When You Have A Broken Heart: Living w/ Borderline Personality Disorder The Series

A few beats of silence passed before he said those three small words that used to mean so much. “I love you.” Before my mind could consult with my heart, my lips parted with an automatic reply. “I love you.” It was an exchange of a phrase that no longer carried any weight. To me, the words “I love you” had been a promise. A commitment that he had broken long ago.

It had been 36 days since we had seen each other, much less spoken. Not that I have been tallying the numbers like an addict who counts the amount of time that has passed since their last fix. However, my love for Quinn could very well be compared to a drug. No matter the terrible things he had done to me, nor the amount of times he toyed with my heart by storming out my front door to only return weeks later, I could not give him up. I did not have enough strength to fully let go.

This was probably tied to my disorder. One of the nine symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder is, as Mayo Clinic defines, “An intense fear of abandonment, even going to extreme measures to avoid real or imagined separation or rejection.”

When Quinn truly left for the last time it was time to come face to face with my fear of abandonment. But that is what I needed to happen. It was essential for him to leave for good and to never look back. I was desperate for him to cut all contact so I could mourn the loss of all that accompanied the end of our relationship. And within a blink of an eye, he finally did. A quick conversation about moving to Ohio had been our last.

Now it was time to mourn. And I did. I wept for the loss of a relationship that had meant so much to me for various reasons. It was not just the death of a future as husband and wife never coming to fruition that pains me. No, my grief is spread across many categories.

To me, the words “I love you” had been a promise.

For starters, the warmth from his family, who accepted me as their own is gone, leaving me to feel cold as my own family has never loved me in such a way that I felt I belonged. My humble goodbye to the two women who always had opened their arms to me, was reduced to a pathetic letter sent in the mail. As my pain is so great, I would not be able to make it through their front door without dissolving into tears. So that was to be my farewell. I feel as though I have abandoned his sister who also suffers from BPD. The guilt I grapple with for deserting her is just one of the many terrors I must deal with on my own.

Nightmares surrounding my past sexual assaults had plagued me for years but had dissolved pretty rapidly when Quinn began sleeping beside me. They had almost been completely eradicated once he moved in. Now that I am alone again, I still find myself gripping for his body when I wake up panicked. It’s pathetic, but it happens often that I have to remind myself of reality. Quinn is gone and those nightmares have replaced his side of the bed.

When this happens, I feel as though it is a set back because I must be reminded of all that no longer exists once he erratically walked out of my life. Such as, the vows that we had made to one another are no longer powerful promises, but lies. Our matching gold bands molded into roman numerals, spelling out our anniversary date have been tucked away in a box of other memories I do not have the courage to touch. I hope one day that will change.

Quinn is gone and those nightmares have replaced his side of the bed

Even though I have hidden that box, my apartment is still haunted by the ghost of him. There is no where I can look in my home that is not attached to one of our memories. The kitchen where Quinn would make spaghetti for the third time that week. A couch where we made love countless times. The shower that he would do sales pitches for me that would end with my arms wrapped around his neck and his lips on mine as our wet naked bodies would stay pressed together.

Lastly, I mourn the idea of trust, it is no longer something shared between two people, it is just an idea.

I had opened up my home to him, and together, we made it ours. It was nothing to be proud of. Just a 600 square foot shoe box. One bedroom, one bathroom, and a corner of the apartment I encouraged him to take as he needed somewhere to play video games until 3am. It was supposed to be a home that in twenty years we would look back on and laugh at those humble beginnings. We will not ever share that laughter, nor will we be able to look back fondly on twenty years of partnership, as all we have are those humble beginnings that went no where. And what do I have to show for it? A broken heart and scars created by my inability to cope and a razor blade used that night he disappeared.

Before Quinn had, in my mind, abandoned me, I only aligned with six out of nine symptoms of borderline personality disorder. Typically, a person only needs to check off five to be diagnosed, but I had kept that seventh one at bay for sometime. The symptom that includes self-harm.

My apartment is still haunted by the ghost of him

I Hate You, Don’t Leave Me explains when someone suffering from BPD are governed by compulsion, they may represent a need to feel or need to self inflict pain

At that moment, it was more than a need.

My personal addiction that I had been proud to be sober of for sometime, had been more than tempting. For an undefined period of time after he walked out of my door for the last time, I sat with my back propped up against the front door, sobbing into my knees pulled against my chest. There was nothing I wanted more than to distract my emotional pain with that of physical. Finally, the anguish had been too much for me. I could not fight both my inner demons and my addiction to a blade. In the end, I caved into that seventh symptom.

As someone who lives with BPD, I can tell you the current pain pulsing through my veins is unbearable. It leaves you in this child like vulnerability. Not only do I feel with such depth that only other borderlines could possibly understand, but the only way to calm myself the night he left was to slip back into such a nasty habit of self harm to calm myself. The emotions suffocating me had pulled me back into my teenage years when I did not know what coping skills were, nor had either of my parents been interested in this God awful agony controlling me from day in and day out.

Before I learned to control my disorder I was promiscuous, soothed myself with liquor, sometimes drugs, binged food to then purge it all up, and constantly self-mutilated. This is not uncommon for someone with BPD. This is just another symptom, defined by Mayo Clinic as “Impulsive and risky behavior, such as gambling, reckless driving, unsafe sex, spending sprees, binge eating or drug abuse.”

The work to better myself and control my disorder was not simply hard but a complete rewrite of how I lived my life before treatment. I overcame those vices that hindered more than helped in the long run. I had been so proud of myself for those strides I had made.

I had learned to cope with tools from therapy and lean on friends as to not fall back onto those habits. I learned that the independence forced on my as a child was actually a good thing. I spent more than 8 years being single for a reason. There had been no one worth the love I had to offer…then came Quinn. It was as if, he had been the person I had been waiting to compliment my life. Not complete, but compliment. After all the hard work I had done to love myself, control my personality disorder, and be ready for a partner, the right person had walked into my life…or so I had believed.

And what do I have to show for it? A broken heart and scars created by my inability to cope and a razor blade used that night he disappeared.

Since Quinn had cut ties, I had been managing the pain in the best way I could. Each day, feeling a little more okay, but that was until I heard his voice for the first time since he left for Ohio. The sound I had missed so much had reopened old wounds. I did not physically harm myself, although I could not help but crave that addiction for days after our phone call ended, but I was now being forced to confront the one thing I had been somewhat been avoiding.

It had suddenly stifled the air surrounding me. Loneliness. What a bitch. And she no longer was avoidable.

Lonely. An adjective I did not often associate with for many years before Quinn came into my life. But now, I cannot escape it.

I Hate You, Don’t Leave Me states, “To escape the loneliness, the borderline will flee to single bars, the arms of recent pickups, somewhere-anywhere-to meet someone who might save her from the torment of her own thoughts.” (pg. 15)

Loneliness. What a bitch.

The thought of being with another man makes my skin crawl. A knot builds up in my stomach. Tears begin to well my eyes. So, if I cannot rely on a man to distract me, booze to numb me, or self harm to help me cope. What is a girl with borderline personality disorder suffering from a broken heart to do?

For others who have BPD, or anyone who is suffering from a broken heart as I am, here is what I have come up with. Cry when you need to. Even if you need to cry yourself to sleep. Those impulses to retreat to your old vices is the moments you rely on the many friends you have. Pick up the phone and call someone to come over or ask if it is okay to crash on their couch. There is even the option to just text them about anything and everything until you have calmed yourself. Stay away from the bars and dating apps. A one night stand will not replace the memories you are running from. Trying to replace your ex with a shiny new toy as an avoidance tactic does not serve you well. Plus no one wants to be on the opposing end of a rebound situation. Stay far away from the one ex you know would come crawling back with a mere phone call. Just because you are in pain is not an excuse to string anyone else along, no matter if he deserves it.

Lastly, when those tears begin to well up in your eyes and you feel the tension build in your throat, take a deep breath and say out loud, “This too shall pass.”

Introducing: Living With Borderline Personality Disorder – The Series

 

(information provided by Sierra Tucson**)

It has been estimated that 1.6% of adults living in the United States have Borderline Personality Disorder, that is over 4 million people**

“It’s called nymphomania maybe combined with Borderline Personality Disorder…” This line from the adult cartoon, Archer (S1E1) had caught my ear from the other room. I went over and rewound the episode to the beginning of the scene to see why there had been a reference to a serious illness thrown in a comedy. As it turns out they were describing a teenager who was portrayed as sexually aggressive and manipulative as she had attempted to seduce on multiple occasions the main character only when alone. Although I am sure the writers of the show (which is very funny and I highly recommend) did not mean any disrespect when throwing about those three words so casually and solely for comedic purposes, it gave me an idea: write an informative series about Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).

It has been some time since I posted on my blog, mainly because I moved out of my roommate’s place and have been living solo. After all, the blog is titled “Crazy Comments From My Roommate Who Is A ‘Type A’ Personality, Sexually Frustrated & Super Extra About Life.” It all began because I needed a creative outlet for my living situation and friends of mine thought it would be funny to post my rants as well as stories pertaining to my former roommate. Now, that I am no longer in that situation what am I suppose to do with this domain name that I paid for, other than letting it collect dust? The answer was easy, write about different content that matters. Topics that may interest others, similar to a previous post about mental health. Thank you Archer for an excuse to begin blogging again! Truly, I do recommend watching the show, at the moment it is on Hulu.

“Who was portrayed as sexually aggressive and manipulative”

The series will pertain to my experiences as someone who has been living with Borderline Personality Disorder since I was a teenager. I will discuss what it is like to date, be in friendships, be related to, and work behaviors from my perspective. I will give advice on how to be in any sort of relationship with someone who has BPD/ any mental illness, share personal stories (some funny, others will come with a warning), my feelings, typical behaviors, intimate struggles, special triumphs and much more. To make it less one-sided, I plan on gathering opinions and tales from my family members, best friends, possibly old flames, maybe co-workers regarding what it is like to interact and/or have me as a constant in their lives and how it may or may not differ from someone who does not suffer from my condition. This series is meant to help shed light on mental illness as a whole. For far too long behavioral health has been taboo in our society. It is as true as it is unfortunate, considering 1 in 5 American adults suffer from some form of mental illness. Even though that statistic is alarming, I am here to tell the world, you can suffer from a mental illness but still conquer the world.

You may ask, what is a “personality disorder”? Mayo Clinic defines it as “A type of mental disorder in which you have a rigid and unhealthy pattern of thinking, functioning and behaving. A person with a personality disorder has trouble perceiving and relating to situations and people. Personality disorders usually begin in the teenage years or early adulthood.” There are various types of personality disorders, some you may have already heard of, such as Antisocial, Narcissistic, Obsessive-Compulsive, etc.

Researchers cannot definitively say what causes the development of borderline personality disorder (or any personality disorder), most researchers agree that it is a combination of genetic and environmental factors that are likely to result in the development of one.

Genetic: Multiple twin studies have shown that borderline personality disorder has a strong genetic component. This means that those who have close relatives who have struggled with this disorder or other mental health conditions are more likely to develop borderline personality disorder themselves. However, a specific gene has yet to be identified**

Environmental: There are a number of environmental factors that can put an individual at an increased risk for the development of borderline personality disorder. For example, such environmental factors can include poor parenting or a lack of parental involvement. Additionally, individuals who have been subjected to physical, sexual, or emotional abuse and/or neglect are at a higher risk of developing symptoms of borderline personality disorder than are individuals who did not experience similar traumas**

“You can suffer from a mental illness but still conquer the world.”

I do my best to not condemn my parents for the development of my disorder, however, they need to shoulder some of the blame. From what I am told my mother has a personality disorder, which one I am unsure as no one in the family will disclose this to me, so there is the genetic component. Whereas my father was extremely neglectful. Starting from my days in middle school he would take off weeks at a time to “work” but I soon figured out once I was a little older that he was actually off partying with his friends in Mexico doing lord only knows what or sneaking off to cheat with his then-girlfriend with his now fiance. There is the environmental factor.

