BPD Is A Bitch Archive

BPD and the Black Hole of Despair

Posted June 29, 2015 By kmarrs

I am going out of my mind with this feeling that I’m just drifting off into space, oblivion, or maybe just coasting along.  I don’t know.  I’m just kind of existing.  I don’t think I’m overly sad, though I am depressed.  That’s a fun one.  I mean, unless you’ve ever suffered clinic depression, it makes no sense.  But it’s a true fact:  You can be sad, but not be depressed, and you can be depressed and not be sad.  Depression isn’t a gauge of how sad you are, even if you are in fact both depressed and sad.

Depression is really this state of being where you’re, I don’t know, feeling less than.  Less than, anything and/or everything.  I currently feel less than a person.

It doesn’t help that my day-to-day doesn’t change from one day to the next.  All my days run together and aside from the occasional appointment, I don’t even have need to know what day of the week it is.  And it’s driving me out of my mind, really.  I am a human being who hates pressure, but still thrives under structure.  There is no structure to anything right now.  None.

My biggest thing I need to get back to is school and I know that.  I needed winter off, I was drowning in life.  The stress was beyond anything I’ve ever experienced just 4 short months ago.

I needed to take the summer off, because if my sister hadn’t received her new liver a few weeks back, we would have buried her by now.  I was hoping for the best, but ready for the worst.  I also would have started the term with my sister on her death-bed no matter what.  It ended well, but it ended well at the last possible minute.

So I go back this fall and I’m so ready for fall to be now.  I’m actually excited about it.  I get to learn again!  I’m going to start where I left off and delve into economics, only this time I’m going to take it in a classroom.  It involves math and therefore follows the math rule: Never try to teach yourself math.  i don’t care how helpful the text-book might be.  Math is just one of those classes that needs the benefit of an instructor walking you through step by step.  Economics is no exception.

As an added bonus, taking it in a classroom will mean I’m out of the house once a week!  Go team! I’m going to burn this place to the ground if I don’t start getting out more!  Only not really,because I’m a pyrophobe and I have like 500 books that I don’t intend to lose.

So I’m anxiously awaiting the day I can register (July 6th).   I’m anxiously awaiting the first day of term (August 17th).

In the meantime, I’m just drifting and it’s soul crushing.

Dear God someone pull me out of this hole!

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Depression and BPD

Posted June 10, 2015 By kmarrs

Fire_antsFor months now, my continued and prolonged state of depression has been written off as a nasty side of effect of having a sister that was maybe dying.  You know, one of those times where depression was based on real life events and not on the fact I’m all sorts of fucked up in the head.  And yes, that’s the technical term I’m going with because it’s how I feel.  Want to fight me on it?

Well, my sister’s life was saved a week and a half ago.  Oh, she’s in miserable shape as she’s recovering from a massive surgery and a long illness, but she’s no longer dying.  There isn’t any reason to think she won’t live to see 80 or older.

It is at this point that all the pretty doctors, like those in the hospital when I tried to be admitted for being a danger to myself, seem to have thought I’d magically feel better.

OK, maybe they didn’t think it would be magically, maybe just a natural cause and effect, but as much as they talked about my sister’s illness being the cause, I damn well expected the effect of feeling world’s better!

If anything I’m feeling twice as worse because the magic didn’t happen.  I didn’t magically feel better when my sister was saved.  Oh, I mean I feel loads better about that, but the depression that eats away at you, crawls under your skill like a billion little bugs invading your every nook and cranny, setting up shop so they can take over your life and eat away at you from the inside out.

And I’m depressed.  I’m depressed as fuck.

I’m taking all the right pills.

I’m doing all the right things.

My sister is saved.

And I can feel the bugs crawling under my skin, invading my life, eating away at all my little happy pieces.  I can feel them.

I can feel them.

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Hanging In There

Posted May 5, 2015 By kmarrs

I don’t even know that to say.

I’m sitting here it is 6:45PM on Monday May 4th, 2015 and I still have no health insurance because the pissant that will not be legally responsible when I lose my shit doesn’t give a shit that he was incorrect about me getting it back on the 1st as a probably yet worse case scenario.  I’m in withdraw from yes, taking nothing, and like 6 days post-op and I don’t know what part of me is going haywire because of what but every part of my down to the small molecule is going crazy from the volatile cocktail that is Fibromyalgia, unmedicated serious mental health, post operation, and a broken tooth I forgot to tell you all about that happened mid way through the month that will hence forth never be named it has been that horrible.

A month, year, life from now I will look back and see how strong I was to make it through this exact moment in time but for now I’m going to loving punch this kitten in the face.

hang-in-there-cat

Loving because it’s a kitten. In the face because it needs to stop telling me what the to fuck do already.  Be warned other people who might carelessly throw this line around.

So instead of punching kittens I’m going to hide off grid for a bit.  I promise you’ll hear from me soon and before it involves constructing an insanity plea.

Or you’ll hear from me tomorrow, I don’t know, but blogging can be therapeutic.  But my blogging schedule can’t tell me what to fucking do either.

Also, I’m really active on tumblr right now and a bit more pleasant there because I’m currently fangirling over AOU.

Wait can we.

I need to back up.

Guilt.

First of all I feel guilty as hell for feeling as sick as I do because I chose to have my appendix almost rupture while I was withdrawing from my meds, a few days after I ripped a dental filling out of a tooth while flossing.  That shit needs to stop but it’s part of the sickness.  Am a manipulating my husband into giving me more time to hide?

I swear to god my appendix was a physical manifestation of the stress.

