myself out of bed yet and still needed to go to the gym. I told him I could be over an hour later than he wanted which he was fine with, but sent me rushing around like a mad woman. Hauling ass out of bed, rushing to the gym, cutting my workout in half, just so I could get home, shower, and get over there. Why I felt compelled to rush myself like mad, sending myself spinning in a free fall of temporal anxiety is beyond me. I always do this. I don’t care, but I can’t say no, or in my own time. At least Friends wife was gone. Every time I go over there now, it feels like I’m there for the first time. That I know where everything is, is a strange sort of déjà vu. Everything looks familiar, but I walk in the house seen through a glass wall from the outside in, through a museum of rooms I’m not supposed to sit in. Never be a part of. I’ve completely lost my connection to it all. I’m pretending to be someone I think I’m expected to be. Going through the motions of caring. About {everyone}. It’s exhausting and grates my nerves. I’ll be alone if I don’t. If I don’t act the way I’m expected to, play in an acceptable way – there’s no point being there at all, b/c all I’ll do is push people away.  I could walk away from it all and feel like I was never there in the first place. 

There were points in our project that I wanted to rip things out of his hands. I needed things to be a certain way. That he was doing it and not me, he was doing it wrong, and my stomach kept twisting into knots, tighter and tighter.  Barely controlled anxiety I could tell him to do things differently, though it would have been so much easier to just do it myself, but I’m trying to act inclusive so I don’t. Finally we finished up and I was actually pretty happy with the results, but then…

I had nothing to focus my attention on. I had rushed out of my house so fast that I forgot all my stuff to distract me with. I just felt blank. Blank and out of place. I wanted to go home and get my stuff but then there wouldn’t have been any point coming back and I didn’t want to not be there. I didn’t necessarily want to be there either, but spending the rest of the day/night alone was not acceptable. I just, couldn’t leave. It made me anxious to stay, anxious to go. Stuck. Stuck. Split. Without other things to do I felt like I would have no excuse but to interact. I don’t know why this bothered me so much. I needed something else to focus on that wasn’t directly interacting with him, which is stupid b/c {essentially} it was just me and him. Hyper aware of when we sit to close. Usually touching someone is grounding for me, even just feet touching curled up on opposite ends of the couch. A physical connection that brings me back down to earth. Not now. Trying to hold onto a shadow of something sitting further off into the light. I did what I would normally do all day and didn’t feel attached to any of it. My Self floating and drifting somewhere outside of me. Everything dizzy and slightly surreal.

I get so sick of feeling like this.

I left rather abruptly. As soon as I left the house though my energy started to ramp up. By the time I got home I was much too hyper than a 10 minute drive should allot for. 

My therapist says I’ve detached from my emotions. I can’t have completely because the irritation, anger and anxiety are still there. I don’t know how to get back. I want to have functional friendships. I can see myself pushing away, but refusing to let go.

Maybe if I keep trying, keep pretending like everything is normal, I’ll eventually convince myself that it is. Delusional. This never works. All it does is work to make me lose myself more. I am the only one I truly need to hold onto.

The next day I did stuff I knew I was supposed to do but slightly detached from everything. Wine helps, even though I know it shouldn’t. This week though I’ve been ok, but I feel myself slowly sinking. It’s getting harder and harder to drag myself out of bed again. I feel weighted by invisible hands holding my head down. Suffocating on the very air I need to breathe. Don’t want it, can’t live without it.

I’m defective.

Spiral out, Keep going.
Spiral out, Keep going.
Spiral out, Keep going.

Borderline Boredom

Boredom should not be allowed.

Came home from the gym. Increased my lifting weight. Everything is tired. I don’t want to move. I have no motivation. No inspiration to draw. No attention span to read.  Nothing to keep me occupied. Alone with my thoughts. Empty. Everything just feels empty. I want a drink. Drinking at least lets me fill the void a little. Take my mind away ::sigh:: At the same time I want to not drink. When you know you shouldn’t do something and you need help not doing that thing, that’s when you ask for help right? So I ask Friend for motivation to not drink, and I just get fucking angry when I’m given reasons not to! I make no bloody sense. Fucking Buddhist meditative logic like: it messes with my meds, frustrating levels of libido, and makes irrational thoughts crop up. Whatever. The libido issues I deal with daily. I’ll give him they mess with my meds, but my meds don’t seem to be helping anyways so what’s the point? I already have irrational thoughts, my mind is a very busy place to be >> But they tend to lead to self loathing and the last couple times I drank (that he knows about) I said things trying to get him angry at me. >> Which I promptly freaked out about. I need to not be left alone. I need to not be left to my own thoughts. Something, anything to occupy this space that goes on forever. I can’t stand it.

And by the way ‘Empty’ is not a feeling. It’s a lack of feeling. What the hell is there to say about feeling empty. There’s nothing there! Of course now I’m worked up and agitated, so I guess that’s something.

Too many thoughts that go everywhere and nowhere and wrap back in on me. I need distracting. Just for a while.

Maybe just one…

This thought brought to you by: Rage Against the Buddhist.

Grr.

Self destructive impulse

I just don’t know how to be alone some days. I know. Shut it. 