There is a lot of in-depth information regarding BPD that I will dive deeper into as we go, but for those who are not familiar with this illness, we will start with the basics. Those with borderline personality disorder tend to struggle with a distorted self-image and often feel as though they are completely worthless or like they are a flawed individual in general. Additionally, those with BPD often display frequent mood swings, of which may include intense anger and impulsive behaviors. And even though people suffering from borderline personality disorder may want to have lasting meaningful relationships, the drastic shifts in mood coupled with frequent anger tend to push others away.**

Now some of you may be thinking, this just sounds like low self-esteem. People with BPD suffer from extremely low self-esteem, but that is because they have been conditioned to feel unwanted and insignificant. If a child is neglected by their parents and constantly being told he/she is a failure then that abuse is internalized. It stays with that child and even as he/she grows into a teenager then eventually into an adult it is as if there is a voice inside his/her head reminding them that they have always been a failure. We have had these same thoughts repeatedly, resulting in a constant mindset of stress-related paranoia.

When am I going to screw up again?

This voice follows your every move. In romantic relationships, friendships, at work, even when engaging in casual social groups. People who are diagnosed with BPD are so used to being labeled as a “failure” when they actually do fail this preconceived idea is only exacerbated, which can send them into a downward spiral. A headspace that is incredibly difficult to get out of. Self-loathing is just one of the psychosocial symptoms we experience. Others include:

• Intense episodes of anxiety or depression
• Feeling misunderstood, neglected, or alone
• Excessive fear of being alone
• Self-hatred and self-loathing
• Rapidly changing self-identity or sense of self
• Chronic feelings of emptiness
• Unstable self-image
• Feeling as though one does not exist at all**

The psychosocial symptoms become so overwhelming that it is not rare for those with BPD to suffer in silence as they have learned that it is them against the world. You can only rely on oneself because if the world has not rejected you, it will soon. This unfortunate logic leads to the behavioral symptoms, that I can attest to are hard to manage.

• Engagement in impulsive or risky behaviors
• Addiction to alcohol and narcotics
• Angry and antagonistic behaviors
• Engagement in physical fights
• Self-injury
• Frequently changes jobs
• Difficulties maintaining friendships
• Suicidal behaviors**

To top off the psychosocial and behavioral symptoms we have issues controlling our rapidly changing emotions. We are either on one end of the spectrum or the other. There is no in-between. There are periods of mania and dark episodes of depression. It is difficult to control our impulses, especially on our low days because we lack self-control. No one was there to teach or guide us. Our mantra is often “take me or leave me.”

“The drastic shifts in mood coupled with frequent anger tend to push others away.”

Though there may be many obstacles to overcome with a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder, you will come to find that we are not bad people, or even crazy, just broken. I know we have our good qualities. I can only speak for myself, but I am sure that others with BPD would agree that there is so much to love about us. For starters, my loyalty is unmatched because I would hate to see you leave. My friends and family will testify that I will always have a good story to tell or at the very least give you one to tell your other friends after a night out with me. You can talk about all the impulsive things I did just to bring a smile to your face. I will not hurt your feelings, because then maybe you would walk away. When you need a shoulder to cry on, I’ll be right there because I know all too well what it is like to cry with no one to wipe away the tears, and I do not want that for someone I care about. If you are lucky to be with me long enough that I put my guard down and I fall in love with you, I’ll make your head spin. You will never taste a love so passionately. Lastly, I promise I’ll never intentionally push you away, even if you break my heart because I am too afraid of being alone in the dark.

Introducing Me: NOT the ‘Type A’ Personality Who Is Only Somewhat Sexually Frustrated

Updated April 2023

There Will Be THREE Parts Of My Blog:

Part One: The Content Revolving Around The Title “Crazy Comments From My Roommate Who Is A ‘Type A’ Personality, Sexually Frustrated & Super Extra About Life”

I am an (unpublished, hint to any literary agents who stumbled upon my page) author of romance novels (new adult & adult), who tends not to stray from her preferred genre of writing, but it was pointed out to me several times that the energy I spend retelling the outrageous tales of my life, especially with the last roommate I hopefully will ever have to endure. That bitch would say or do the most outrageous shit that the average, every day person would consider insane. The hell that she put me through requires an outlet, so I began this blog back in 2017. I suppose this is what therapists would call a “creative outlet” and what basic bitch millennials would call “savage” or possibly “petty”.

Whatever you want to label this uncharted genre of writing to me I do hope that it makes you laugh out loud or at the very least makes you more thankful for your tiny ass studio apartment you spend far too much money on (if you have been blessed with such financial stability). Because let me tell you, sanity comes at an expensive cost, and if you are a struggling, ridiculously in debt, millennial such as myself you sure as hell are too broke to afford such a luxury. So, for now while I live with a person who has taught me to bite my tongue until it bleeds to keep my truly mean opinions to myself and only say nice things to her face, I will write this behind her back.

Roomie, if you ever stumble upon this, I am sorry…but not really because, well , I will go with the top 2 reasons.

1. You are so beyond mean to me. The things you say to me are super hurtful. For example, telling me that a lot of people wouldn’t want to be with me because I come from a “broken home” (see entry “The List”) was uncalled for. It actually made me call my soulmate crying. You say things that are really hurtful when they do not need to be said. Another example is when you came home shopping with your friend who was home from London. I was sitting on the table, minding my own business, just writing, not even talking and you then yell from your room, “I love you but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look more ratchet than you do right now.” WHY THE FUCK WAS THE NECESSARY? I am just sitting there, doing nothing to entice your mean spirit and you feel the need to insult me in front of your guest? What the fuck was that about? And don’t think I didn’t hear you talking shit about me when you were walking up to the front door. That was just plain tacky and rude.

Basically, if I didn’t write this I would make you feel as shitty as you make me feel, but I don’t want to do that. Because unlike you I’m actually a nice person and don’t get off on making people cry.

and

2. If I did not have this outlet eventually I may smother you with a pillow after you lectured me for the millionth time that by leaving the front door of our Scottsdale apartment unlocked for a solid twenty minutes, mid-day on a Sunday, this will lead to us getting robbed and no matter what way the situation will be spun it will absolutely, 100% be all my fault. Even though the only reason I unlocked the door in the first place was so you would shut the hell up about the fucking garbage that you had been bitching about for the past hour.

I suppose this is what therapists would call a “creative outlet” and what basic bitch millennials would call “savage” or possibly “petty”

This was a way for me to live in that 2 bedroom apartment, well more so “trapped” in that apartment, without any compromises being made or compensation for the constant WTF moments I was forced to endure while saving my pennies to eject myself from that train wreck of a living situation.

I do credit this blog to helping me stay out of prison and becoming a good storyline for the television show Snapped (2004 – present). It was a win-win for all involved.

Part Two: Excerpts From My Writing! I will add pictures from Instagram which are quotes of my books and a paragraph here and there if you are interested in reading my other forms of literature the links will be attached!

Part Three: Living with Borderline Personality Disorder – The Series.

As of October 2022, it is estimated that 1.6% of the general population in the United States endures the nightmare of living with Borderline Personality Disorder. And that estimated is as high as 20% of the inpatient psychiatric population suffers from it as well (National Institutes of Health (.gov).

It is a hard illness to overcome and handle, but not impossible. I am here to share my experiences as a grown adult millennial in her 30’s, who has had early symptoms since I was a teenager and diagnosed by several behavioral specialists, therapists, and psychiatrists, beginning at age 19.

There is an atrocious stigma attached to this behavioral disorder, which only worsened when Amber Herd’s diagnosis was laid out in the infamous Johnny Depp & Amber Herd trial that began in April 2022. Thanks, Amber. *Eye roll* I am here to dispel the dishonesty perpetrated in the media that we are crazy, unbalanced, and are high drama. In the past 6 years, the handful of people new in my life that I have chosen to share my diagnosis with are truly shocked that I had any disorder outside of A.D.H.D. (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) within the categorization of Predominantly Inattentive Presentation. Previously, known as A.D.D.

And the fact that no one had an inkling of my BPD diagnosis is not because I cured myself, but because I work VERY hard at managing my symptoms. I have 3 therapist (Behavioral Therapist, Hypnotherapist, and a Spirit Coach), who I work with to keep me in check and channel the symptoms in more healthy outlets. Plus I have an amazing support system. I am not on speaking terms with my mother and sadly, my dad, who was my #1 supporter passed suddenly in December 2021. But thankfully, I have a great relationship with my older sister, her kids, and my aunt. I can come to them about anything . And I would be remiss to not include the loving people who are apart of my “tribe.” Such genuine & kind friends that truly are my family.

Each and every one of them are to be given gratitude for my success. Without them, I would be lost.

I understand that as a society we have a long way to go with removing the “taboo label” from mental health diagnosis but it starts with teaching those who are uneducated in this topic as well as helping those around someone who has BPD in understanding how to be supportive and why this person thinks & acts differently than they do.

It starts with the first step, having those uncomfortable conversations.

So, now that I have described what you are about to view…. world, I present to you Author R.Lee Shelton’s first ever blog: “Crazy Comments From My Roommate Who Is A ‘Type A’ Personality, Sexually Frustrated & Super Extra About Life”

Enjoy!

It starts with the first step, having those uncomfortable conversations

P.S. Please do not leave mean comments, I am a sensitive person. If you do not like my blog just don’t read anymore and move on with your life. Or do what I am doing and begin your own rant page about the statements that annoy you.

Also, I apologize for all the random rants and tangents that will certainly happen when I try and tell these stories. At least I am warning you in advance!

Love & Emptiness: Living with Borderline Personality Disorder

In the past, when I had listened to a friend or acquaintance say that she took back a boyfriend who cheated on her or visibly treated her horribly, I could not help but reply with a head shake or criticism. The response from the person spilling her woes would always be, “You just don’t understand our relationship.” Words that I could not help but roll my eyes at.

I had always been vocal about my title of “independent woman.” I was confident that I would never let a partner cheat on me. I was proud to exclaim that the moment I felt disrespected I would get up and walk out the door. I had waited almost 9 years for the right partner. A partner who I would never have to leave for mistreating me. Someone who would love me like the queen I had built myself up to be.

Then along came Quinn.

Maybe it was because he was the person with who I had broken all my rules for. Rules that were not meant to be broken. I had told myself I would not live with a significant other until I was engaged or married. There was the promise that if any partner hurt me bad enough that I wanted to self-harm, or worse, actually go through with picking up the blade, that it would be done. The aforementioned ending a relationship if I caught him cheating. If a partner ever assaulted me, sexually or otherwise it would be his only opportunity. The many pledges I made to myself over the years had been wiped away by one person. A boy who was trapped in a man’s body had manipulated me to the point I was too weak to walk away.

After Quinn assaulted me, I knew I could no longer have a relationship with him. No matter how much I still loved him. Those who I confided in about this event had been disgusted with his behavior, and supportive of my feelings. They had insisted I never speak with him again even with the handful of bills we still shared. Unlike before when we had ended things, it would only be a matter of time before I saw him, but this time Quinn had made the transition easier by moving to Ohio the day after the assault.

Maybe it was because he was the person with who I had broken all my own rules for

He may have been physically gone, but I was helpless when it came to these confusing feelings. He had pinned me down and angerily fought my consent. The person who I had loved most in this world had violated me, not just physically but emotionally and mentally. Yet my body ached for him. I missed him so dearly, I would spontaneously burst into tears when I sat alone on my couch without him. The bed that we had shared for a year and a half felt cold–deserted. When my phone rang, I hoped it had been him, ready with an apology. I longed to be relieved of the emptiness that consumed me daily.

