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I need help saving Christmas for 4 amazing, young boys and their father.  These boys have had a rough go at life.  Some parts have been rougher than others.  This past year has  been the roughest yet, as their parents battled for custody.  Their father, the more stable of the two, has finally won this battle, but doing so has seen his finances get stretched beyond comfort.  He had to give up his second job, and when is babysitter stopped showing up, he missed a lot of work, nearly losing his job in the process, and a lot more.  Upon hearing what was going on, I stepped in and have been hanging out with these amazing boys, aged 4-9, every day after school until their daddy gets off.  In doing so, their daddy has been able to get back to being financially stable, however, not enough so to make Christmas happen.  He’s afraid the illusion of Santa will be shattered when they realize what Christmas coming after a tax return really means.

I call bullshit.  There is too a Santa and his magic is alive! However, not being made of money myself, I can’t do this alone.  So I’m asking for your help!  This family needs some Christmas magic now more than ever.  It’s been rough for them the past year.  I think a Christmas miracle is exactly what they need to see.

Please help me give this to them.

We are aiming for a deadline of the 14th so that there is plenty of time for phase 2: shopping.



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We all go through life hearing many things about ourselves.  Telling ourselves many things about ourselves.  These little facts.  These little truths.  These little half truths.  These little falsehoods.  These statements that shape how we see ourselves and how we feel about ourselves.  These words are adjectives.  And sadly, all too many are negative.

People will take the time to tell you that you are: annoying, stupid, ugly, fat, crazy, failing, etc.  Whether it’s actually true or not.  (We usually believe it either way.)

How often do people take the time to tell us the good, great, amazing things about ourselves?

Those adjectives, especially when meant, are called validation.

And validation is really fucking important.

I have decided to raise my kids on validation.  Oh, they are by no means perfect, as no one is, but they are still going to grow up hearing all the amazing things about themselves.  They need to know that in an imperfect existence is still beauty, that isn’t even hard to find.

Also, I am known for a temper that I take out on those I love, so they at least need me to counter that with a ton of validation.

So all three of my kids, whether they roll their eye or not, get a regular dose of validation.  Some days I even make them repeat it back.

You are smart.

You are pretty/handsome.

You are silly/witty.

You are special.

You are important.

You are loved.

You are valued.

Of course, that sometimes bites me in the ass.

Like the time Sambam wanted some treat or such there was only one of, meaning her brother would be left out on.  I informed her she wasn’t special (opps mom!)  She called me on it and informed me she was too special!  So I paused, took a deep breath, and agreed that yes, she was special, but no more or less special than her brothers.

Also, there was this gem from tonight that while vain, tells me she is at least listening.

Me: See you tomorrow baby!
Sam: See you tomorrow momma
Me: I love you!
Sam: I love you too
Me: You’re beautiful!
Sam: I know

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Legacy of Love

My name is Karen Marrs and I am a long time survivor of Borderline Personality Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, General Depression, General Anxiety, and Life.

Suicide may be selfish, but for those who have felt that pain, it is hard to see it as such. Robin Williams spent his entire life fighting depression, mania, and addiction (addiction being one way of hiding from the pain of mania and depression). The degree to which he made all of us laugh, he was hurting inside. His humor was the best (addiction free) way he had to escape his pain, which in turn brought upon a mania that can be just as painful and dangerous. Robin Williams fought to get past his pain for 63 years and that is impressive. So please, instead of shaming the man who finally lost the battle against his demons, please let us thank him from our understanding hearts for fighting those demons for so long and for as well as he did. He made us laugh. He made us cry. And for that we are forever grateful. Please let that be this wonderful man’s legacy. Not the way he left us.
In his honor I would like to initiate the raising of funds to be donated to the National Suicide Prevention Hotline.  Could they have saved his life?  I don’t know.  But I do know they work magic for thousands that need them.  With the pure heart Robin Williams had, please let his legacy be love.  Let’s make this donation in his name.  I’m asking for 2000$.  Pocket change if we all chip in a little.  Do you have a few dollars to spare to save a life and let the Robin’s legacy be one he deserves?
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I think everyone has those moments in their life that are on constant repeat even decades later where they are like, “Omg did I really say/do that?” In most cases, I think we blow them out of proportion and we feel this undying mortification or regret for things that we are, in fact, the only ones to remember.  We are, after all, our own biggest critics.

I do also think, however, that someone with BPD who is at their most unstable adds a whole new level to this.  Because while everyone says things that they wish they could take back, we are far more unfiltered and reach astounding heights in our ability to be uncensored, unaware of consequences, and incapable of impulse control.

There are things I have said and done, mostly inadvertently, that I just can’t help wonder if things could be different if they hadn’t been said or done.  The relationships I have destroyed that I held so dear, that I didn’t realize until it was far too late what was happening.  I was that far gone, that unaware of the situation, and that trusting that the other person would understand I was at my worst and didn’t have the skill set to really control my impulses, my thoughts and my situational awareness.  And clearly, that was misplaced trust.

