happiness isn’t for me

It would seem that happiness isn’t meant for everyone. Some, like myself, are here to serve others and never feel the joy of having their own family or their own intrinsic value.

I’m only valuable in what I can offer others.

Every time I’ve been given the chance to have a family I give it away or sabotage it. Everyone who has ever loved me has had their hearts crushed to a pulp for essentially no reason other than me being crazy. Not to mention how cursed my womb is. Every time I get a chance to have my own little ray of sunshine it goes away. Every time. Every job I get, every opportunity… burned to nothing.

I no longer have hope for a career or a family or friends. All I’m going to do is dedicate myself to finding a cure for the mental illnesses I have. I can’t live with others suffering like I’ve suffered. I have to try to fix it for them even if I can’t fix it for myself.

There is no more hope. No more trying for anything for myself. I’m done with that.

It’s time to simply focus on working for a cure for others. Soon I’ll be in a school that’ll help me get my PhD in psychology and maybe someday people will have a better form of help than what’s available right now. Right now therapy and medications don’t seem to fucking work so it’s time to change the entire system. If I can’t have the help I need, fine. But I need others in the future to have it.

Here’s to hoping I can make a difference.

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table for one

Dependency is an easy habit to fall in to and a tough one to break. When a kid is never allowed to do anything alone, it’s easy to see how this kid can grow up to never do anything on their own. Calls to the doctor or dentist seem impossible for the first few years of adulthood. Going grocery shopping alone is terrifying. Being in public alone feels humiliating. That’s been the story of my adult life until recently. I’ve forced myself out of my comfort zone.

Yesterday I ate alone at a restaurant for the first time in my life and it only took me until age 27. I was genuinely surprised by how pleasant it was. Sure, it was a little annoying how sad and overly-sympathetic the staff acted. Once I thought about their reasons behind it (trying to show empathy, wanting to connect, hoping I feel welcome) I felt much less annoyed and much more thankful.

About a month ago I made myself go to a concert alone. It took a shot of tequila to feel comfortable, but once I did I was pretty happy I was alone in the crowd to do whatever I wanted.

During Comic Con I went completely alone for a day and it was one of the best days of my life. I got to wander where I wanted to, I met some amazing new people (including John Cusack), and I felt more free than ever. I had no one to ask “what do you want to do?” and no one to keep happy. It was all about what I wanted to do and it was liberating.

For all of you social anxiety sufferers out there… try this. Small steps at first, go grocery shopping for a handful of items alone. Try to take your time and go slowly. Enjoy the music (idgaf if it’s your style or not, try to enjoy it), watch the patterns of people weaving between each other, take your time picking out the perfect item for yourself, and get yourself a reward (candy, drink, chips, something).
When you have to call for an appointment, it’s okay to tell the person on the phone that you don’t know what information they’ll need. Almost every place I’ve called with 0 idea in my head of how to proceed has been more than happy to help me out.
If you can’t find anyone to go to an event with you.. just go. Even if you stand awkwardly in a corner on your phone the whole time. It’s progress.

Break out of your comfort zone and one day you’ll realize you’re finally comfortable enough with yourself to take yourself out on dates.

-_-

Tired.

So tired.

 

My mind is deteriorating so much and it’s beyond frustrating. The average person is so shitty at understanding mental illness and its effects. It’s not like I want to be late to work or forget my schedule. I’m not trying to make all sorts of medical appointments during work hours. I can only do so much with Medicaid approved facilities… I have to bend to their schedule availability. I can’t help or change that (unless I want to risk a tooth infection going septic and killing me or enduring massive amounts of pain from various other medical issues).

I’ve made a request for ADA Reasonable Accommodations at work. My doctor won’t sign off on it because they say a psychiatrist needs to. My psychiatrist is an asshole who doesn’t listen to me when I tell him my reactions to medications and medication withdrawals (and also made a bad decision for me medication-wise that ultimately led to me attempting suicide) so I don’t trust him to sign off on it either. Plus, it takes 8-10 weeks to even get an appointment.

Being poor is bullshit.

Being mentally ill is bullshit.

Suffering at work because everyone thinks you’re crazy and shouldn’t work there sucks. Especially when my supervisor with recently acquired brain damage gets so much sympathy and special treatment. We both have sick brains on the mend. Mine wasn’t from a physical injury though, so fuck me, right?

delusions

It’s really annoying being delusional. I can’t trust anything I see or hear anymore. I literally just thought my boss was talking about me saying “she’s hallucinating again, ugh.” There is 0 reason for her to say that, let alone think it. Yayyy sick brains and poking at your own insecurities for funsies.