Then one day, when my mind had drifted away from thoughts of Quinn, he called. His name and the pre-set picture of us on a road trip flashed onto the screen. My heart sank into my stomach. Without thinking I answered his call. I so desperately wanted to be angry but I could not muster up that emotion. instead I slipped back into old habits and let him whoo me. Quinn had confessed to me that he needed to see if I was “okay,” adding in how much he thought of me. By the end of the call, he had been given permission to call me on occasion. The words “I miss you” and “I love you” had been woven throughout our next couple of conversations, leading to the phone call that prompted him to booking a flight from Ohio to Arizona for the upcoming weekend. 72 hours where we could pretend that we were still naive and in love. I should have discouraged the idea, but for the first time since he had left, a genuine smile graced my face.

I longed to be relieved of the emptiness that consumed me daily

My pain had been handled in silence, which is how I chose to execute my excitment. His visit would need to be kept a secret. There had no one to who I could speak with about him or the upcoming events. Those who knew the situation had been disgusted by him, which I completely understood. I should have hated him for the hell he had put me through before the assault had even taken place, but I just could not. Even though I knew no one would understand how or why I was letting the person who tragically broke my heart for the past 8 months come back into my life. I needed to talk about it. Yes, giving Quinn a 7th chance was a poor decision, but it was my decision. Even though I was ultimately aware of my choices, I still needed someone to be there for me. The stress of my erratic emotions since he left and the secret that we had recently ignited the flame of our romance had been eating at me. The overflow of emotions were beginning to manifest physically. Finally, I confessed to one of my three therapists I had been seeing at the time. Therapists I still continue to see. The trio included a licensed behavioral therapist, a spirit coach, and a hypnotherapist.

I had just started working with my hypnotherapist, and had not yet been comfortable enough to explain the saga that was Quinn and I. I considered telling my spirit coach, but knew she would be too disappointed in me if I went back to my ex. My “spirit coach,” is a lovely woman who is an Earth Angel. Someone who is connected with both the spiritual realm above and the earthly realm. She reads tarot, does reiki, connects with Archangel Michael and those who have passed on, and has so many other beautiful gifts that she shares with the world. However, her main attribute is being the best damn hype woman you will ever meet. Besides my best friend, she had been the most supportive of my split from Quinn, even more so after the assault. I had been too embarrassed to tell her how I was feeling, as she encouraged me to move past him and the effects of the incident. I did not want to keep secret from her but I did not want to deal with the remorse that would overtake the only happiness I had felt in months. The only one who I knew would not corner me into a shame spiral was my licensed behavioral therapist who I had cultivated a relationship with for over four years.

As I suspected, my behavioral therapist did not judge but she did express concerns. I listened and took notes of why I should be hesitant moving forward. But it did not stop me from picking Quinn up from the airport. He had been quiet at first. It was easy to spot that he was holding something back. Come to find out, it was intense feelings of how he wanted deeply for us to rekindle our love. He even asked me to marry him later that night while making love with the moon light highlighting his sincere expression.

I did not want to keep secret from her but I did not want to deal with the remorse that would overtake the only happiness I had felt in months

When I dropped him off at the airport after our beautiful weekend together, I could not help but to let the tears roll down my cheeks. I had hoped that the love he sang for the past couple of days had not been ficitous. I was fearful that the poetic monolagues he had spouted was just a way for him to get closure on our relationship. He had said those words before then chosen to cheat, flee, and leave me behind before. However, his intentions had been pure.

My father passed away the first week of December. Quinn had been the first person I called while I sobbed uncontrollably. He offered to come to Arizona to help me grieve, but I assured him it could wait until he was here for Christmas. It was only 20 days afterall. A few days later my best friend told me she would not be coming to my father’s memorial, as she needed to celebrate her birthday. It took prescendent over my father’s death. The loss of my parent, who I loved so much and the betrayl of my most sacred friendship had left me wounded. I needed Quinn more than ever.

When Quinn was here for Christmas weekend I had to keep secret, yet again, we were driving home and I simply asked him, “Why should I believe this time is different? How do I know you won’t give up on us again or cheat me on me like you’ve done before”?”

His response was, “Ever since I moved to Ohio, time has stood still. I just go through life not feeling anything. I think of killing myself multiple times a day. When I’m with you, I don’t have those thoughts. I didn’t know what I had until you were gone.”

I had not expected such a tortured answer, but it did lock me into a relationship with him for a little while longer.

I ended our relationship for good New Years day. A deicison he agreed with, as I suspect he was cheating on me again. I am unsure of what made it click in my head, but I knew I could not start the new year or have a healthy life with someone so toxic. I should have said goodbye when he was cheating on me while living in my home. I should have kicked him to the curb when he broke my heart the first time. He should have never been allowed back into my life after his assaulted me. Quinn should have never been given my love in the first place.

If loving someone means keeping a secret from those who you most trust and those who support you no matter what, that person is not deserving of your love. A lesson I had to foolishly learn on my own. But a mistake I will not make again.

Thoughts From Someone With BPD – Living w/ Borderline Personality Disorder- The Series

A friend of mine stated that he “loved” this “very well written” piece that he would describe as; “something between poetry, speech, and manifesto.” I stumbled upon this piece of writing during one of my manic episodes that I felt others who have BPD could relate to…or possibly give insight into someone who has BPD. A snapshot of someone I was at age 27.

…

I have often stated that I am a living version of a “Manic Pixie Dream Girl.” A female archetype that is depicted as a vivacious and appearing quirky character, whose main purpose within the narrative is to aspire a great appreciation for life of the male protagonist.

There are countless memories that would have me identifying myself as such. In those moments of clarity, it is easy enough to remember how truly broken I am within. Someone who is whole, would not find brief glimpses of peace within herself as a result of sleeping with someone she barely knows.

It is a tragedy that those encounters–attached to meaningless sex and plentiful compliments will be forgotten soon enough as the next morning. Sadly, those adventures, only once completed, is the only time I feel true to myself.

Something between poetry, speech, and manifesto.

As a 27-year-old pretending to be an adult, I very much need to shed my appropriately apt “hot mess” brand. A title I long to discard along with the unhealthy habits that automatically pair to a woman with that reputation.

To my core, I believe Casual Sex is nothing to be ashamed of. But it must be done in the proper manner. When it is used as an escape tactic from emotions buried deep, it then becomes an obstacle one must overcome.

I fear emotional intimacy. The strong independent woman I am, is terrified of getting her heart broken again. It was hard enough to put the pieces back together when I was forced to fall out of love as a teenager. Now, as an adult the stakes are higher.

I am a living version of a ‘Manic Pixie Dream Girl.’

However, as I mature in age, i find myself thriving on being someone better. This requires immense strength and energy. Before searching for love, it is important to attempt to pin point when these careless acts became a pattern of my behavior.

Did it begin when my high school sweetheart scratched out the future he dreamed for us? Maybe it was rooted in that first rape I may have not put behind me. Or does it stem from the love my father never gave me?

These are the things I ponder after sex with an acquaintance. Someone I was quick to brush off after the act had finished. There was no desire for us to fall asleep together or an emptiness that engulfed me as I slipped my panties back on. In fact, I actually felt refreshed strolling down the rows of automobiles crowding his apartment complex. A sense of peace fell over me as the wind brushed my hair across my cheeks. The midnight soundtrack went perfectly with the serenity I knew would come once I was alone.

Does it stem from the love my father never gave me?

Reflecting on similar past experiences gave way for an empowering surge of control and independence. A temporary smile curled at the edges of my lips knowing that “control” and “independence” will keep me warm tonight.

I will drift to sleep with a devilish smirk, remembering I left another boy in awe after an empty goodbye kiss. A lip-lock that tasted of whiskery and desperation. Inevitably, the text message will come with an invitation to waste more hours together. The rejection will be swift and polite but straight to the point.

His memories of our night together will turn into one of my many laughable antidotes I intend on sharing with my girlfriends, who openly admit that they live vicariously through my escapades. To them, he is a fun piece of gossip, but for me, he was just another boy I would soon forget. He was just like the others. Someone who was eclipsed by a Manic Pixie Dream Girl — a broken girl.

Someone like me.

Just Accept The Fact That I Do Not Want Children

Before we grew into intellectual women we were just little girls who had our own special group of friends, which typically maxed out at five members. As 3rd graders, we would incessantly tease our one friend, usually named Sara, who had her first crush on the boy whose cubby was next to hers. As best friends we were loyal enough to not say anything in front of the boy she called dibs on marrying, but if Sarah accidentally blurted out his name during the Saturday night slumber party, there would be no mercy. She could not control what happened next when all at once we would begin to obnoxiously sing:

“Sarah and Johnny sitting in a tree

K-I-S-S-I-NG

First comes love,

Then comes marriage,

Then comes the baby in the baby carriage”

During our schoolyard days, we were just kids. Too young to understand what the word marriage meant and certainly too young to know the immense responsibility of raising a child.

On the surface, it appears that chanting this nursery rhyme is purely innocent.  Just a silly tune that was heard on the playground. In my opinion, I believe this particular sing-song to be another societal tool used to brainwash adolescents females into the idea that the only path to life includes marriage, but more importantly, becoming a mother.

To add to this theory,  exhibit B revolves around children’s toys. Specifically, the items made for young females. These products tend to focus on developing skills of how to care for an infant before kindergarten even begins. There are baby dolls marketed to preschoolers that are “life-like”, in such a way that the inanimate object must be fed and have its diaper changed. For example, there is “Baby Alive Whoopsie Doo,” a toy for kids ages three or older.  The tag line for this product is “Playing “mommy” is more fun than ever with BABY ALIVE – the doll that “eats” and “poops” just like a real baby.”

This is how it all begins. The nursey rhymes and toys to prepare us for the traditional role of a proper lady.

A Guideline to a “Fulfilled Life”:

*If you are a woman who has reached her twenty-third birthday, these do not apply because all hope is lost for you*

1. Attend a university
2. Once graduating find a day job because you must spend her evenings’ speed dating what males have shown interest in you currently and in the past (who knows if the nerd from 6th grade AP mathematics is now rolling in the dough)
3.  Following six months of virtuous dates with the same man you will need to begin dropping hints about the idea of marriage. Possibly leave rings that fit your ring finger lying around to ensure he gets the right size
4. Immediately after the proposal, start planning the wedding. It is best to start the same night
5. When the over the top wedding and expensive European honeymoon is over it is time to begin trying for the first of the three children you and your husband both agreed to have.
6. Get into the routine of dusting, vacuuming , preparing his favorite dishes because naturally, he will be the sole financial provider for the family while you stay home to tend to the little ones.

Pro Tip: During the engagement be sure to practice making his favorite casseroles. Once you are married dinner will need to be on the table at 6pm sharp every evening.

The image I painted of what a woman’s adult life should look like is obviously a dramatized reference to an earlier time in history. Sadly, the 1950’s picturesque overview I described is still actually what society still deems as the “acceptable” path for a woman in the present day. For some, the ultimate goal in life is to find a man who takes care of her while she inturns take care of the children. There is nothing wrong with choosing that lifestyle, it’s just not right for me.

Playing “mommy” is more fun than ever with BABY ALIVE – the doll that “eats” and “poops” just like a real baby

Thankfully the notion of every woman leading her life as June Clever did, has drastically shifted, even more so over the past decade. This is mainly due to a generation known for disrupting social norms and bankrupting various genres of businesses. Instead of investing in houses in our early 20’s, we Millenials put our money toward avocado spread on toast while Netflix & Chilling with the males we met on Tinder.

According to an article called “15 Ridiculous Things Millenials Got Blamed For,” we are the reason chain restaurants are closing their doors, why sales for diamonds have decreased, and the demise of a 9am – 5pm work schedule. Those are just a handful of problems to blame Millenials for, but the examples I gave are not at the top of the long list of traditions we are destroying. That archive also includes a steady decline of women putting off having children until later in life. Instead of going to college to get her M.R.S. degree, a woman can choose to use her educated mind toward other avenues before settling down. In my opinion, the biggest way Millenials have shaken up the twenty-first century is by desecrating the idea of a romanticized family life by way of simply not having children. A reality that many people cannot stand behind.