I’ve been kind of a hermit lately. Off the grid sort of anti-social. I’m always around people at work and my roommate is always here in the evening so it’s not like I’m really alone. Might not be talking or anything but I still feel her presence. 

My roommate is gone for the weekend. I hate being alone in the apartment for long periods of time.

I take for granted that she’s around so much. I take for granted the affect that having her here has on me.

I don’t always recognize how it affects me though. Or that it does in the first place. Like Thursday.

She was gone Thursday. I got home from therapy, was alternately very frustrated b/c of my therapist and increasingly hypomanic. Left alone to my own devices I make mildly irresponsible (destructive) decisions. I’ve been trying to drink less, but I mixed myself a drink and a half.  This lead to me just being more hyper and prolific. Also hungrier. I’ve been very, very good about watching what I eat, but I completely binged. Being bulimic you can imagine what followed that. I haven’t done that in many months. Everything goes so fast. From start to finish not a second to stop and think.  Roommate came home eventually and I basically hid myself away after that, didn’t say anything, but she was home and I just felt better. 

Last night Roommate said she’d see me in a couple days, headed out and I went about my evening.  I went to Friends, which was only mildly uncomfortable for me. He had sort of a non-stop  need to fill the silence chatter going on which is unusual. I was mostly sleepy. I didn’t really have any great need to stay but I didn’t want to come home. I hate coming back to an empty apartment. Meh. It’s too quiet. Too empty. My room is too isolated. I can’t hear if anyone gets in our not. I pull my comforter out into the living room and crash on the couch. Ever since I was little, in high school, through college, if my brother or sister were gone for the night/weekend I always sleep in the living room where I can hear better if someone tries to get in. It’s more open and lived in. Meh. IDK. It just feels safer. 

Woke up this morning. Really hard to even pull myself to a sitting position. I just wanted to stay curled up.  I went to the gym. Came back. Empty apartment. I just feel, hollow. I know I could call people and make plans, but I’m already turning inward. Day already feels too long. There’s too much time to fill and I have no thoughts for how to fill it. I just want this low level anxiety to calm down. My psychiatrist doesn’t prescribe anti-anxietals and I need a new PCP so I’m out of Xanax. Pour myself a drink instead. 

I even told Friend that I didn’t think that I quit the drinking thing. I could see my fingers moving just for a reaction, any reaction, attention, but then I just got annoyed upon getting a response. Not about what the response was, just that he texted me back. I was more annoyed at myself for bothering to text him.  

One drink turns into half a bottle of wine. Turns into eating to soak up the alcohol, turns into freaking out about how many calories I’ve consumed, but I’ve already fucked up this much and it’s actually easier to get rid of everything if I’m filled to capacity so I make myself everything else I want. My wine is awful (that’s what I get for listening to the lady at the liquor store), switch to Jameson while I cook so the alcohol absorbs into my bloodstream while my stomach is still relatively empty. Vodka, wine, whiskey…. Bingeing on everything I have in the apartment (which admittedly isn’t all that much), finally so full that it’s easy to get rid of everything. Release. Release  from the anxiety, my thoughts,  my loneliness, from an endless few hours of uncertainty, trying to figure out how to just get through them. The span of 3 hours from start to finish. Then sleep. 

My favorite part being the residual alcohol in my blood just makes me sleepy enough to pass out at 5pm for a  2 hour nap. Sleeping is the best thing for me. Unconscious time machine. Time passing faster when my eyes are closed. Can’t be lonely when you’re not conscious.

I am not very social lately. With the exception of the first year or two when I moved to NY, I’ve never been very social, but less so than usual lately. But I haven’t really been alone, alone, too often.  This sucks so much.

Being alone is intolerable, but I don’t want to leave, don’t want to go out either. It’s just as intolerable but in a different way.  Ugh. I went to Friends last night, which was fine as far as that went. I was surrounded by a bunch of engaging people. I just don’t know. I wasn’t alone, but I didn’t feel /with/ anyone either. I always feel separate. It’s better than actually being separate though. There’s just no winning. Alone. Not alone. Still alone. 

 I eat. I drink. To keep myself busy.  I know before I start this shit that it’s not healthy for me, but I can’t stop myself. I just keep going, feeling more and more guilty the further in I get.  I’m sure my therapist would say this is poor impulse control. I’ve been doing this too long. I know this is bad, but it doesn’t feel bad. It feels normal, just another Saturday afternoon. That, is a problem.

I’m not even sure I can call it a relapse. Well the bulimic tendency, yes, but everything else? This is exactly what I’m working to stop, but it just seems like no matter how much work I do I still slip. I keep falling back into bad habits and screwing up. No one is perfect. I get that. I know there’s a certain amount of relapsing in the recovery process but I can’t help feeling like I’m not making any progress. Maybe I expect too much of myself. I’ve been dealing with this shit for so long, I just want it to be done. I want to feel better. At least, not crazy. I know I have to keep trying, keep working. Just because I have a couple bad days doesn’t mean everything is a wash. ::sigh:: Tomorrow is a new day. A new chance. I’ll just have to try to be better come morning.