Wait a minute, Mr Postman.

Today was a day for post. With me doing the posting.

I finally sent the goodbye letter.
It was a work of art. Occasionally it had the potential to become a work of fiction, but I tried to pull myself back from that.
It was a bit long. I asked my daughter if there was an optimum length for a goodbye letter.
She said no, not really.
Phew.
Then she added - as long as it doesn't turn into a Rachel and Ross letter.
Huh?
Remember? - the episode where Rachel wrote Ross such a long letter of all the things he had to apologize for that he fell asleep before he got to the end of it?
Hmm.
I did a bit of editing and kept it down to three pages.

And the stuff I sent back to him arrived. I liked that.
The tracking facility called it a consignment. I liked that a lot.

I like the idea of getting him out of my life by post. It's very neat. It's not full of weepy hugs and tragic looks.
Its just 'How much does it weigh?' and 'When do you want it to arrive?'
Like having a baby, but different.
Anti-birth.

I wonder if I get to send him an anti-birthday card this time next year?

Doctor, doctor...

... I keep thinking I'm insane.

That's because you are.

***

Tough day.

I had to go for a medical, for social security purposes. I was dreading it - what if they say I'm ok to work? How will I get any money?
But he didn't say that. Within 4 minutes he said he'd sign me off for as long as he could. He said he was sorry for making me go down there. He said I shouldn't even think about working until I feel a lot better.
Which is exactly what I wanted to hear, before I went. But afterwards I cried.
It's hard to hear someone telling you you're not fit to work, because you're not right in the head.
In fact I think that's one of the hardest things I've ever heard.

I've never wanted to be better more in my life.

Peace at last

Suddenly it's gone quiet, in my head.

Funny how you don't notice how loud it really is until it stops.

But today I noticed the quiet.

Now that could just be because I am feeling slightly better, or it could be because finally I am on the right meds in the right amounts and getting some sleep, or it could be because saying goodbye was the right thing to do.

I don't care. I just like the quiet.

I started writing my goodbye letter today - my god, it's a bit of an epic. But as my old gran used to say - better out than in.

So long...

... but I finally did it.
I said goodbye to him.

Well, I told him that its coming. I think goodbye by text is so tacky, so I am writing him a letter.

I feel awful about it. I can't believe I will never talk to him, never see him again. I love him. But I think that eventually this is the best way for me to find some peace.

Luckily I am so stuffed full of benzodiazepines that the full whammy hasn't hit me yet. Better get writing.

Horse, dead.

How do you know when its time to say goodbye?

How do you know when you're just flogging the proverbial dead horse?

I'm so tired, mentally. Now I'm physically ill too. I feel like my body is just giving up.

We had another row. He lied to me and he just wont admit it, and that makes me so angry. It makes me want to hurt him back. And I know that when I am wound up I go at it like a Tasmanian Devil, but the repercussions on me are always worse.

I've seen the letter he wrote me, telling me he was leaving on 1st April. I can't admit I've seen it because it was on his PC. He says he made the decision on 17th April, when we had a row. He baited me into that row. I told him to stop it because I could see where it was going but he just went on and on - I think he was just looking for the excuse to leave. As it was I got so upset I took an overdose, and I am lucky to be alive.

I know he is not a nice man. He doesn't have a sympathetic bone in his body. He lies - he told me so many lies, made so many omissions. I did things for him because he said it would be making his fantasy come true. He cried and said he couldn't believe anyone would do that for him. He lied - according to his PC, I wasn't the first. I doubt I'll be the last.
He is also one of the angriest people I have ever met, even though he wont admit it. My anger has a childish quality to it - it is more like a tantrum, albeit a loud, ranty, dangerous, one. But when it is gone, it is gone. His is more of a deep seated seething darkness, and that scares me.

So why the fuck do I still love him?

I sent some of his stuff back. He'll get it on Wednesday. The rest is in the shed. Having him and his stuff out of my house helps.

Now I just have to get him out of my head.

Sick Puppy

I'm ill.

It wasn't just some strange nasty pill-related stress thingy. I'm really ill. So today I lost my voice and coughed a lot and stayed in bed.
It was actually quite cool, having a legitimate reason to stay in bed for a change.

The worst bit of the day was that he who left me and I have started trying to untangle the mess we made, via email. Its my own fault; I started it. I emailed him last night and said that the only way I can go on is to sort some of it, so that is what we are doing. And it is unpleasant and hurtful and probably destined to make things worse, but it has to be done.