In 2018, the United States hit an all-time low fertility rate. It seems as though the same propaganda that prior generations were also bombarded with regarding raising a family failed to sway Millennials. Though the women who carry the title of Stay At Home Mother have dropped from 81% from the 1950s down to present day’s 29%, they still in fact exist. Do not fear America, there are still nuclear families who have a Stay At Home Mothers to keep a house tidy and supper on the table at the designated time.

The Millennial generation continues to destroy wholesome traditions as the nation is seeing a downward trend of  Young Stay At Home Mothers while seeing a spike of those who are putting off starting a family until later in life.

Top 5 Reasons Millennials Are Waiting to Have Children (If Having Them At All):

• Cannot afford to provide for a child
• Wants to be at a certain point in the career
• Have not found the right partner
• Wants more leisure time 
• Still on the fence of wanting to have them

We also have an decent sized group of women who are skipping the idea of being a mother altogether. Which the masses believe is a travesty. 

When I had stated the lifestyle is not for me, I am referring to the need to breed. I am not one of those women who are waiting to check off all the boxes of a list before procreating. I do not want children at all. This sadly is a shell shock to the majority of people I am forced to converse with regarding this topic. Thankfully, I am not the only one who has chosen to take this path. There are other like-minded females out there who can sympathize with the amount of bullshit I hear and eye rolls I receive when I am mandated to defend my choice to not produce children in my lifetime.

The biggest way Millenials have shaken up the twenty-first century is by desecrating the idea of a romanticized family life by way of simply not having children.

In 2014, the U.S. Census Bureau’s Current Population Survey reported women between the ages of 25 and 29 made up of 49.6% of women in the United States that do not have kids. The survey also shows that 28.9% of females between the ages of 30-34 are childfree. Could these childless women up and decide to become parents, skewing the data? Absolutely. For the time being, I am going to pretend all of the above-mentioned women are choosing not to be parents for the rest of their lives. It makes me feel less alone in this world.

There is nothing wrong with choosing that lifestyle, it’s just not right for me

Life-altering choices are tough enough to make for oneself as is, why is it that people feel the need to comment on your personal journey? If a woman chooses to have a child in wedlock no one jumps down her throat or questions her reasons for having a baby. Even out of wedlock she is not shamed as much as the single woman who has no interest in becoming a mother. When women who have children or the desire to procreate crosses path with someone who chooses not to be a parent there is always a formal inquiry. It is as if the childfree person has committed some crime against humanity. Although it has become less taboo than it was even a decade ago these women, including myself who want to remain childless, are talked down to. Our morals and sanity are questioned. What I find most shocking about it is the horrified faces tend to belong to other women. This is the same person who is spouting off words such as “selfish,” “narcissistic,” or just plain “sad.”

What those females are failing to grasp, which baffles me to no end, is women are already complete human beings, not just potential mothers. Motherhood is just an option, not a requirement. For those of us who do not believe parenting is in our best interest, let it go. For all of those mothers out there who are using horrible language to describe other women simply because they lack the desire to breed, ask that person why they chose to have kids. Usually, the first two words out of their mouth are “I wanted…”

Why is one subsect of women who want children revered and the others who do not scolded? This is an extremely common occurrence. Childless women are looked down upon or their opinions are simply brushed off because “you’ll change your mind one day.” It is exhausting having to fight this reoccurring battle.

For a decade, I have held my ground. My stance on not wanting to be a mother is well documented. Those who are close to me know better than to make a comment on my lack of desire to procreate. Normally, I navigate the dialogue to avoid that conversation, but as I am on the brink of turning thirty it has come to my attention when people run out of material to talk about they then shift to polite chit chat which tends to fall under three different categories.

1. What do you do for a living/where do you work?
2.  Are you married?
3. Do you have any children?

Why people feel inclined to ask someone that they have just met the aforementioned questions, I could not give a truthful answer to, this is solely my opinion. The potential answer to question one, “what do you do for a living/where do you work?” may be to learn how much money the other person makes or if that person work for a company the other is interested in applying for, you now have a referral.

The second question, “Are you married?” I would guess is to see if the other person is single, although 98% of married folks wear a wedding band, aside from the jack asses who take it off to cheat on their wives. Just check their left hand!

The third and final question, “Do you have any children?” not only pisses me off but I truly do not understand why people ask if someone has children. The reason I say this is because if the answer is yes, then you have to listen to dull stories that seem to never end revolving around a children’s television show or school curriculum. If someone says no it turns an invasive interrogation about life choices.

My stance on not wanting to be a mother is well documented

To avoid the judgment, I will no doubt face, I do my best to keep my lips sealed or change course whether it be verbally or physically. When people begin pouring over stories about their children, especially after a couple glasses of wine it is best to find an escape route. If leaving the location is not feasible nor can I think of a new topic off the top of my head, I will try to activate my very poor memory. Rack my brain to remember any detail of the person to focus on in hopes of being shoved into the inevitable conversation.

It may seem like an extensive amount of mental energy to avoid this particular topic but it is even more exhausting fighting off the impending inquires. When I cannot get away from the person or conversation I prepare myself for one of the following two lines that without a doubt will follow my statement about not wanting children, or at the very least a variation of them:

“You’ll change your mind when you’re older.”

or

“You just haven’t met the right man yet.”

No, bitch! Never have I nor will I ever want any fucking kids! Once they begin speaking it is as if I am attending a lecture that I did not choose to audit. The topic always being about the wonders of parenthood and how my life cannot be complete without bringing a child into this world. Then for the next thirty minutes I must endure this redundant speech I have heard a hundred times over.

Is it truly that hard to accept the fact that a woman does not have the desire to be a mother? Clearly, it is because I face this conundrum on a regular basis. Would I be a great mom? Absolutely. Even so, that is not a reason to have a child. Just because I have a uterus and the ability to get pregnant does not mean I should do so. Frankly, I think there should be a test people must pass before having a child. Similar to passing a test at the DMV for a driver’s license. CPS would have far fewer caseloads if people had to pass an exam before having a baby.

When someone tells me that they do want to be a parent or they love being a parent I do not give them a laundry list of reasons as to why being a parent sucks. Please extend the same courtesy.

There was a year period when I was seeing a different therapist than the one I have now. I explained to her in a session all the reasons why I do not want children. Her response to me was, “If you don’t want to have kids then don’t get married because having a child is what cements the relationship.” Not only was her logic flawed but this was coming from the woman who needed to confide in me, her patient, about how she cheated on her husband with some other man in a Motel 6, who gave her chlamydia. So, her words of wisdom I take with a grain of salt.

When people begin pouring over stories about their children, especially after a couple glasses of wine it is best to find an escape route

When I am told “You’ll change your mind when the right man comes along,” I fight back and say, “The right man won’t want kids either.” Which is the absolute truth. To be completely honest, I would love to be married one day. It is very tough to find a partner at any age, but throw in the twist of not wanting a family…it is very difficult, to say the least. I stayed single for almost a decade until God blessed me with my significant other, Quinn.

Unfortunately, our biggest struggle does come down to what we refer to as the “kids issue.” We do our best to not bring it up because he is twenty-three and is unsure what his future will look like. Even though he often assures me he does not want a future without me, he cannot definitively say he does not want children. Although the words about wanting me in his future bring some comfort, I would like to hear them more often. It helps quell my fears.

A couple weeks ago when the conversation reared its ugly head once again, Quinn simply said, “I’m happy with our family just being the two of us.” Never in my life,  have I heard such blissful words. It had helped soothe my biggest fear for a bit until a reality check slapped me across the face.

Usually, the first two words out of their mouth are “I wanted…”

Quinn’s eighteen-year-old sister had come over for dinner a few nights ago. She and I chatted for a few hours on the couch, meanwhile, Quinn had fallen asleep on the floor in front of us. She had been showing me pictures of her boyfriend’s nephew, disclosing to me that she has baby fever. A term I loath to hear. Her eyes drifted to Quinn, curled up on the carpet with a blanket draped over him. She cheerfully said, “Both me and my brother have baby fever. I wonder who will have kids first…it will most likely be him.” Following those unsettling words, her wide smile twisted from her brother onto me.

Immediately, my heart dropped into my stomach. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes forcing me to excuse myself to the restroom where I gathered my composure. I have found the love of my life. The one person I hope to marry. I would do anything to make him happy, yet my mind has not changed. My hope is for it to be me and him together in the end. It is heartbreaking to think of a life without him, but that may be what it comes down to.

I’m happy with our family just being the two of us

For those of you who do not understand women such as myself, who do not want the responsibility of being a parent, save your breath. We are aware of the sacrifices that need to be made throughout our lives. I have the reality of losing the love of my life, hanging above my head at all times, which is just the tip of the iceberg.

I am fully aware that there will be no celebration to be had when revealing the baby’s gender because there will be no baby. I will never feel the kick of a baby in my belly. Nor will I argue with my spouse over who our child looks like more. There will be no Mother’s Day cards I collect to later box with the art projects that were made one day in preschool. I will not regret never having a scrapbook filled with “first day of school” photos. The same album I will not be looking at many years later when the child leaves the nest because there will be no child to send off to college. I am relieved knowing there will be no weddings to pay for. I am at peace that there will be no grandchildren to share my scrapbooks with once I am in a nursing home.

No, I will never have those memories. A stance that has been made, and with that, and for that, I face the consequences.

For those who are saddened for me, do not pity for the loss of the experiences I will never have, instead raise a glass and rejoice in the many other adventures I will have to take its’ place. I will have the luxury to focus on my career. Dominating all in my path because I have the mental energy to focus on all the awards and promotions that come with hard work. My job will not suffer from the days I must stay home with a kid who needs me to take their temperature and make chicken noodle soup. Instead of wasting time at little league games, I will book myself a weekend at the spa. While receiving my ninety-minute massage my mind will be clear, instead of worrying about checking in with the babysitter. I will happily trade in pizza parties for bi-weekly Happy Hour with my girlfriends who are ordering the strongest cocktail on the menu because the principal of her child’s school called again.

When I marry, I can make our eternal romance the number one priority in my life. Those sporadic moments that my husband and I want to ravage one another on the living room floor, there will be no one to interrupt us. He and I could escape to Italy for a month, exploring the coastal towns and cities without dragging children along who would spoil all the fun. If my spouse and I are bored on a Friday evening we could spontaneously pack a duffle bag and choose a destination after we start driving. After a long workday, I will be able to enjoy a glass of champagne in a jacuzzi as opposed to helping with homework. The $230,000 that Merrill Lynch says costs to raise a child to the age of 18 in America can be spent a million different ways. Maybe I buy a new summer home. Possibly purchase a new stylish wardrobe to wear. Though, most likely I will use that extra money to treat for my girlfriends and sister who need a break from motherhood. It will be worth every penny just to hear one of them say, “You are so lucky you don’t have children.”

 

 

Relationships & BPD (PT2); Living With Borderline Personality Disorder – The Series

Turbulence in my romantic life is what I had grown accustomed to through my years of dating before I sought treatment for Borderline Personality Disorder. Knowing that every man was most likely going to be “Mr. Right Now”, I truly did not care about my behavior because there would always be another boy that fate had in store for me or I could go through my backlog of men who I knew would do anything for me at the drop of a hat. Most men were considered just a brief phase in my life. It was so comically bad that my friends could no longer keep up with anyone’s real name. Each one had a nickname, especially when I was dating three different boys with the same name at a time.

Is it my fault that every mother from 1990-1995 chose to name their son Ryan?

There are a handful of friends I made pedigree charts on a poster board to understand the timeline of important males who had come and gone. The lucky winners who made it onto the chart were the core partners in my life who truly had an effect on me, whether it be negative or positive.

