So...it's been nearly 1 month since I have blogged. Considering it's February its sort of odd that its been an unbelievably long month. I only had 2 therapy appointments due to me once and Jeff the other. In fact...I daresay this is my first entry since I gave my therapist the link to blog...so Jeff if you read this Howdy and I hope your weekend is going well
I "feel" like I have so much to say on one hand but the "other" hand is winning the month of February. So you may ask...what does the "other hand" look like. Well....let me tell you
In some ways its overwhelming to try and write with the style I have when a month has gone by. While my past posts are primarily a "look at the day in the life of a BPD" they were at least congruent. Timeline oriented. Ok...I digress
So about 3 years ago I was in a bar playing in a dart tournament when a loud ruckus broke out at the bar. A tall skinny 30 year old was screaming at heavy 50 (?) year old Hispanic guy. As he walked down the bar it started to calm down though the younger guy was really worked up and loud. All about who respected who or who didn't. After a few moments it re-intensified and the older guy had enough. He stood up....grabbed the kid by the shirt and sort of lifted him up and said "That's it. You and I are going outside and don't you try and sneak away" He walked out to wait.
The taller, younger guy sort of stood there and I swear I saw realization hit him. He walked up to the exit and at that moment he let out a loud sigh and walked out
He did not walk back in.
So my "other hand" feels a little like the tall skinny guy knowing what's waiting on the other side of that door. And my government has spoken and the message is loud and clear, walk out that door. Get a job, be productive. Whether you are ready or not. Whether its a good idea or not.
The one thing I feel my therapist really "gets" is while he believes I will be restored, healed, He also believes I need time. Most of all....he understands how hard it is to try and recover or plan when EVERY WAKING MOMENT is spent figuring out how to keep my family off the streets.
Can any of you imagine, for one brief second, what my life has been like since my diagnosis in Sept. 2014.
So....where am I? Right this moment I am crying for the first time in a long time, listening to comforting music. You see folks. I can't do both and I am sorry if that makes me weak. I can't truly get better and be this person society says I have to be. It simply is part of the illness....or at least the way I am wired....my brain can only wrap itself around one at a time.
What this diagnosis and subsequent experiences have shown me come at a price. I told Jeff in my last visit that I felt robbed. My whole life....and anyone that really knows me knows this....I have woken up believing in my heart of hearts it could get better. It does get better. It will get better. Sometimes that came through.
I no longer have that hope. I no longer see an end game. My faith is low.
I need a miracle