I first knew there was something a bit odd about me when I was a kid; sent to my first psychiatrist at 15; first diagnosed with BPD at 28. But in between the episodes there was stability - I got a degree, I got married, I had 3 kids and a number of responsible jobs. This latest crisis is about the worst I ever got, and it only started when he moved in, so he must have been pushing some of my buttons. I want to know what they are.

I want to know what they are because on my good days I think that my life might not be over, and I might meet someone else, and I don't ever ever ever want this to happen again.

List 1

Because I forget, and no one else knows, I thought I should make a list. These are the things I blame him for:

• Telling me he loved me when it patently wasn't true because he left me
• Letting me buy this house, knowing I depended on money from him to pay the mortgage, and then leaving
• Driving me mad - I might have had slightly (ok very) off patches before, but not anything like this for 10 years
• Letting me move to a place where I don't know anyone
• Letting me spend a fortune on him - clothes, food, furniture, meals out, rail tickets, etc
• Making promises to my kids that he broke - everything from the fact he would be here to help with exams, to the fact he would just be here.
• Damaging my eldest daughter's (particularly, but also the other two) view of men.
• Telling me he wasn't like other men I'd met (I didn't realise he meant worse)
• Letting me trust him
• Letting me fall in love with him
• Letting me blame myself for all of the above.

This is a work in progress. No doubt I have forgotten some.

Today I feel...

...crap.

The sleepy feeling never wore off, my throat hurts so much I can hardly swallow and the glands in my neck are swollen.

And he who has left me made me cry *again* today. The much heralded email arrived (late) and it was about three lines long.

So after much texting around the subject I told him that I do blame him for a lot of my current situation (I missed out the bit where I tell him that's because its his fault).
But then he had to go to sleep, so nothing was resolved or even discussed.

I can't take any more, and my kids cant take any more. I want him to leave me alone.


Note: the departure of my sanity has also seen the departure of my ability to cook. I scoured all the recipe books I own (all four of them) for good vegetarian (cheap) food that my son will eat (he can be a bit fussy). And then when I came to cook I found we didn't actually have any food, so they ended up with something involving rice, tomatoes, eggs and potatoes. Yummy :-/ They even brought me their plates to prove that they had eaten it.

I shall look forward to finding it down the back of the sofa some time soon.

Little Voice

I woke up this morning and my voice has nearly gone.

I sound like someone who smokes at least 40 unfiltered Camels a day, and has done for the last 30 years.

I think it's a little too deep to be sexy, or even recognizable as female actually.

I think it's the pills.

I might sound like a tractor, but boy did I sleep.

Thank you God, and Eli Lily.

Whiplash Girlchild.

I went to the doctor.
I told him I wanted to sleep, and we talked about the Australian 'Deep Sleep' treatment that was banned. I can so see the appeal of that, and understand why they thought it might work. I feel like I need sleep. I keep thinking of the lyrics to Venus in Furs:

I am tired, I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years.

So he gave me sleeping pills, and more mood stabilizers, and we keep our fingers crossed.

Rainy Days and Mondays.

Today is both, and windy too.
There seems to be more weather when you live by the sea.

I still felt crap this morning, so I made a docs appointment for this afternoon. I'm not sure what I'm going to say yet.
Something about the fact that psych woman keeps coming up with a different diagnosis every time she sees me - thats the bloody point! I'm never the same person for two days in a row, and mentally I'm exhausted by it. And that if he wants to take me off all the meds then thats fine with me. At the moment I just want everyone to leave me alone so I can stay in bed until it's over.
Oh, and by the way, I still spend a lot of time wishing I was dead.

This man thing is also doing my head in. I think the best thing for me is just to say its over. Done. Caput. I can't ever see how I can get over all the promises he made to me and broke, all the things I did for him even though he let me and my children down, all the times he hurt me.

But it's tough.

Bad Day

I've had a shit day, and I feel like shit.

It's not even anything I can really put my finger on, I just feel really really bad.

Not getting on with number 1 daughter is always a problem - that makes me very jumpy for a start. And I know that in actual fact I have been blessed with a truly easy teenager compared to most, but I still find it hard. I'm sure the feeling is mutual - when we are not getting on she feels crappy too, but finding a way out of these things is always tough.