Knowing that every man was most likely going to be “Mr. Right Now”, I truly did not care about my behavior

When I force myself to look back on my behaviors before treatment, I feel sick and embarrassed for myself. With such a “love them then leave them” mentality I can now see how my actions were deplorable. I would let my blood boil over from a single comment which would result in a child-like tantrum. If I was not receiving the attention I needed for validation from one person I would seek it out from someone else that I knew would give it to me. I would let the endorphins control my actions for the first few weeks of seeing someone then once it began heading in the direction of commitment I would bolt, and not stop running. Whenever I felt the inevitable loneliness creeping toward me I would reach out to one of the boys I ran away from. This is not an abnormal characteristic trait for a borderline.

It is stated in the book, I Hate You–Don’t Leave Me, ““For a borderline, relationships often disintegrate quickly. Maintaining closeness with a borderline requires an understanding of the syndrome and a willingness to walk a long, perilous tight-rope. Too much closeness threatens the borderline with suffocation. Keeping one’s distance or leaving a borderline alone—even for brief periods—recalls the sense of abandonment he felt as a child.”

It had taken years of therapy, a two-year break from dating, and encouragement from my therapist to begin dating again at the end of 2019. There had been a couple failed attempts that made me want to give up just a couple months after diving back into the dating pool. No one was good enough to date the “new” me.

I considered myself the following:

• Mentally Stable
• Above-Average Intelligence
• Witty
• The Girl With A Closet Full of Lingerie
• Loyal
• Non-Judgemental
• Can Hold A Conversation With a Brick Wall
• Not Hideous Enough To Blind Someone

Picking just anybody was not an option. I needed to find someone who would understand that yes, I have a personality disorder but I am truly working on it. My next committed relationship would be someone that I did not have to hide this side of myself. This new person would be understanding and willing to love all of me, including all the flaws and my past that I conceal on a daily basis. To be completely honest, I rarely introduce my diagnosis to a partner unless it is necessary or we have been together for some time. Usually at that point they get spooked or I kick them to the curb.

I needed to at least try, for the sake of “getting back out there” and if that failed it would be great writing material. However, dating in your late 20’s is exhausting. Even more so, when I have to put on a facade for the first month of dating someone new. Hiding my true self was taxing. It was just as grueling attempting to find someone to practice complete honesty within the beginning of the early stages of dating. The main reason for that is it is slim pickings for myself and fellow ladies seeking out a healthy relationship.

It really is a bit tragic to know the best chances of meeting a significant other is on a dating app. A concoction invented for people to swipe right on a person he/she finds attractive enough before learning what someone truly has to offer. Personally, I would rather take my chances with blind dates set up by my friends over dating apps. Just my opinion. More power to you if you have had success on Bumble or Coffee Meets Bagel.

With such a “love them then leave them” mentality I can now see how my actions were deplorable

Thankfully, fate brought my partner, Quinn to me organically. Neither he or I were looking for anything other than friendship when we were first introduced to one another. From the moment we first met I found him fascinating. Then as we began to get to know one another before our first date I was hooked. When we were finally alone we could test our compatibility. The chemistry when we shared a kiss was electric. Then the first time I said “I love you” to him, I almost cried. I had been reacquainted with the unique rush felt when you say those words with a true conviction to someone for the first time. After I made my declaration to him, I vowed to try anything to keep our relationship strong and healthy.

It is extremely difficult not to fall into previous, patterns, I am only human after all. If I could flip a switch to discontinue having an emotional outburst that is triggered by one of his inappropriate comments, I would do it in a heartbeat. However, that is not reality. When thoughtless remarks leave his mouth and it hits a sensitive spot we are then smack dab in a situation where I am crying in the bedroom and he is sitting alone on the couch attempting to grapple with what had he done wrong. He is not to blame nor am I for our situation as we both struggle with our own demons. It is about conquering them together. Much easier said than done, even from the point of view of someone in a “normal” relationship.

The chemistry when we shared a kiss was electric.

I had prepared myself to fight my disorder and work on keeping it at bay. What I had not been ready for was taking on someone else with a disorder. I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and he is Autistic. My first committed, romantic relationship in almost a decade is one that requires a lot of work. Instead of starting at the beginner’s level I leaped straight to advanced expert.

I chose to be in an extremely difficult relationship. A choice I do not regret.  Without proper care, patience, and maintenance this could result in an explosive partnership. There is one person in the relationship whose moods shift by something as minor as the wind changing while the second person finds understanding emotion a daunting task. When I speak in my native tongue, sarcasm, it goes right over his head. More often than not when I am begging for his attention through actions instead of words he brushes me off and goes back to the article he is reading or the video game he is playing. Though we both are trying as hard as we possibly can to maneuver around the other’s disorder by taking action to learn more about our partner’s disorders (I read blogs or articles about Autism, he is currently reading Stop Walking On Eggshells). Research is great but still onerous without the help of a professional.

This is where couple’s counseling comes into play. Quinn and I speak two different languages. It is easier to have a licensed interrupter to translate for us and teach us how to speak to one another without getting lost in translation.

I chose to be in an extremely difficult relationship. A choice I do not regret.

I am a big believer in tackling a problem before it occurs. No, I am not a doomsday type of person, but I am always thinking of the future, which includes ways of how I can better myself.  Dax Shepard said it best when he was on The View with his wife Kristen Bell. He stated, “People tend to go to couples therapy when there is a catastrophic implosion happening its usually a little late to go get an oil change when your engine explodes. We said, ‘hey, let’s preemptively check this out.”

Just as Kristen Bell and Dax Shepard started counseling before it was necessary, Quinn agreed to try it out because he loves me, and is willing to work just as hard as I am to ensure we are equipped with the necessary tools for this type of relationship. We are in new territory for both of us. A functional relationship is certainly uncharted waters for both of us.

The initial session ended with homework to read the first chapter of The Seven Principles For Making Marriage Work by John M. Gottman. It was my idea for each of us to read the paperback copy and tab out the parts we had thought were interesting or had questions on. Quinn read and tabbed through the chapter first.

As I was reading the chapter and notating what he had found interesting there had been one section on page 17 which he had tabbed that instantly sent my thoughts spiraling.

“The point is that neuroses don’t have to ruin a marriage. If you can accommodate each other’s “crazy” side and handle it with caring, affection, and respect, your marriage can thrive. Of course, a severe mental illness is a different matter. You’re not a bad person if you end a relationship with a partner who is grappling with severe psychopathology and is unable to think and function independently,”

Was he talking about me when he tabbed that section out? Had he been looking to end our relationship because he could not handle a girlfriend with BPD?

For the next twenty-four hours I actively tried to bury deep inside myself the horrible thought of the man I love leaving me over a condition I have worked so hard on controlling. I chose not to address it until therapy but about ten minutes before the session began Quinn wanted to talk about our opinions of the book. An opening for me to question why he had tabbed this particular section. I asked and he replied with the answer that I had feared the most.

“It made me feel better to know that I wasn’t a bad person because I’ve thought of leaving you because sometimes its too much.”

Bam! It was as if he had socked me in the gut.

Borderlines’ biggest fear is being abandoned yet again by someone they love. It is stated in I Hate You–Don’t Leave Me, the number one symptom of being diagnosed with BPD is “Frantic efforts to avoid feeling or imagined abandonment.”

My biggest fear is someone I love abandoning because I have Borderline Personality Disorder. The person I entrusted my heart to may very well decide to break it and run off because I am ill. A fear that I have spoken out loud to only a handful of people I entrusted with my secret.

My two irrational fears of why someone would leave me are:

1. “You aren’t pretty enough. I’ve found someone far more attractive”

2. “You’re fucking crazy, I can’t handle how mentally ill you are.”

These are the fears I have been attempting to invalidate for years, even with professional help.

Unfortunately, when I look into a mirror I do not find myself attractive. I am disgusted with myself. Due to my low self-esteem I overcompensate by wearing too much makeup, having eyelash extensions, and a year-round tan. All to hide my imperfections. Both inside and out. Maybe if I am beautiful on the outside then people will not guess there is something wrong on the inside.

Anyone who suffers from a mental illness knows that the worst part about having said illness is that people expect you to behave as if there is nothing wrong. If you fake it long enough then maybe one day you will wake up fixed. If you do acknowledge being sick there are so many labels to slap onto you which either makes people pity you or they actively avoid you due to their own discomfort.

My biggest fear is someone I love abandoning because I have Borderline Personality Disorder.

Over the past month, feeling secure as someone with BPD could in a relationship, the thought of him choosing to fall out of love with me due to my disorder was beginning to come up less in my never-ending internal monologue. I had been so close to believing someone with a mental illness can be loved even with this disorder, especially after years of hard work.  I attend my weekly counseling sessions, do my therapy homework, use my coping techniques, bite my tongue before lashing out. I try so hard to control the uncontrollable. Then again, I guess I am not doing as good of a job as I thought if that question has already popped into his head more than once.

People expect you to behave as if there is nothing wrong.

After he said those painful words out loud I could feel the lump in my throat and the tears welling up in my eyes. Surprisingly, I did not cry. I most likely would have if we had not expected the therapist to pop onto the screen at any second. We did our session and his comment was briefly brought up but it was not given the attention I thought it deserved, so I have been letting it stew for days. I have told no one what he had said, out of fear of the truth, which is he has every right to pack his bags and go if he believes I am too ill or too hard to handle.

As determined as I was to push his venomous comment out of my mind, the echoing of his voice becomes louder as it continuously circles around my thoughts. I keep asking myself: For those of us who are actively pursuing to be a better person, so we are not defined by our disorder, do we not deserve to be loved for who we are? Does it matter that we work tirelessly to blend in with everyone who is “normal”?

I hope the answer is yes, we do deserve love just like anyone else and yes, it does matter that we work so hard to control a disease we did not choose to have. I would hope that if you love someone with a mental illness, you never give up.

Fun Fact: When the “I” is replaced by “we” the word illness becomes wellness.

At the moment I feel as though I am walking on eggshells. Afraid that I will mess up by showing too much emotion or having an episode in front of him. Usually I am courageous, but it is feeling intimidated that is limiting me. I would like to ask him what can I do better? What should I work on next to improve myself? Or is it just the thought of being in love with someone who has a lifelong illness too much to handle?

Never give up on someone with a mental illness. When the “I” is replaced by “we” the word illness becomes wellness

As Brooke Davis, from One Tree Hill, states: “Let me tell you something about love. It does not knock often and when it does you have to let it in.”

Though a partner with BPD is hard to handle, the good we have inside ourselves outweighs the bad, in my humble opinion. We have constant darkness tugging at us that we overcome daily. These moments show our strengths. When our partner is feeling low we do not hesitate to pull out all the stops to ensure we see a smile, even if it’s for a split second. We would never blame our partner for lashing out after a bad day because we understand what it is like to be unable to hold back emotions that have been eating away at us. There is no need to hold back tears in front of us because we understand being vulnerable is truly scary. We will make you feel admired because we would never intentionally lose the gift of love.  For us, categorized as a borderline, we cherish love more than the average person. When it is pure and true, our biggest fear is it abandoning us. As so many others have before,

As someone who is in love with another who is also fighting ghosts that haunt him and the dragons that must be slain to live a peaceful Happily Ever After, I want him to know that if he chooses to stay I will help him fight the war together, and ask nothing in return. For me, love is not quid-pro-quo. It is taking a leap of faith by giving yourself to someone selflessly and hoping they do not run away from the ghosts and demons I have been fighting alone for a long time.

For years, I could not heal because I kept pretending I was not hurt. Now, that I know what afflictions have been hindering my greatness and the extraordinary lengths I have taken to better myself, I would hope those achievements would overshadow a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder. As I am not defined by my illness, it solely is just a part of who I am. There is so much more I have to offer. A concept I hope the man I love understands and respects.