Also and my original guilt sidetrack:

I feel this compulsion to justify having spent 10$ on me and my husband’s one no matter what movie a year (MARVEL) when I can’t afford over 2 grand in meds for me in the kid.  And what that movie date did for me in therapy… right down to the three young girls behind us whom as one said “ew” to a kissing scene.

I’m not proofreading this.  Suck it.  I’m literally shaking.

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Depression Belly

Posted April 28, 2015 By kmarrs

Did you know it’s been medically proven that people who are depressed tend to gain weight around their middle?  In fact, often beer bellies are actually depression bellies because anyone drinking that much beer is probably also depressed.  Not always, but often.

Well, here is my depression belly in all it’s glory.

depression weight gain bpd borderline personality disorder blog

This is what I see when I look down.  I look about 6-7 months pregnant.

I’m sharing this with you not because I’m proud, but because this is one of those ugly realities of depression.  Most would look at me and think I’m a lazy glutton.  In reality my depression has actually decreased my appetite and I’m actually exercising more these days than I ever have in my past.  This is pure depression.  A physical manifestation that I carry around my middle.

Mt weight isn’t going up or down.  It’s staying steady.  So I’m choosing to see that glass half full when I can.

But the reality of it is, being sad makes me fat and being fat makes me sad and I’m stuck in the middle of a catch 22.

So… I’m going to continue focusing on portion control even when my appetite eventually comes back.  I’m going to continue on the exercise even when I don’t want to.  These days all I can really put my heart into is walking, but it’s good for me both physically and mentally, so it’s something.  I’m currently trying to walk around the block once a day.  When my joints no longer moan  after that, I’ll up it to twice a day, and so on.  If I have to, I’ll take my damn cane.  But I’m trying.

And that’s the best I can do: try.

I suppose that’s the best anyone can do in any situation.

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pills medication BPD Borderline Personality Disorder Depression  Anxiety BipolarAs I type this I’m currently withdrawing from Ativan because I ran out.  I ran out because a minor paperwork fuck up with welfare caused us to lose our insurance for a month.  It’ll be back on May 1, they assure us, and in the meantime if we pay out-of-pocket for the medication Lucas and I need, they will reimburse us.

Because yes, I have a couple grand just laying about.  Luke’s meds alone cost $500.  My Ativan wouldn’t be too bad, but my Geodon dose that I’m running out of next weekend is over a grand by itself and that withdraw is brutal.  Not to mention it’s one of the top medications I take.

So some guy sitting in an office made a mistake, and now we either come up with a couple thousand dollars, that they’ll pay back, or Luke and I proceed to run out of medication one at a time.  Thank God his Vyvanse that he ran out of 2 weeks ago doesn’t cause withdraw.  It just leaves him suffering serious and sometimes dangerous ADHD symptoms.  This is the kids that tried to fly a few years back when he was unmedicated.  That physics experiment left him with a broken wrist.  Luckily age has brought him some wisdom.

Then there is me.  A month ago I was attempting to get myself admitted because I was in rough shape, and now I can’t even take my meds properly.  How is this ok in someone’s eyes.

Anyway, we’re not taking this sitting down.  Pat is writing angry emails to supervisors and spelling out the facts.  We can’t afford to pay out-of-pocket and we can’t afford for me to run out of Geodon.  I can go without my Ativan and I’ll survive the withdraw.  I can even go without my anti-depressant, I might just need to hide for a few days.  But man-o-man is that Geodon withdraw nasty.  I’ll be going from 80 MG to nothing cold turkey, I have no means of tapering down, and unless they find a solution, I have no power to prevent it.

You can’t just cold turkey meds.  Medical rule #1.  You can’t cold turkey psyche meds.  It’s dangerous.  It causes bigger problems.  The list of side effects of a cold turkey is worse than the symptoms themselves.  For reference, if I was on a larger dose of Ativan, I could be suffering seizures right now.  Instead, and thankfully, I’m only light-headed, nauseous, agitated, and suffering worse anxiety than usual.

But man the Geodon.

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When You’re Too Smart To Be Hospitalized

Posted April 2, 2015 By kmarrs

Untreated BPD“So you could write a book on BPD,” she said as greeting before she ever said her name.  I had already been in my local ER for some 20 hours before she came into see me.  I had seen various other nurses, doctors, and social workers though, so she had plenty of intel on me.

What was I in the ER?  I needed a psych bed.

Was I an immediate danger to myself? No, but… That overwhelming feeling of hopeless, helpless, and no longer wanting to be alive paired with increased impulsive tendencies, and being so stressed you snap at everything and everyone, is a scary feeling I don’t like.

What did I want? A psych bed long enough to destress some and decompress long enough to start remembering there is another side to this and that I’ll ultimately get through it, and a chance to increase my anti-depressant.

What did they hear? That I had no immediate plan to kill myself, and that I wanted to increase my meds.

What did they tell my meds doctor who made the final decision? Probably exactly that?

So, I was given a lecture on how I’d no longer benefit from the therapy the hospital offers as I could probably run the groups I know them so well, and how this is all just a mood shift probably caused by stress over my sister.  They told me that I knew it would swing back as it always does with BPD.  Then they sent me packing.

And now I’m left in a daze of “what the hell just happened”.  Am I suddenly too smart to need the hospital?  Is there really that big of a difference between actively having a plan, and passively wanting to be dead?  Because I’m impulsive enough right now that everything all can change the second an opportunity presents itself.

But I suppose I am smart enough to know that given time and the right meds I’ll feel better.

But I’m also smart enough to know that there is no cure from BPD.  It’s a lifelong battle.  And I’ll feel like this a lot more often than I’ll feel fantastic.

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