As if I need that right now.

fml

Things completely falling apart rn:

Phsyically:
– Fibromyalgia (worse because of stress)
– Tooth infection, maybe need a root canal
– Possible intestinal disease; getting biopsy next month
– Two menstrual cycles in a 3 week span
– Re-pinched sciatic nerve
– Can’t stop losing weight, starting to worry

Mentally/Financially:
– Work h8s me since I had a psych ward stint and missed time
– … psych ward stint
– Idk where tf I’m gonna live
– I need ~$5k to move anyway
– Pretty deep in debt as it is
– How tf am I gonna pay medical expenses?
– Car has trouble starting pretty often

Emotionally:
– Got dumped (RE: psych ward stint)
– High school crush came back in to my life, buuuuuut lives far enough to where I can’t see them much
–  “Best” friend of 15 yrs is a dickwad and out of my life now
– Not many friends anymore in general
– Family says they’re supportive but they don’t get it so they suck at support
– FML

BPD + BII + GAD =

(Borderline Personality Disorder, Bipolar II, Generalized Anxiety Disorder together all feel liiiiike…)

*This is not a set explanation of how ALL people with these illnesses feel; just my own personal experience! Also, if you dislike the use of the word “crazy”, here’s your trigger warning.*

All of this behavior is stuff I thought was just me personally and not due to a mental illness until I found a friend with the same diagnosis. Now I know this is perfectly normal and I want those of you suffering from the isolating feeling of being crazy to know that this is okay.

  • First things first, this one is the most awkward symptom that fills me with the most self-loathing: BPD and bipolar make you extremely impulsive and flighty. I constantly want to cheat. No, I don’t want to hurt my SO. Yes, I love my SO very much. No, I don’t like the people I have these thoughts about. The shitty thing is that if I’m feeling manic, like I do every other week or two, I become obsessed with an infatuation, usually with a person I have zero interest in normally. I try my best to stifle it, but it’s still there. It’s horrible to be enjoying time with your love and only being able to think about fucking some stranger that isn’t even your type. After expressing this to my therapist, I was informed this is 100% normal for someone with my diagnosis and that it’s fine to have these thoughts; just not to act on them. I have never, ever told one of the “other” people that I’ve wondered how they taste and I plan to keep it that way. Don’t tell you SO about this side effect unless you’re 110% sure they’ll be understanding. This can easily trash a relationship, hence the massive unstable relationships us BABs sufferers have. Just.. tread lightly sharing your thoughts on this. TBH I’m a giant nerd and have channeled this urge purely in to Fallout 4 companions (like MacCready).
  • My whole life I’ve been made to feel horrible about my temper and emotional outbursts. I’ve learned to deal with them a little better over the years, but sometimes I still explode without knowing why. Sometimes I’m already yelling before I feel anger. Sometimes I’m crying over tomatoes. It really is frustrating to have such little self-control no matter how much you work at it and try your best to be “stable.” While it’s important to work on these issues actively, it’s not good to beat yourself up over it. Let your loved ones know how you feel and maybe send them this link (for BPD) or this one (for bipolar). Perhaps with these links and conversations stemming from them, your friends/family can finally understand you and your feelings.
  • Sometimes I have no idea who in the hell I am. Distorted self-image and self-perception are also common. Some days I think I am the hottest woman to have ever lived, other days I think I’m a disgusting pig who should hide her fat forever. Sometimes I know exactly what my interests are and what I like, sometimes I feel boring like I’m a lump with no personality. This all may be normal to people without mental disorders, but this is intensified a lot when you have BPD and/or bipolar disorder. I don’t have any cool or profound way to cope with this or deal with it, so please share if you do.
  • Obsessions. Dude. So many obsessions. Everyone has interests and some are stronger than others, which is awesome. With personality disorders, it’s really easy to get completely immersed in a fictional universe and allow yourself to be consumed by it. (Fallout 4… cough… cough…) I always felt really weird about being the only one of my friends who would get so intensely obsessed with things, but it turns out it’s normal for me. It’s just how my brain works, I guess. This, however, is not something I want to erase or “fix” ;P
  • Dissociating is the weeeeeeirdest feeling but I kinda like it. Imagine that inside your head is like a stadium theater and the backs of your eyes are the screen. Usually, I’m front row and taking everything in because I’m there. When I dissociate, I move to the back row and do my own thing in there. The embodiment of me goes on autopilot so I’ll have conversations, do my job (correctly, even!), go to class, do homework, etc. but I won’t feel like I’m participating. It’s more like watching a really entrancing TV show and watching things from the main character’s POV. It makes you feel like you’ve missed out on a few events of your life, but it’s also kind of necessary if you need your space and aren’t allowed to have it at that time. I like it because I essentially “ignore” my entire day and don’t have to deal with reality. Obviously, that isn’t healthy, though.