And please don’t get me wrong in that.  The fault is my own.  Everyone realistically has their limits on what they can turn a blind eye to, and me at my worst can push past the limits of even the most patient of people.

I just…

While everyone reflects back on the time they put a foot in their mouth, and mostly with needless worry…

My regrets run deep.

And some wounds, I truly fear, will never heal.

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This year…  To say I have lost is such an understatement that it’s almost laughable.  Or would be if I wasn’t spending my free time curled up into a tiny, tiny ball crying and raging.  I assure you I’m not laughing through my tears.

Some of this loss has been by choice  but too much of it has been by force which is, I suppose, how loss typically happens.

It might as well have been by gun point that my aunt was taken from us a couple of weeks ago.  We learned of the cancer prognosis about a month before she was taken.  No one really saw the prognosis coming and we were given just enough time between prognosis and passing to realize there was no preventing it.  Cancer, is an asshole.  But, I suppose we know that.  Knew that.

The “loss” of my best friend of 12 years in the opening months of this year was of my free will.  It was a conscious decision that I made on the spot but that I’d been building up to over the months prior.  And while her character was never much of a secret, I was made privy to its true nature over the last couple months.

You (she) will never, ever read this but I would like to say now what I couldn’t say as your relationship with my estranged husband came to an end:  I’m so very truly sorry that the timing of my mental break down was so inconvenient to you and your desire to throw your beliefs aside and get laid.  Because really, my mental break down really has been inconvenient to us all.  I suppose you’ll have to go and find another fuck buddy.  If you need help finding one, may I suggest the depths of hell where your selfish, inconsiderate, whoring soul belongs.  You’ll find your people there.  And they won’t care how truly hateful and negative your depraved existence is, inside and out.

Bitch.

Maybe we won’t add that friendship to the loss category after all.  We shall call it my escape.

The other friendship loss also wasn’t much surprise.  They say some people enter your life and are meant to stay there until the end.  Some come into your life and their role is brief.  Maybe it’s only meant to last a few weeks.  Maybe a few months.  A few years.  Or, in the scheme of life, even a decade or two might be considered brief.

N, as I shall call him out of a true respect for his desire to remain unknown to this world as a whole, I thought was meant to be a life long friend.  I still hurt over the loss of what I thought it would be.  But through my tears of the loss of a friend, I do see the role he played.  He was my secret keeper and companion in the days leading up to and following the end of my marriage.  And while he and I were only ever friends and never would have been more, I was able to examine who he was and my response to him and start to see glimpses of what it is I seek in a romantic companion.

The list is much longer than what I will say here, but for a starter, I will never, ever again find myself in a relationship with someone who doesn’t read.  My joy in sharing books with N and him sharing books with me… Him handing my books that weren’t about, “You’ve read such and such so you might enjoy this,” but was instead, “I really enjoyed this book and I’m excited to share it with someone who reads,” was, I think, one of my (many) favorite things about that friendship.

The idea of being able to add a romantic aspect to that, with someone else of course, is something I will no longer settle over.  I look forward to the day I find myself in bed with someone, sitting side-by-side reading our respective books.  Maybe we’ll even be reading the same thing so we can talk about it as we go, careful to avoid spoilers.  Both people in that bed understanding that the lights can’t be turned out until one more chapter has been read. And one more chapter is never just one.

N, I don’t really expect you’ll read these words but please know while our friendship exploded in flames and anger, I will forever thank you for the role you played in my life and the gift you gave me of sight.

I’ve already written on the end of my marriage.  The loss of tucking my children in each night and waking to their fighting each morning.  I do not wish to dwell on that here.  It’s been written about, but I can’t fail to mention it.

The loss of my fine motor skills, as I type on a computer keyboard plugged into my laptop because the keys are slightly bigger and have more space between them allowing for easier manipulation as I write, my fingers struggling to keep up with my head and heart as it is, has been the hardest to swallow.  Special pens bought for work in order to have a better, more secure, more comfortable grip.  Each of my coworkers knowing that while we are forever stealing one another’s pens, mine are off-limits.  It isn’t a matter of being my favorite, it’s a matter of me being a liability as I need to be sure and reassured I didn’t miscount the money my fingers struggle to manipulate.  I never count just once, I’ve learned to compensate, how to count it, how to manipulate it to be sure I balance each night. But my fingers, my hands, my fine motor skills are being taken from me as I fight tooth and nail to not lose it all.

As I drop my camera, not the point-and-shoot, but my darling Nikki due to a compromised grip as I simply lifted it to move it over 2 feet.  A special strap is already attached to help with grip, any photographer wanting that security no matter the state of their hands.  But who attaches a strap to move something 2 measly feet?  And Nikki fell, my portrait lens busted, and I still, months later, can’t bring myself, can’t find the will within, to learn if my beloved Nikki is still in working order.

As my fine motor skills trickle away, my sanity, stability, tumbles.

 

To Be Continued

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