I will never ask him for help to slay my dragons, as I am my own Knight- In- Shining Armor, but if he chooses to join me on the battlefield his courage would allow for our bond to blossom into a deeper love we have yet to experience. A love I am hoping he is willing to fight for instead of fleeing from.

.

 

Sample Your Next Summer Read — “Bigger the Bottle, Messier the Mistake”

As the weather gets warmer and it is time to lay by the pool and escape reality (or quarantine life), I wanted to provide a funny “beach read” novel for anyone to enjoy, titled “Bigger the Bottle, Messier the Mistake”. It is a commercial fiction romance novel that will have you in a fit of laughter, feeling second-hand embarrassment, and possibly remind you of your own rowdy college days. Take a sneak peek at the synopsis & first two scenes of a book that has been called a “rom-com on paper.”

 “This literally made me LOL” – MihyarN

How can you go wrong with skimming the first-page of a book you may consider a “must-read” or your next book club pick?

If you find yourself laughing out loud or curiosity has got the best of you then please Click Here to indulge in the completed novel on the free app Wattpad (available on phone, tablet, or computer).

**My dream is to get this novel (the first of the series) published! I am hoping that I can lean on my fellow authors, book enthusiasts, and other ambitious writers to help make my dream come true! If you too have a vision I can help make come true then lets band together and help one another! Please leave comments so I can be involved in your goals!**

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*Warning*
The following content contains sexually graphic scenes, crude language, and encourages hot mess behavior. Material may not be suitable for some readers, specifically the easily offended.

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No harm, no foul waking up hungover in another boy’s bed–or so Leila Davis has taught herself. This promiscuous and emotionally scattered coed is more committed to liquor, sarcasm, and her pre-law prep courses than her messy summer love triangle.

One suitor, a former lover by the name of Jace Henderson has hatched a vindictive scheme with the help of his cocaine addicted sister to take revenge on the girl who broke his heart while the second of the suitors, Tyson Cameron is trying to hold himself back from the romantic feelings that have developed for the person who is supposed to be just another “Summer Fling”, the very same girl who is responsible for destroying one of his closest friendships.

Deceit, pleasure, and countless headaches have already kicked off summer’s beginning. Thankfully, her gal pal vodka is always around when the going gets tough, and no doubt everything about her life will.

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Chapter One: Vodka

Lust was her favorite Seven Deadly Sin, and the sin factor was the sole reason mornings such as these were second nature by now. Tip-toeing out of a boy’s room, still half undressed, hoping he would not stir until she was miles away was a technique Leila Davis had perfected over the past year. Maybe it was how her broken heart coped or perhaps she was making up for lost opportunities. Either way she was having a hell of a good time.

Once the sunlight hit Leila’s face her eyes flashed open. She scanned her surroundings, somewhat fearful of where last night’s drunken stupor had led her. The young coed examined her present location until finally stumbling upon Tyson Cameron, the boy who was not only sharing his bed but was also apart of her male dominated social group. It was Leila’s first instinct to grab her floral print dress and bra—which had somehow managed to wind up on the bedroom door handle—and get the hell out of there.

Being in Tyson’s bed, bare chest exposed, did not shock her. Considering the increasing ache in her head, each second worse than the previous, she could not be less surprised. After the first dozen monstrous hangovers, a person would have assumed a girl carrying a 3.9 GPA would have known better than to continually binge drink every weekend. But there were some lessons Leila refused to learn.

One hand dropped down past her waist and relief washed over her at the touch of boy-short underwear. Okay, I didn’t sleep with him. This is a good sign, she boasted.

The brunette’s joy was short lived when she realized Tyson’s arm was draped over her waist. Such affectionate behavior displeased her. She did not allow cuddling or any other type of that bullshit. Their spooning position was not only nauseating but was throwing a monkey wrench in her smooth get away. She was almost certain her klutzy nature would prove her to be more numskull than ninja but there was no time to second guess herself.

Leila’s clenched up body slipped out of Tyson’s loose grip.

I am a ninja!

After tucking her belongings underneath her arm she took a step toward the exit. There was no reason to stop and turn around once she reached the door, other than the fact that she always stole a quick glance at the boy she ended up between the sheets with the prior night. It was a habit to sneak a peek and determine whether the male was actually attractive in the daylight or had her drunk goggles gotten the best of her. There had been some unfortunate bedmates in the past, but Tyson was certainly not one of them. No doubt the boy was attractive.

She bit at her lip then found herself immediately shutting down any horny thoughts and forced herself to proceed with the escape plan. Leila could have sworn she saw Tyson stir, but there was no reason to stick around and find out. The open passage was wide enough for her small frame to wiggle through and by some miracle was large enough to fit her monstrous purse.

Lust was her favorite Seven Deadly Sin

The second Leila was out of Tyson’s apartment she went back to dialing her friend Eliza Duvall. As she fidgeted with her lopsided dress her finger hit the redial button for the third time. Lucky for both girls, Tyson and Foxy, the boy Eliza shacked up with for the night, lived literally across the hall from one another in their apartment building. The situation always made Leila think of the show Friends. The phone call reached voice mail for the fourth time. She had officially grown impatient and began vigorously banging on the door. For a brief moment the disheveled female paused when catching her reflection in one of the various hallway mirrors.

Is that a hickey on my shoulder? Leila thought growing more irritated by the second.

She tried to remember if she had stated the No Hickey Rule to the boy she had ended up mostly naked in bed with.

“Oh for the love of Zeus,” Leila muttered as she began to bang on the door even louder.

This had not been the smooth getaway she had planned for.

Suddenly Eliza burst out of the door, almost knocking the agitated brunette backward. “Let’s go,” she mumbled pacing toward the stairs.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do,” Leila growled stomping behind the scattered blonde. “We’re going to Waffle House by the way!”

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Eliza’s head began to droop onto the top of the faux wood table that she was sharing with Leila at the local Waffle House. On this particular summer morning the restaurant seemed to be almost dead, which the two coeds were thankful for. During the school year the breakfast establishment close to the university campus always had a booming business of college student clientele. Fortunately for Leila and Eliza, the summer life near university campus meant very little people, as most of the students were from out of state. On this particular morning this meant that no one could see just how much of a train wreck they appeared to be.

Eliza’s bleach blonde hair looked as though it had been struck by lightning—that or it endured some pretty rough sex. The wrinkled up blouse was definitely being worn inside out. Her deep, ocean-blue eyes were trying to stay attentive to Leila, who did not look much better. Leila’s long chestnut hair, now greasy at the roots, had been thrown up in a messy ponytail. This shameful image was a regular occurrence during her morning escapes. Her vibrant, green eyes could not distract from the distinct dark circles sagging underneath them. At least the cohorts had one thing going for their physical demeanor; their bronze tans from the summer weather and a job perk gifted to each employee at the tanning salon where they both worked.

Oh for the love of Zeus!

Leila did not speak to Eliza as she saw her friend’s eyes sliding shut and her head about to slam against the table surface. She continued pouring excess amounts of sugar into her coffee while simultaneously using a spoon to blend the powder in. Ignoring the half conscious blonde across the table Leila focused on piecing together the actions that had played out the night before. Not much of the puzzle was coming together. All she could truly remember was waking up in Tyson’s bed after strictly telling her sober self time and time again she would not wind up with a male within her social group… ever.

Then there was Eliza and Ruben Foxworth III, also known as “Foxy” among his circle of friends. It seemed to be that Leila had misjudged her coworker and new found friend of just a few months about her attitude toward boys.

Who knew Eliza was so quick to love and leave a guy?

Leila had hunch, but now it was confirmed.

As she picked up her coffee, the warmth from the cup heated Leila’s ice cold hands. She smirked as she brought the cup to her lips. “I can’t believe you participated in coitus with Foxy last night.” For fear of choking she tried not to laugh as she swallowed. She felt the need to insert the word coitus every chance she could after hearing it in one of her favorite sitcoms. Each time it left her mouth she could not help to chuckle.

Eliza picked up her head while shooting the animated brunette a dirty look. “First off, no The Big Bang Theory references when I’m working off less than thirty minutes of sleep and secondly…” She trailed off losing her train of thought from exhaustion.

“And secondly…”

Eliza’s eyes dropped shut.

“Eh-lee-zah,” Leila sang obnoxiously.

“And secondly,” Eliza’s eyes snapped open. “I’ve told you we don’t discuss anything school related during the summer, it’s May.”

Leila raised an eyebrow to her friend. “What does the word ‘coitus’ have to do with school? Unless you have switched your major from Biology to Sex Education.”

No one could see just how much of a train wreck they appeared to be

“It just sounds too science-like for the summer, okay?” She snapped, lacking any force behind her words.

Taking another large gulp of her over sweetened coffee, just the way she liked it, Leila put her cup down. “Is ‘sex’ or ‘fuck’ on the censored list?”

“Nope.”

“Okay then,” Leila said peering in closer to the frazzled female who was attempting to keep her head propped up on her elbow. “I can’t believe you fucked Foxy last night.”

“I know,” seemed to be the only words Eliza could push out of her mouth. “I know.” Her body continually drained itself of energy, even the freckles sprinkled across her face appeared exhausted.

“I mean,” Leila persisted furthering to annoy her companion. “I never pictured him to be the fox to your hound.” She began to snicker while picking up her coffee again. “Get it? It’s a pun because his name is Foxy.”

Eliza threw her gal pal another dirty look with all the strength she had left. “How do you have so much energy right now?”

Leila took another gulp of her almost finished coffee. “I’m just naturally witty; this pounding headache can’t stop my awesome sense of humor.” She ended her sentence with a satisfied smile.

Eliza shook her head as a yawn poured out of her mouth. “Or you’re still drunk,” she mumbled. “What time is it anyhow?”

Leila shuffled through her purse and pulled out her cell phone “7:02.”

The weary blonde let her head drop off her propped up elbow, face planting onto the table top. “Oh my God, I work in two hours,” she groaned hopelessly.

“Well, actually, an hour and fifty-eight minutes, but who’s counting?”

Elevating her skull Eliza directed an evil eye toward her too chipper friend.

“Just being accurate,” she muttered, her eyes trailing away from her cranky co-worker’s unpleasant stare.

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Read “Bigger the Bottle, Messier the Mistake” for free using your cellphone, tablet, or computer when downloading the Wattpad app!

Relationships&BPD PT1 – Living With Borderline Personality Disorder – The Series

When I was 20-years-old I had broken off an engagement to my ex-fiance. There had been numerous factors that led to our demise, the main reason was I had come to terms that we truly did not have a future together. He had wanted to have a family together, and I did not want to bring children into this world. Though at the time, and for many years to come I was heartbroken. It had taken what felt like eons to move on from the pain but eventually, I did, with many other men.

Even though years had passed and I was able to attract the attention of a lot of the male population, when I decided to date someone or become romantically involved with them, I would either kick them to the curb within a few weeks or have these chaotic, sexual long term relations. Relationships that were dictated by my roller coaster of emotions. None of it was healthy. There were a couple of men I had fallen for, and several men who claimed to have loved me, there was no true fulfillment from these types of dalliances. Finding true happiness with a romantic partner was harder than I ever could have imagined.

The best selling book titled, I Hate You–Don’t Leave Me (Understanding the Borderline Personality) describes it best. “The borderline will frantically pursue a man (or woman) one day and send him packing the next. Longer romances– usually measured in weeks or months rather than years–are usually filled with turbulence and rage, wonder and excitement.”

The above statement is not an exaggeration by any means. When I read this line for the first time, a montage of my past partners ran through my head. I could not pinpoint one person that I did not shed a tear over, had a screaming match with, or sent nasty, pointed text messages to after drinking away my internal pain.