And today I spoke to him on the phone, for the first time in three weeks.. The love of my life. He who has left me. This must honestly be the longest break-up in the history of mankind. I can't understand why he keeps it going. Three times now I have said I can't do it anymore and we should say goodbye, and three times he has said that we can find a way through it, a way to still be friends.
Somebody just put it out of it's fucking misery and kill it!

Thats the other thing that has been a problem today. A kind of serene acceptance of impending death. Not the mad ranty oh god I want to die kind, but quieter, calmer.
I have always believed that suic!de is only possible when you are in a certain place, mentally. I feel like I'm getting there. I know I have to see out the exams, and sort stuff, but it feels nearer somehow, and that brings a weird (scary) kind of peace.

I shall phone the doctor in the morning.

Exam stress

I had forgotten the joy of exam stress.

Except this time the exams are hers and the stress is mine.

'So you are going to do some work today?' I enquire, as sweetly as possible.
'I'm on it!' she barks back at me, not moving from where she is lying on my bed, sucking her thumb.

Tonight I asked again, pointing out that after the last exam she phoned me in a big panic, having referred to me as nothing but 'Stresshead' for days before hand.
'They're my exams,' she announced, 'and if I want to fail, I will.'
'Fine,' I pointed out, 'but you'll need to be thinking about where you're going to live, because you're not staying here.'

Oh, the joy of exams.

Just Saturday

Saturday afternoon, to be precise.

I had one hell of a dream last night, and it's left me feeling a bit off. A bet an analyst would have had a field day with it.

My girlfriend had left me (an old girlfriend, who did actually leave me, but 10+ years ago), but still loved me. She kissed me and held me, and I felt all this love and pain at the same time.
An old man, a TV personality, had died. I used to sit on the floor at his feet as he did his talk show. I was distraught. I couldn't believe I would never hear his voice again. A rather steely woman from a place I used to work tried to comfort me.
"It's ok," she said. "You're dead too." And to demonstrate she stabbed me through the leg with a knife, to show that it didn't hurt because I was dead.

I woke up crying, and with numb hands; a sign that I had been clenching my fists in my sleep. That hasn't happened for a while.

So today I am feeling a bit off.

Allergic...

... to the band aid on my leg.

Of all the bloody luck.

I had to buy some ridiculously expensive sticky thing from Boots, and then use two of them because of the size of the cut, and now it's itching like a demon and going all red and puffy.

I don't care if my leg falls off. It's staying on until I mend.

Please Lord, let me mend quick.
(P.s. and please could I have some sleep? Amen.)

All Grown Up.

My eldest daughter left school today.

Ok, so she still has to do the exams, but as far as the teaching and stuff goes, its over. Shirt signing and much hilarity and some crying (the kids, not me) and it's over.

I remember when she was about 3 months old, looking at her asleep in her cot and crying to my then psych "How will I ever get her to school? How will I walk through the playground? Go to parents' evenings? Have them 'round for tea'? I don't even like kids!"
And he put his arm round me and said "One day at a time, that's how we'll do it. One day at a time. And anyhow, it's a long way off yet."

And now it's over, and that's how we did it.

One day at a time.

What is an elephant?

I've been thing a lot about what psych woman said yesterday.

I don't think I do have an anger problem, per se.

I get angry - my kids know when I'm angry. When school bags, coats, half eaten lunches, three video games and a remote control car are scattered liberally around my kitchen, they know when I'm angry.
It comes - I let it out (this house is not a dumping ground for your crap! etc etc) - it goes. It's not really a problem.

Frustration is more of a problem. Is that the same thing? I'm not sure.
Things over which I have no control, no power, they are the things that upset me.
I have to be careful about watching the news when I'm in that sort of mood, or reading the papers. The Darfur episodes of ER are sometimes best avoided.
Incompetence upsets me. Talking to the CSA is therefore best avoided AT ALL TIMES. But that is really just frustration, again.

So I don't think I have an anger problem. I think psych woman has a bit of a problem; she sees me for an hour once every 2 to 3 weeks (NHS - she's busy busy). Each time she sees me, she makes a different judgment on the nature of my problem. Its like that story, about blind men judging the nature of an elephant from just feeling a part of it. She doesn't know me. So she just grabs a bit and hangs on.

Oblivion is not the answer.

Shit.

I knew it was slipping, didn't I?

And then I had a rough evening and it all went to buggery.

I hate being ignored. I know that makes me sound like the mad woman in Fatal Attraction, but I do hate it. It kind of flicks a switch in my head, and then god help anyone who stands in my way.
As it was, the only person in my way was me, hence the 15cm gash in my leg.

