I Watched Myself Bleed *Possible Trigger... slightly Graphic*

Just now. It was a cut I started last night. It's actually over an old scar. And old scar over a vein that bleeds well when nicked. Actually last time it bleed too well and I had to get it stitched. But tonight it seems under control.

So why did I intentionally cut so that I could nick a vein? Mmm, I'm not going to get too introspective on that one. Mostly because I already have and the answer... way too borderline for this Reluctant Borderline. So we'll just leave it at that. I cut, I nicked a vein, and I watched it bleed. And the small part of me that is still open to feeling experienced both some sort of satisfaction from the various aspects of it all (watching it pool on my wrist, feeling it roll off my arm, watching it drip...). I think... it's hard to tell, sometimes... sometimes I believe that most 'feelings' I experience are actually just some sort of knowledge... *shakes head* it's hard to explain... anyway that they are not actual feelings... Anyway, another small part of me wanted to do more. Not to die (Lord, I couldn't do that to my family even before my Uncles funeral, for heaven sake!)... *shakes head* I'll not take that thought further.

Did you have to be one of them..?

Really. I mean, if you're going to drop me (your words, I believe, not mine) why not just do it? After all, I expected you to. That's just what people do. And it's not like you haven't done more than your fair share. Frankly you've done more than is required and I do appreciate it. However I think it might be making things worse now. You went to such lengths to let me know that I wasn't going to be left dangling in the wind again... and now here I find myself, adrift, bogged down, and (as much as I hate to say it) 'emotionally fragile' (ugh, I hate that phrase... but it works here so...).

Don't get me wrong, I understand. You have an actual job and some things (some people, I guess) can't always fit in when there are other things that need to be done. A tight budget and such doesn't help matters either.

But understanding doesn't always come with feeling alright about it, you know?

And I'm not gonna lie... it kinda sucks...




This post is very borderline, heh *shakes head* I don't normally allow myself to behave or talk like this... but the internet medium makes some things easier... even being unreasonable, lol

It wasn't supposed to happen this way...

Of course, we all know that there is the risk of death with surgery. However your surgery, apparently, went very well. It was your heart. We were worried, at first, and then prematurely hopeful. And then you were gone.

I love you, very much, Uncle, and I will miss you greatly.

I'm sorry, you want me to what???

I checked my mail this morning. Out of seven pieces of mail five of them were from DSHS. *shakes head* What a mess this all has become. It really shouldn't be this hard. Again, maybe I should become a drug addict... they don't have nearly the trouble getting help that a mentally ill individual seems to have (with the possible exception of schizophrenia and the like... those can sometimes be a very obvious disability). *considers this* No, I think not. I've heard that withdrawal/detox is a bitch. Besides, why would I want to add to my troubles? *shakes head*

The best news I received (note the dripping sarcasm) was that they apparently want me to apply for SSI. I don't know what that means re:my future (assuming I have on). My goal has always been to get this shattered mess that is my life reassembled so that I can once again be a functioning member of society. To that end, I was looking for something temporary. The DL benefits that I was finally (too late, in my opinion, since it only happened after I took 30 acetaminophen tablets) granted are short term (you may reapply every three months, I believe, but at a year they would prefer you to apply for SSI), bonus there. However what they cover re:mental health is quite limited. In town there is only one practitioner I would be able to see and only one type of therapy I would be allowed, that is CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) which in and of itself has shown to be of little help to individuals with BPD and can actually do more harm than good. DL benefits do not allow me to see the individual I know best there (and therefor am most comfortable with) and do not cover DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) which has shown to be immensely helpful to those who are borderline.

So as to my future... what happens if I am actually granted (not that I'm holding my breath, that would be silly and possibly be labeled as 'suicidal behavior' *rolls eyes*) SSI? Does it mean that I am stuck as someone who is disabled for the rest of my life? That's somewhere around 50 years or so! And I honestly do not believe I am stuck there. I believe that both BPD and MDD, properly treated, can be managed, allowing the individual to lead a (relatively) normal and productive life. The problem here is that I do not have access to the services I need in order to receive proper treatment. So left untreated I could very well be stuck in a state of incapacity. Not only that but given the frequency of suicidal behavior in individuals with BPD (something I have displayed on more than one occasion) it is not that unlikely that I could die prematurely by my own hand.

My point there was this: if I can manage to get my life back together with the help of SSI and the programs deemed necessary (DBT, CBT -which, when done with DBT, can be helpful) will I be stuck as someone who is disabled because I received SSI? Is it something that one is on for life? I had dreams once, you know. I would like to once again believe that they are possible. They were stolen from me some years ago. Will this steal them from me a second time (this time for good?)..? I don't know if I could handle that...

Some Old Poems

These are on my old blog... Most of them are three or four years old but I like them, so I thought I'd share.