Even though there were a couple of men I had fallen for, and several men who claimed to have loved me, there was no true fulfillment from these types of dalliances

It was not until my mid-twenties when I began seeking treatment for my diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder did I realize, not only had my break up with my ex-fiance been inevitable but I would not have the capability of being a good partner so long as I left my sickness untreated. It may be cliche when said; you cannot love someone until you love yourself. A sentiment that I would have to be reminded of when crying myself to sleep on those rare nights I would allow myself to feel truly alone, wishing I had someone who I loved and who loved me back.

On those nights I would repeat a quote to myself.

“Girls just want someone to want them back…at least I do.” Brooke Davis, One Tree Hill, (S1E18)

A statement that is nothing short of the truth.

I have been in therapy and treating my disease for years. Up until recently, I had been single for almost a decade (since me and my ex-fiance split) for two reasons: 1. I needed to get a handle on my disorder 2. I needed to find the right partner.

The right partner is key. Not everyone can handle dating someone with BPD, but I had felt that I had enough control over my disorder it would not affect any romantic relationship I pursued when the time had come. How wrong I was.

For the past two and a half years I have really seen an immense amount of progress in my behavior and loving myself. I will not lie and say I love myself fully, because anyone with BPD will tell you that is impossible, but I had truly grown to the point I had never loved myself before. Which had led to a conversation with my therapist about nine months ago. She and I agree that it was okay to open myself up again and possibly try dating. There were a couple failed attempts that had led me to the conclusion to just give up. However, when I did, the right man had come along. It is just like the old adage says, “when you stop looking the right one comes along”.

You cannot love someone until you love yourself.

Some may not believe in fate or destiny, but I do. Quinn was a gift from the heavens to me. I choose to accredit my hard work and personal growth to be the reason I was blessed with someone so amazing. We had our first date on Valentine’s Day and a month later we moved in together on my birthday (March 14). Though it was Arizona’s COVID-19 quarantine that had forced my hand on cohabitating in my 600sq apartment, I choose to believe fate had a hand in that as well.

Quinn’s soul is as beautiful as his smile. He will always try to crack a joke to see if he can make me laugh, even during a serious conversation. I have never had anyone tell me, “I love you,” a dozen or more so times in a day. Nor have I had a person who is breath taken when I dress down in a T-shirt & jeans, with no makeup. Before him, whenever I would listen to someone explain politics and social economics I would watch the clock, waiting for it to end, but not with him. I could spend hours taking in all his beautiful mind has to offer.

We are very happy together, but we chose to be in a very difficult relationship. I have BPD and he is Autistic. A nightmare of a match if one or both chooses not to work intensely on the relationship, which we have. I am thankful to God every day for sending me someone who wants to work on our relationship as much as I do.

A characteristic of autism (in a general sense) is speaking out loud what is on his mind without filtering himself first. As someone who has BPD and is triggered by words very easily this can be a recipe for a fight.

I have never had anyone tell me, “I love you,” a dozen or more so times in a day before him

Even though I have weekly therapy sessions, read books on BPD, practice my coping techniques, none of this stops my moods from still shifting within a blink of an eye. One moment Quinn and I could be laughing hysterically and within an instant of him accidentally saying the wrong comment, I will be in tears.

For example, earlier today I was joking with Quinn by stating “Have you ever had a girl who does all these things for you?” (Referring to cooking his meals, doing his laundry, etc.)

In which he replied without thinking, “Yes, there were two other girls actually.”

One he had explained had sadly passed away, the other he said: “is so far away.”

Though in his defense, he quickly added, “But you do it better.”

This had almost sent me to tears.

The reason being, as I Hate You–Don’t Leave Me puts it; “The borderline does not accept her own intelligence, attractiveness, or sensitivity as constant traits, but rather as comparative qualities to be continually re-earned and judged by others’.”

Though when I had said, you cannot love someone else before loving yourself, that is true. However, for borderlines there is only so much love you have for yourself. I am constantly comparing myself to others in an unhealthy way. To the point, it feeds my already ingrained insecurities. Every day I do all that I can to keep him happy and be “the perfect girlfriend.”

The perfect example would be last Friday. I had dolled myself up in lingerie and heels to do chores around the apartment. I did the dishes, laundry, ironed his suit as requested, bought him a nice bottle of scotch, and once he was finished with work I poured him a glass, mind you, I was still in my corset and thigh highs while I tended to his needs. I attempt to go above and beyond every day, even more on that day, just so he cannot compare me to other girls in a negative sense, or have in the back of his mind that another woman would be a better fit for him. I could not take him leaving me for someone else because I was not the perfect partner.

After he made that very hurtful comment, all I could think of in my mind was, is there really another girl out there who you would be happier with if she wasn’t so far away? Am I really just that easy to leave?

In my previous entry, the first of many submissions of Introducing: Living With Borderline Personality Disorder – The Series, I had stated: “People with BPD suffer from extremely low self-esteem, but that is because they have been conditioned to feel unwanted and insignicant…we have these same thoughts repeatedly, resulting in a constant mindset of stress-related paranoia.”

We have had the idea that we are easy to leave and far more likely to be abandoned than the average person drilled into our brains by past friends, lovers, and especially our parents. To put it simply, those with BPD are not worth keeping around. Borderlines are too ill to be loved. We cannot help this mindset, even as much as we try to push it away. We are taught the person we love most will abandon us because we will never be good enough.

Though I try not to let these thoughts penetrate my mind, when you have BPD it truly is hard because one of the main common symptoms of this disorder is an extreme fear of abandonment. An overwhelming fear that can lead to the need for frequent reassurance that deserting me is not imminent.

For borderlines there is only so much love you have for yourself

Even when I try to drive away the thoughts of Quinn leaving, when he makes such comments that he believes are lighthearted and funny, to me those hurtful words lead to feelings of devastation and a pestering thought that at any time he will end our relationship because he is able to find someone who will do everything I do, without the drama of dealing with a personality disorder. As much as I try to fight it, unfortunately, this cannot be helped. It is just a symptom of BPD.

From my earlier example, I gave regarding lingerie and chores, it may be apparent that I go through great lengths to try to avoid having him forsake my love. As I had stated earlier, Quinn tells me at least a dozen times a day “I love you,” but when you have BPD, unfortunately, that is not enough to sway my fear of being left behind.

As stated in I Hate You–Don’t Leave Me, “The most difficult part of being a borderline personality has been the emptiness, the loneliness, and intensity of feelings.”

Girls just want someone to want them back…at least I do.

Quinn does not know it, but sometimes I lie awake at night and cry. I do so because I cannot help but remember those moments of loneliness that had engulfed me from my childhood or even just a few short months ago. Memories of those paralyzing episodes where I felt nothing but disgust for myself, knowing that no one could love me due to my condition. I wish I could verbalize to him, that by the simple fact he chose me has given me a sense of happiness I had never felt until him. Maybe one day I can show him that my heart skips a beat every time I hear him say “I love you,” or the warmth of my smile when he whispers it in my ear as I fall asleep in his arms. Though he will never understand the constant fear I face knowing that within an instant the hope he had gifted me could all go away because I know I will never be good enough for him.

Maybe, that angst will turn into hope. Possibly one day there will be no doubt hanging over my head that his love for me is pure and everlasting. My greatest wish is we live Happily Ever After. An ending no one with Borderline Personality Disorder ever thinks can truly exist.

Maybe one day…

Romantic Life Frustrations

***If there are any literary agents out there, or you are someone who likes what he/she is reading and knows of an agent or an editor please help make an author who has been writing novels since she was 10-years-old’s dream come true!*** 

Hello, my lovelies!

I apologize for it being a while since I’ve written anything, however, I have officially moved out of my apartment with my roommate! Don’t cry for me Argentina because I am absolutely thrilled. In another post, I’ll explain what happened but as of now, I wanted to get something off of my chest and possibly get some feedback on what is going on in my love life!

Now I am no dating expert or even pretend to be a man expert. I have been single for seven years for a reason, and I may turn this blog into tales of my romantic life.

Would that not be fun?

Because there is a lot I have to say and possibly could get feedback on. Maybe you, my audience, could give me some clarity on what men are thinking. Maybe we could take a poll on what your opinion is on whether this guy may or may not be into me. You be the judge!

I was discussing this with my girlfriend yesterday, who thought blogging about it so others could read and relate to my frustrations would be an excellent idea. Shout out to Eliza! She thought to give the guy in this blog the name of “Ryder” because obviously, I cannot use his real name in the unlikely scenario he would call me out and be like “What the fuck is wrong with you? You went and blogged about me?!” Well, Ryder maybe if you answered my text message last night I would not have to do such things like blog about you.

So, let’s start at the beginning! Ryder and I met at work, save the lecture in the comments for dating a co-worker, yes I know it is a bad idea. I ran through five of them, and they each make a great story. Do not worry my lovelies, I will fill you in on all them seeing as this is what my blog has become.

Anyhow, we met at work, I convinced my other co-worker who had a crush on me but was friends with him to get his number for me. The other co-worker was a bit sour that I wanted Ryder and not him, but sorry I do not date men with children nor did I want him in general even after helping me with my car problems.

Ryder and I dated for a solid month, maybe a little long and split. I was going through a rough time in my life and he well, has no empathy. There is a sensitivity chip missing in his brain. We all have our own faults and that is his. It’s truly unfortunate because he is a good looking guy and other than a couple unfortunate biological issues that I will not mention, he is a solid, attractive, heartthrob.

After we broke up I went to his place to pick up something I’d left behind, this was probably about six weeks after we split. It was somewhat on bad terms and we were suppose to have “the talk” that gave us closure when we first ended things, correction when I ended things but we just never got around to it. Well as I am picking up what was left behind he gets a phone call and walks out of the room to take it, odd right? Yes, I thought so too. As he is on this call I find a note on his counter from some chick who drew hearts on the note and I see the words “baby I love you so much.” Clearly, he has found himself a new playmate which I was totally fine with. An unhinged playmate who is saying “I love you” four weeks into the relationship, but hey I was happy for him.

I confront him on his girlfriend, he fesses up to it but then gets into this weird conversation with me saying things like “what we had really meant a lot to me” and “maybe in the future we will end up together, we don’t know what the future holds for us.” Shit like that! So it should be no shock to you that a couple weeks later as I’m with my girlfriend, coincidentally talking about him while she is explaining that he blabbed to the entire department that him I dated, Ryder ends up texting me to come over!  He explained that he had officially called quits on his relationship and was having a bad week and asked if I would come to keep him company.

He just got out of the hospital, what was I supposed to do, say no like some heartless swine? No. 

I go over there and no surprise a little action happens. How was I to predict that he was going to put the moves on me, I mean he just got out of the hospital the day before. Who knew that he wanted some good old fashion lovin? It came as a total shock to me!

Weeks come and go we talk here and there, it probably is about a month after the incident and I myself had to take some personal days without my cell phone handy and when I turn it back on Ryder has texted checking in. From there on we see each other probably once a week for me to stop by but it turns into a makeout session every time! We basically put on a movie, something I usually would not pick myself, and halfway through our tongues our down each other’s throats! At one point we were watching the new adaption of “IT” (yes the Stephen King movie) and we found ourselves playing tonsil hockey.

I know what you are thinking. “Well, of course, you did, because that is clearly such a romantic movie. Who wouldn’t be turned on?”

Then at one point during these hang out sessions he texts me and asks me to come to spend the night with him, on a weekday! No coitus involved just some kissing, snuggling and sleeping! He texts me just to check in on me and sees how I am doing, sends me inspirational quotes, and when I go over to hang out with him it last all night and he has even introduced me to his friends if they happen to stop by his place before going out while I am there. Not sure if my name comes up else wise, I do not know why it would unless he is just confused about what is going on between us as I am and having a heart to heart with one of his bros.

It could totally happen right?

