Inspired

Yesterday morning my little 11 year old 5lb Pomeranian died suddenly with no warning… I have been devastated. Especially being so unbalanced lately with meds and starting my senior semester as a psych research student. Out of all of this, all my friends were nowhere to be found. For months I lost my spark. The one that drives creativity but yesterday I found it in the strength and grief and love for my old companion.

This is what came of it… the last picture is basically finished just need a few finishing touches but in pain is art and in art is pain and in that is solace. Remember that.

What you need to remember: Being Borderline

A text I wrote to my boyfriend when he told me to wear my pain like armor:

I think you sometimes forget you’re with someone who feels things on a scale you’ll never be able to understand. That it’s exactly like I’m a burn victim but with emotional nerve endings being plucked at random and nothing I can do to stop it. Try to wear that immense emotion. When everything you feel is magnified by 100,000. And you have to hold it together all the time because people never feel that much but you do. So they don’t understand why you could hurt so bad about something. Image the worst emotional pain you’ve ever felt and imagine that magnified like trying to kill ants but everyday. And add in other emotions like that. How are you supposed to wear something that hurts so much you can barely hold it up or breathe. There is a reason why my dx is the number one mental illness for not making it. Because image the weight of all those emotions and trying to wear them… it’s like burying yourself in boulders and gasping for air.

Bad patient.

Being borderline you hear a lot about being on the rollercoaster. It can be a very destructive force in ones life but that’s not the dangerous thing they should warn you about. What they should warn you about is how seductive it is. How good it feels to be on the rollercoaster, even the pitfalls.

I found this out when I was 24. When they put me on antipsychotics. I never realized I was on a rollercoaster until it was gone. And once it was gone I missed it but at the same time I could finally breathe. So, I was a good patient. I stayed on the meds. Missing the rollercoaster, less and less, as I forgot what it was like to be on and how to handle such harsh conditions.

I would think back on those days and think to myself, how did I ever get through that without antipsychotics. In a way, the meds were making me weak. They turned into a crutch.

When I was 28, I decided to try and get off my antipsychotics. First day, I was euphoric. Few days after that, tail between my legs, back on the antipsychotics. How could I completely forget how to handle these emotions that were once so ingrained in me. I did this a couple more times but always feared these emotions.

Now, present day. I just had a complete mental breakdown, and you know what? I didn’t do something stupid. You want to know something else? I haven’t been on my antipsychotics for a week or two.

I am conquering my emotions one step at a time and for the first time in years, I can feel again. I’m not dulled down.

I don’t know what the future has in store for me or if the rollercoaster is going to get crazy but if it does, bring it on. I got my DBT, I got my supports, I got my strength and I am ready. I want to face my emotions, not hide away from them. I want to feel not dull myself into a depression.

So, why is this called bad patient? I probably should have informed my Dr. kids don’t do what I did. Always tell your Dr. I’m just an Asshole.

-B. 6-5-18

One magic pill

One magic pill.

We’ve all wished it was real. Something we could take to cure us. Make us normal. Take away all the bad things and make us whole again.

Psychiatry, the idea of getting on medication, is often a tough choice for some of us and an easy one for other. Whatever it is for, the journey is not the same. Some have luck and others don’t.

I like to think of it as one big guessing game.

As in other fields of medicine, you have a disease process and a course of treatment. In most cases it’s that simple. But with mental illness, it’s not. It’s far less simple than that.

You have all these psychiatric medications and you get to see your psychiatrist once a month. So, once a month you try a medication. Then the fun part. Some of these medications take weeks to work, so the wait. Then the side effects. On the other hand, they can completely not work all together or even worse do the complete opposite and make your symptoms ten times worse. So, next month, back to the drawing board.

Suppose it does work, but then it doesn’t take all the symptoms away. Then you have to start the cycle over again. You have to add another medication.

Then, finally you find the right combination that works. Everything is going fine for a few years and then BAM. You need to adjust the dosage or the medications have stopped working all together. Back to the drawing board. Back to the cycle.

Like, picking out of a hat.

These medications are so abstract and have so many applications in how they treat various symptoms. The lists go on.

And one day you wake up and you realize, you aren’t just a person seeking treatment for your mental illness but you’ve become a slave to these medications, a product of the pharmaceutical companies.

I’m not saying that taking medication for mental illness is bad. Absolutely not. I have no right to. I am on numerous medications just to be a functioning member of society. But, do I wish I could remember what it was like to handle it on my own or learn to handle it on my own. Yes, I do. Do I hate carrying around 6 pill bottles with me, when I go out? Yes. But, I’ve learned to have no shame in taking out my meds when needed because who the fuck cares what they think. I need them. I need to take care of myself.

But, oh, how I do wish, that there was one magic pill…

-B.

3-21-18

The truth about music.

Music…

A saving grace, for the hopeless, the lost, the hurt, the fallen, the broken… a gleam of hope in the darkness.