And I thought I was doing so well.

Psychiatric nurse was a mixed bag. She didn't shout at me this time, or tell me I'm not trying. She didn't tell me I have no emotions.
She did tell me that I should have been having blood tests for the meds I'm on, and that anyway she's going to talk to the psychiatrist about me coming off them, because she thinks it's just an anger issue, not a mental health issue.


I don't know what I feel at the moment. Not angry, I know that. Just kind of resigned. I feel like I want to lay on the beach as the tide comes in, and just let the water wash over me until it all goes away.
I told her that.
Oblivion is not the answer she said, wagging her finger at me.

OK, but couldn't I just try it for a while and see?

Down Time

I can feel it slipping at the moment.

Not in the great sweeping waves that sometimes hit me, but gently, gently sliding away.

My last relationship broke up exactly a month ago.
That was a strange one.
I think it was the instability of the relationship that helped bring on my latest crisis. The way I am was partly responsible for the instability - how could anyone be expected to commit to a nutjob like me?
At the moment we are still communicating - occasionally, by text or email. My days revolve around waiting for the next contact, which I know is really bad for me. The alternative, however, is scarier - being alone with myself.

I know I have children, but they don't really count in this equation. They cannot be there to support me. That is not their place.

I don't know anyone else - keeping friends is hard. Not because I am unpleasant or demanding, but because I always get a need to run away. So I moved to a new town, and I know no one.

So I wait for him.

On a lighter note, my eldest daughter (15) has been told she is not allowed to burn things (incense, candles, siblings) in her room. She finds the first of these particularly hard to avoid. Last night the urge got the better of her, and I'm sure she thought she had gotten away with it as her room is at the top of the house BUT the house is fitted with a smoke detection system, and we were suddenly treated to the sound of bells and claxons going off in every hallway. At first we thought there was a fire -
She had to confess.
She won't do that again :-)

Hat Trick?

That would be so cool.

Three good days in a row. But this one is very new at the moment. I'm not counting any chickens yet.

New day already, and sleep highly unlikely for some time to come. I'm on some pretty hefty medication (mood stabilizers, anti-depressants, tranquilizers) and the pharmacist assures me I should be sleeping like a baby (a sleepy baby), but it just doesn't happen.

From what I've read I share quite a lot in common with sufferers of bipolar disorder, with a few notable differences. Bipolar moods don't tend to change as quickly as mine do, although I am aware that ultra rapid cycling exists, when mood changes can be very sudden. Also, I don't get the mania associated with bipolar disorder, although there are some features of borderline which are similar. And self-harm is really only a problem with borderline.

Tomorrow is going to be tricky because I'm gearing up to a visit to the psychiatric nurse on Thursday. This is a problem as it is my belief that she dislikes me. As do my psychiatrist and my doctor. And most of the rest of the general population. Did I mention that this is also a problem?

I don't know why you are still reading - you probably dislike me too.

Another one.

Another quiet day. So far.

that's the scariest bit.

My day can be going along absolutely fine one minute, and then in the next the bottom has fallen out of my world. Real, true, devastating misery is all I can feel. It is so bleak I would do anything to get away from it. I yell, scream, fight, blame, run, not really comprehending anyone who is around me or what they say.

I have taken countless overdoses, and every time they ask me 'Did you want to kill yourself?' my answer is always the same:

"No. I just wanted it to go away."

I would do anything to make it go away. Usually, if I can make myself sleep - whether that is with alcohol, drugs, or just someone brave enough and calm enough to stay and stroke my head until sleep comes - then when I wake up, things are calmer.

Often I am in a kind of shock - the mental imagery of the violence I could commit against myself is quite hard to bear. Sometimes, in the worst of it, my memory is affected and I have very little recollection of what has happened.

Sometimes there is physical damage to repair, either to things around me, or to myself.

Always there is the growing awareness that those around me cannot take much more.

Quiet days...

...and silent nights.

I've been on my own for a while now.

It's not fun, but it's safest.

I suffer from a nasty little thing they call Borderline Personality Disorder. I am not an irresponsible teenager, who has ill-advised relationships and takes too many recreational drugs. I am a mother. Soon I will be forty.

And it is not fun.

You've all seen 'Girl, Interrupted' and think you know what it's about. You don't.

I can't be near people. I damage me, and I damage them.

So I am alone. Again.