 

Now let’s add up all that has happened:

1. He randomly texts me to check in

2. We have great makeout sessions

3. We have a great time together

4. He asks me to spend the night on weeknights just because he wants me there!

5. When he had a girlfriend he talked about maybe us being together in the future 

6. Immediately called me after him and said girlfriend broke up right after getting out of the hospital

 

Tell me if I am crazy but it sounds like he was easing his way into getting back together with me. When I casually brought this up over text this is how the conversation went:

Me: Have you ever thought about us dating again?

Ryder: I’m not sure I’m in that position right now

Me: I wasn’t asking if you wanted to lol I’m clearly not in that in that position. Was asking if it crossed your mind

Ryder: It had not lol (obnoxious emoji with its tongue out)

Now here is where you come in, take a look at the evidence that I listed above and put in the comments if you think he is lying or if you believe he truly has not thought about it because these behaviors keep happening!

I just spent the night with him again Thursday! Just to snuggle and have a casual weekday slumber party!

The most recent of his behaviors which made me want to write this entry was, my girlfriend Eliza had convinced me to ask him to dinner to see if he would want to try a date. No harm no foul right? WRONG!

Well, I text him: Can I make you dinner sometime? Trying to work on my cooking skills lol (I added the ‘lol’ to make the situation less awkward if he turned me down)

Have I heard from him? Nope!

It is just a free home-cooked meal I am offering! What is the big deal? I make dinner for my girlfriends all the time. You would think by a lack of his response I asked him to the prom. So, I suppose you should add that into the evidence bank as well.

I’ll keep you posted on if I receive a reply, but as of now, he is cut off from the snuggles! Do not expect me to come over and cuddle with you if you will not reply to my text about making you a simple dinner, which in my defense could just be seen as a friendly gesture. Maybe he is reading too much into this himself.

I guess I had to write this to see what others thoughts are because I myself, am just so confused. Even if he wanted to date again I am unsure I would take the bait. We tried it before and it did not end with the kindest of words, but also, I just do not know. Maybe I want to have cuddle sessions more often with him and dinner was my way of weaseling into it.

If any girl is just as confused as I am on male behavior raise your hand, like my post, and subscribe!

 

 

 

 

 

Mental Health

Fair warning to anyone who has read my previous blog posts that this entry will not be filled with laughter and it covers a very serious topic. Brace yourself. Maybe you can relate or possibly this will help you understand the state of a loved one’s mental health, either way, I hope our society can continue discussing what can be considered a taboo topic.

The thought of swallowing bottles of various pills to end what I have come to terms with as a lifelong problem has crossed my mind more times than I can count. It is a blessing and a curse to not have the courage to execute my well thought out strategy. Although the most recent time, I had seriously contemplated killing myself there had been a knife clutched in my hand at the bottom of a running shower while I begged myself to find the courage to live. If I had not learned from practice how to talk myself out of suicide the ill prescribed medication doled out by an inadequate psychatrist, I would not be here today.  I know I am not alone in this feeling. Anyone who suffers from chronic depression or has it as a symptom of their chemical and/or personality disorder can probably tell you the plan they have personally conjured if deciding to take their own life.

The irony of the way I have chosen is the latest depression I have slipped in to has lasted for months because I no longer could self-medicate to stop the pain. My personal nickname “The Pharmacist” was accurate. Acquiring any arrangement of pill bottles, all prescribed to me at one point, a few random pills here and there my friends gave me to try and see if it leveled out my stability. My medicine cabinet mimicked Valley of the Dolls. It was how I was taught to survive at a young age. For a while, it worked until it didn’t. The problem with pharmaceuticals is the tolerance the human system builds towards a substance. One Ativan in the morning no longer took the edge off, 10 mg of Adderall might have well been replaced with a weak cup of Folgers, a few glasses of wine did not keep my starved body inebriated for long.

But what else could I do other than take another handful of narcotics when it hurts to be alive?

Nothing but unbearable pain awaited me when I decided to conquer my disorder by increasing therapy and decreased the medication. To be honest, I still feel unbearable pain a lot of the time, during the rougher days since I am no longer heavily dosed and it becomes especially gruesome when I pretend I can live without my medication. One day I will hopefully be able to not rely on prescribed emotions but I have been told both by therapists and doctors it will be years before I can even dream of such a life. Between an untreated personality disorder, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and a high tolerance for many narcotics its amazing I am still alive. If I need a little help while I rebuild myself then that is okay. A person shows their true strength not by whether or not they can accomplish a task on their own but if they are humble enough to ask for help when its needed.

Behind a pretty smile, witty humor, and a small amount of effort into one’s physical appearance, it can be easy enough to fool the world…until you have no energy left after forcing yourself to live another day. A repetitive cycle I assumed was normal by the time I hit high school.

Before narcotics, I indulged in bulimia and cutting. This phase began at 15. I am now 27 and still struggle to fight these addictions even now.

Sometimes you just need the pain to stop.

No one explained to me that it would all get better, that it could get better. Even when I was in tears explaining to my father such intense emotions he blamed it on adolescent love and hormones. My mother did not understand there had been a real issue at hand until I took a blade to my arm at 16 and forced her to see the blood running down. Dropping from 130+ pounds down to 107 in the same summer, to the point the pediatrician threatened hospitalization if I dropped another pound did not seem to alarm anyone. As you can see my parents were not what some would call “involved.”

In those days suicide had been on my mind a lot. My actions had been a blatant cry for help. Hell, my physical out-cry for help should have been enough. It would take until my 18th birthday to be misdiagnosed as someone who was Bi-Polar. When the generic pill combination prescribed to most Manic-Depressives had run me to the closest edge of suicide I had ever been, the diagnosis would be erased. Later on, it would be corrected as Borderline Personality Disorder.

For those who are unaware it is not uncommon for the two to be mixed up when diagnosing one or the other. It’s the failure of medication, from my experience that gives the definitive answer. There is no cure or pill combination for those who suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder, but there is for Bi-Polar. Just therapy and for some people certain medications work to keep Borderline’s victims at bay.

Unfortunately, for me, my brain chemistry is not mapped out like others. Even when comparing results of street drugs I do not have the same reaction. Cocaine calms me down. MDMA makes me suicidal. Any form of any THC strain makes me wildly hallucinate. The couple occasions I tried crack at 19, it put me right to sleep. That is a taste of my unsettling brain chemistry. After sharing that information, I would hope it would not surprise you to hear majority mood stabilizers, anti-depressants, and anti-anxieties did the opposite of what they had been designed to do when I partook in them. I found the proper meds given to me by my PCP that soothed me and kept me sane, ones that the doctors are now hesitant to prescribe.

The medical community and Donald Trump’s administration has taken a stance on psychotropic drugs. Not a good one, might I add. The protestors insist such pills are addicting and should not be available to most. It is hard enough to live with a disorder that is not treatable but to take away options that make us feel sane does not make sense to me and I am probably not the only one who has this belief. The government would rather use the mentally ill’s suicide rate, climbing higher by the year as some horrific form of population control than to give the medication to those in need. And for what reason, may I ask?

After 5 years of being on the same medications prescribed by my PCP, a sudden new law “invoked by the Trump administration”, stated by my Nurse Practioner had forced me to find a psychiatrist, wait an entire month for an appointment to be hassled by a doctor who prescribed me a whole new set of narcotics that caused me to almost kill myself, all just to maintain the same prescriptions I had been on for half a decade. This is all while I was in therapy and was advised by my therapist not to change my medication regimen.

I promise this is not turning into a rant on the second amendment or the government, but it does need to be pointed out that our government does not give a fuck about our safety.

*Take a look on Chris Rock’s stand-up bit which connects the government’s concern with public safety and gun control*

It seems to be under Trump, the Republican Congress has looked the other way on gun control restrictions and replied to outrage over the nation’s deadliest mass shootings with empty apologies and tip toeing around a concrete answer on how the issue will be handled in a constructive way. If there is no specific stance or criteria to keep weapons out of the hands of those who use gun violence to play God on not just their own life but innocent bystanders, my question is, why can someone who is mentally unwell that has ownership of a gun be allowed to dictate whether I live or die but I do not have the right to continue the medication that not only keeps me from taking my own life but allows me to be a productive member of society? Someone who is considered a good person,  that also volunteers, and works a corporate job five days a week.

I thank God every day for the life I have been blessed with, which includes having a job that affords me medical care to which I do have access to medication and therapy. Although the fear of my mental stability, if I am suddenly cut off completely, has pushed me to break a couple of times into panic attacks. Ironically the drugs designed to keep someone from feeling such urges or actually committing suicide is at great risk of being led straight to it when abruptly discontinuing its use because they no longer have access to what had been prescribed to them previously by a trained doctor.

For those who have not had to practice hiding the blades or locking oneself outside until the drive to end your own life has worn off, I fear they may not have the control to stop themselves. A fear that I share with my therapist, along with many of her collegues in the behavioral health field.

Unfortunately, a very real fear for those who are close to or have already been subjected to being kept from their medication.

For those who have not had to rely on medication to function do not understand is some people are not born whole, some are torn apart as they grow older, and some were not gifted in the same way “normal” people were. I dated someone for about a month, a “go-getter” kind of guy. Upbeat, athletic,  beautiful but also has Aspergers. I found it odd that he would always question why I did not yet have a handle on my disorder when part of his is a lack of empathy. A trait he admitted to me. When he would roll his eyes or tell me things along the same line of BPD is just another form of weakness I wanted to fire back at him with the statement, “The day you learn to empathize will be the day I can control my emotions like an on and off switch”, which I did not. I do not defend myself by purposely hurting others.

Needless to say, we did not work out, nor could we ever.

Even my father, who had been my mentor on Self-Medicating does not understand depression or even truly believe there is such a disorder. It was not until he recently asked my sister who has her masters in Marriage and Family therapy about depression and anxiety because his fiance had been exhibiting signs of both in the past couple months since her unfortunate stroke. That, however, is a whole other topic.

My point is those who do not believe in clinically diagnosed disorders, such as my father, must suffer to a certain extent to resort to self-medicating with booze and drugs on a constant basis must understand feeling  “off”, if a substance is necessary to feel completely straight on a bad day. If only they could bottle that emotion, induce the potency and pour that into their morning cup of coffee each day, then maybe the unnecessary judgment would come to an end allowing the ones crying out for help to finally be heard.

I pled for someone to believe my pain when I began realizing that it was not teenage angst encouraging me throw up dinner and slice my skin. It was a real sickness that took until I was in my 20’s to be told officially what had been wrong with me. It may sound insane to some, but I could not be more thankfully for finally be given a diagnosis.

Maybe you understand the feeling I am talking about. A sense of relief. Confirmation that the darkness living within was not imaginary.  Finally, an answer to the question: Is it just me who feels this ungodly pain? 

For those who have only found themselves contemplating suicide in their darkest hour or can snap themselves out of sadness by thinking happy thoughts, I envy you. Life must be lovely all the time when you are completely balanced. My advice to those people I just described who get all holier than thou to those of us who suffer from the many mental disorders out there, instead of getting mouthy on a topic you have not the slightest personal knowledge of, just thank your lucky fucking stars and save the lecture on “control”. If you continue to give input on subjects no one has asked you to nor wants you to disucss then someone should hit you with a car and when you are in the hospital crying because you need morphine for your broken leg I will happily refrain you from any form of pain reliever, even baby asprin until you understand that just because I cannot feel your pain does not give me the right to tell you whether it is exists or not. Mental illness is just as real and painful as any physical illness.

Pretending it does not hurt will not make it go away, will it? I am going to say no.

There is a lot to be said about mental health and even more work to be done in our country and around the world to help those with instability. This was just a rant I needed to write down to help with my own personal health. I am sure there will be more I have to say but for now that is all. Maybe you found reading this a waste of your time, gave you comfort or possibly gave you insight on what it is like for those who struggle daily with a disorder when you would never guess there was any sort of issue unless they had personally disclosed.

Either way, thank you for the time you have given my post today.

xoxo