So, I thought, all these years.

Then tonight, while listening to ‘We fight’ by Dashboard Confessional, it hit me. Like a lightbulb went off, kinda like those cartoons.

That feeling you get, that feeling when you hear a song, the best way I can put it is with a quote I once heard… “the good thing about music, is once it hits you, you feel no pain…”

that feeling, when it hits you, when you feel that glimmer of hope again. When the pain goes away, the terrible realities of the world slip away and all you’re left with is blissful melodies of a brighter future… that feeling that music gives you…

I realized, tonight, that it’s a mirage. It’s a fantasy world dancing on the tongues of the lead singer into your head from your headphones, speakers, wherever you are hearing these magical melodies.

Like sirens, they are there to lull us, twist us, create beautiful worlds in our pretty little minds. If just for a few minutes, to take the pain away.

The sense of security, hope, anything that these words, lines, make you feel are an aberration of what is really there.

In no way am I saying this is wrong. In fact I think it’s amazing. How music, just the words of just some stranger, someone who you know nothing about, can sing exactly what is in your heart or exactly what you needed to hear.

How so interconnected we are as beings but how truly alone we can feel.

How music, transcends all languages to not only touch the mind and heart but our aching souls. To create an inner dialogue and purpose in all those that needed one.

How beautifully and gracefully we can communicate across the world. How one song, one lyric can pierce the coldest hearts and warm them, bringing them to their knees. Creating thousands of broken souls into one cheering hopeful moment in time.

Sometimes I get passionate…

-B.

2-12-18

This took a turn

Don’t you hate that? How the night before, you feel motivated, have a plan for the next day, even feel a little motivated the second you wake up. But then, it starts slowly. Something feels a little off. You make up excuses for it. It hits you, you feel a little off.

That realization, that moment. The moment you realize it’s you, you’re the one who feels off. That’s when it happens. You start slowly spiraling. Not too bad at first, though. Not very noticeable because you’ve put it in the back of your mind. Well, at least you think you did. But it’s growing. It gets bigger and bigger. You start actively thinking about your anxieties, fears, mistakes, things that make you wrong as a person. Things you’ve decided are true, that must be true because why else would you feel this way. Why else would it be so damn hard, so damn exhausting to get yourself to make at least one phone call, check off one thing on your list.

You make up these things, these facts about yourself, convinced they are true but in fact are the complete opposite. Yes, maybe it’s exhausting to fight yourself to even get one thing done on the list but you did it. You, on your bad day, got something done. Even if you didn’t manage to get something on your list done, you managed and you know fucking what? That in itself is strength.

People don’t see mental illness, not all the time. They don’t see what we are fighting. How fucking exhausting it is. How the simplest thing makes you tired and ashamed because you can’t do it like the “normies” can but fuck them. You are, I am, so much stronger for it. We have to fight everyday. It’s not easy. Life’s not easy, but we do it.

So, this started as a rant but turned into a pep talk. I think mostly I needed to hear it. I needed to know it was okay. But if anyone else needed to know, know it’s okay to survive, it’s okay to just breathe. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.

-B.

1-30-18

Surprise! Here’s a shit mood!

This morning, well it’s still morning… BOOM, out of nowhere, even still, as I’m writing this, the darkness is trying to drown me. No thoughts provoked it, no situation, nothing. The darkness, just said, “ Hey, it’s time to destroy you, consume you.” And I’m left here, paralyzed… suffering, screaming on the inside.

I went to the first thing I ever learned, CBT. Which is cognitive behavioral therapy. In easy terms, it’s basically changing your thinking from negative to positive. So, I tried really hard to think of good things, I really did but I realized how fucking exhausting that was.

It dawned on me, while I was doing this, just how exhausting it really is to actively try to cope. That it must be wonderful to be a “normie”. How they have these coping mechanisms built within in them, that just get used without having to think of them, for situations that are not so mentally draining, as a thing many of you know as the darkness.

I finally understood why my mental illness was so draining. It wasn’t that being in it was draining. I’m not saying it’s not because part of it is. But it’s fighting it. The actively trying to combat these horrible feelings and not just that, the natural instinct we all have to survive that kicks in as well. It’s all just so G-D damn draining.

On a dark note, it did not work. I ended up putting on ‘hurt’ by Nine Inch Nails and seriously thinking about life. What did help was and is writing this. Telling you this. Maybe, knowing that someone out there, fucking gets it, ya know? Or that a “normie” will read this, and it will finally get through their thick skull and maybe they’ll say to themselves, “maybe they aren’t just lazy”. Maybe this will help end that G-D forsaken stigma!

If it does any of that, even just a little, I’ll know I’ve done something good in this world. That all of this isn’t for nothing. That I can tolerate it just a bit longer to see it do some good in the world, even while it’s doing this… just maybe.

-B.

1-14-18