I’ll make another post if anyone’s interested. I lost focus and my will to write right now. Yay mood swings! I’m in the middle of weaning off of depression meds to go on to bipolar meds so this happens a lot currently.

 

Share your thoughts/comments/questions 🙂

I could always use more coping methods and stress relief! Feel free to send.

SURPRIIIIIISE

I’m not depressed, I’m bipolar (II) and have borderline personality disorder. And asthma and allergies to literally everything that makes me happy (cats, beer, nature in fucking general).

Another surpruiiiiiiiisiieieieie: love of my life says they might not be able to cope with my mental illnesses ~~

Also: fuck everything and kill me please 🙂

Letters Never Sent, 7.

I’m working on a new sporadic segment that will be a series of letters that I never plan to send. Writing is therapy for me. Names will be either omitted or changed for the sake of legal issues that could potentially arise. These will be personal, they will be honest, and they will be heartfelt. My life is an open book.

Letter #7

Dear Cluck,

I get it. In our teen years I was not nice or cool to anyone, even you. We became best friends again after I stopped being a piece of shit. I thought we were fine and had something good going again. A fifteen year friendship shouldn’t be broken that easily, right?

I’ve spent the past 5 years doing everything I possibly can to love and support you. Every time you came to town, I’d clear my schedule entirely and wait for you to tell me what my plans were for that week. Every time, I’d be one of the first you’d come see (awesome!) and you’d try to make sure we saw each other a 2nd time (or that’s what you’d say, anyway). And yet, when I’d say I’d be down to tag along for anything at all, you still neglected to invite me to things. Then you’d tell me all these crazy fun times you had with your other friends. (You know, the other friends that you’ve always acted like I’m not cool enough to even meet.) And you’d have the nerve to say “You would’ve had so much fun! I wish you could’ve gone!” I could have. If you’d asked. But I’d smile, laugh, talk with you about it anyway because we’re BFFs.

Throughout your trip to another continent (2.5 years of strained contact) I missed you so much more than I knew I could miss someone. I sent you support at every possible minute and flooded you with love to the point where I worried about annoying you. But, you said you loved it and to keep it coming. So I did.

Then you finally move back to the US and I think I’ll finally get to see you again. Nope. Here for a short time then off to another state. During that time you were constantly too busy with your other friends (as usual). Across the world, I thought you sucked at texting because you can’t get internet in the middle of a tribal village and mud hut. Turns out, you just don’t think as highly of me as I do of you. You actually texted me more in Africa than you do in America.

Since you’ve moved you’ve been a complete shit friend. Completely shit. I handled it for a year now, trying my best to be understanding and to give you space. Then I had a horrid night where I tried to kill myself (yay mental illness). You were the only person I thought could help me come out of it. I reached out to you. You initially gave some concern and wanted to make sure I’m alive (which is obviously great). Then, you quickly continued to say you’re too busy with your other friend’s depression to even bother trying to help me out. Essentially, I got a big “well, that sucks, but you’re not that important to me and I don’t want to make time for you.” I was crushed.

I gave you three chances to make it up to me. Twice, I scheduled phone calls so we can talk about why I wanted to kill myself. Since you’re my best friend, I thought that would be normal. But no, you blew off each plan we had for a phone call and continued to go anywhere from days to weeks to reply to me. Then you started to only want to talk if I was being positive. So I faked it for a bit. Then, on the very last chance, I decided to not answer you and see what you’d do. You blew that, too. We haven’t talked for a month.

I spent every day thinking of you and how much it hurt to care more about you than you do about me. Every day. EVERY FUCKING DAY.

And today.. today I got the last straw. After days and days of being hurt about you blowing me off multiple times and failing every communication test I’d given you, you tell me that you realized we hadn’t talked because you forgot to reply to me. Oh, fucking FINALLY you grace me with the fucking gift of your gracious concern. I reply to tell you (as nicely as possible in this situation) that you have left me feeling hurt and uncared about and that I’m still mad about it. Then worst of fucking all…

K

After all of this. After everything I’ve done to bend over backwards for your friendship with less and less reciprocation, you act like I’m the one at fault and like I deserve you being even worse to me.

 

You are dead to me.

The Greys

It’s finally happened. After all of this hard work and diligence, everything has finally paid off. My head has finally been invaded by The Greys.

I found my first few grey hairs today and I am fucking stoked. I may only be 26, but goddammit, I worked hard for these stripes. They aren’t very visible since my hair is platinum blonde (for now) or I’d upload a photo of my new favorite hairs.

Stress may be morphing my personality in to someone else’s but at least I have these cool badges of honor to show for it~