For You

I'm dying on the inside, but you can't see
It's O.K.
This act is for you
Every smile
Every laugh
It kills me
But you
Thankfully, you are unaware

Oh, you may notice little differences
My eyes don't hold their sparkle
A smile dies easily on my lips
I do my best to protect you
But it's hard to care for others
When you are dying on the inside

I'll try another day
For you
I'll smileI
'll laugh
As I die just a little bit more

How Smiling can Hurt

It's funny how smiling can hurt
How that simple act can rip into your heart
How one smile can leave you hurting
And Bleeding

To smile
When you hurt on the inside
To laugh
When everything within you is crying out
In pain
And confusion
Is like a secret death
Slow
And painful
And hopeless

The Masks I Wear

I play so many roles
Can you tell
Can you see
What is real

So many in one day
So many people fooled
Then one day I look to find
I've played my part so well
That I am lost

No more can I identify
The feelings that I have
Am I truly happy
Or is it all an act
Do I really laugh
Or am I crying
Beneath this facade

No one can truly know me
Those closest to me
Like others
Are fooled
My true self remains hidden
In the depths
Where even nowI am crying
For I am lost

My Child, My Beloved

My Child, My Beloved
Daily I have watched you
I have heard your laughter
And seen your beautiful smile
I have heard your singing
And witnessed your kindness
I have basked in the glow of your happiness
And treasured the joy you have shown in My creation
I have watched you grow
And delighted in the treasure I made in you

But with the joy and laughter
Have come sorrows

Dear Child, My Beloved
I have watched you hurt
And witnessed your anguish
I have longed to gather you in My arms
And hold you as you weep
I have whispered My love to you
And cried as you have cried
My heart has ached
And My own tears have fallen
As you once again reach for the Blade
Praying the relief will last
Knowing that it will not
And once again you do not cry out
For the healing and comfort I long to give

My child, My Beloved
Know this
I Am your Rescuer
I Am your Redeemer
I Am your Comfort
I Am your Peace
I Am your Father
And I will always love you

The Choice

To give up would be so easy
To give in to the images
To hand control over to the urges
To heed the thoughts that spin in my head
To depart

To continue on would be taxing
To push forward through the pain
To advance, heedless of the pull to surrender
To persist in spite of seemingly overwhelming odds
To linger

The choice
To forsake this earthly body
Or to tarry a moment longer, hoping for a better tomorrow

Please

Please just stop. It's alright for you to give up on all of this. I would. I probably will. After all, it's not looking all that hopeful, is it? Fill out more paperwork and then pay to see a psychiatrist (how they expect me to be able to do that when I am applying for medical/monetary assistance I don't know) or wait another month and a half and re-apply. Both options require me to fill out the same sort of paperwork that I've filled out twice before. And twice now I've been rejected. Twice I've been told that I am full of it. "Of course you can work." say the Powers That Be, "Get off your bum and pull yourself together. We are much too busy helping those that really need our help; the drug addicts, and those who do not wish to work; we simply cannot afford to help you as well."

I don't want to be told 'no' again. And I wish you would just give up; on me and on this whole mess. I feel bad that you are working so hard at this. There is no reason for you to do that any more. Your job is done. Move on to someone else. I don't understand why you're keeping at this. I wish you wouldn't. I'm thankful, really, for everything you've already done. And I cannot tell you why your persistence bothers me... it just does.

*shrug* I'm sorry.

I don't put my feet on other peoples furniture

I just don't. My mother raised me right and let's just face it, putting your dirty shoes on other peoples furniture is just rude. Now, if I know the person really well (and I know there isn't any dirt or mud on my shoes) I may ask if it's alright. The other day while hanging out at a friends I got a little anxious and needed to make myself a little smaller (just scrunch up a bit, you know, it can be comforting) and so I asked him. But that is a very rare occurrence (and why I just didn't take my shoes off I don't know).

Random little blog entry isn't it? ;) Don't worry, there's actually a point to this.

I don't put my feet on other peoples furniture. Usually. But since Monday, May 9th (ah, Monday of the overdose >.<) there has been one notable exception. The therapists office. Now it probably helps that I have actually seen this guy in the past, albeit for a brief period of 'crisis counseling' (four sessions I think). So did I ask, as I did with my friend the other night? No, as a matter of fact the first time I did it was the Tuesday after and I didn't even notice I had done it at first. Just drew my foot up on the seat of the chair and wrapped my arms around my knee. He didn't say anything so I didn't bother about it; it was that much more comfortable that way. The next session I did the same thing, almost from word one. Today I did better... at the beginning (get ready for it because the entire point of this blog entry is about to be revealed ;)). I sat down and crossed one leg over the other at the knee and swung my foot; pretty 'standard' for me in similar situations. And for the first bit that was just fine because we talked about pretty innocuous stuff. He told me what he wanted to talk about and asked if I had anything I wanted to bring up. I told him nothing, other than to let him know that I was going to be gone most of next week. He asked why and I told him that this Saturday I was going to go back to my home town for the Pow Wow (there is one every year)and that there was some family stuff in the middle of the week... it just made more sense to stay rather than go back and forth with gas prices being what they are. He asked me what tribe and I told him and we chatted about that for a bit (I thought it was a little strange at the time... now I just think he found a perfect opening and wasn't going to let it get away) before he says something like 'You know, I don't think we've talked about your family. We might have but if he did I just don't have a picture of it.'. Oh good. After I assure him that he hasn't just forgotten, we never did discuss them (it was short-term crisis counseling, that's not something you normally address) he says something to the effect of 'OK, good, so give me a picture, brothers, sisters, parents...' Joyous days. Up comes one foot, the arms go around the knee. See, the gal I talked with on the 9th asked about that stuff (it's generally assumed that people who self injure have some sort of trauma in their past, usually physical or sexual abuse because, most of them do) so I told her a bit: my dad was abusive and being the outspoken child I got the brunt of it. I made light of it as best I could (a lot of shoulder shrugging) and eventually the topic was dropped for other, more immediate and important things (such as whether or not they were going to detain me... they didn't -and heaven and that woman only know why because even this guy told her to send me to the psych ward and he knew me that much better than she did- but I did get to spend the night on a friends couch). I did learn later that she told him that there were 'family issues' of some kind, or something like that, but gave no specifics. But I digress... another couple minutes conversation about family things (mostly parents) and I've got both feet on the chair and wrapped my arms around both knees. I don't put my feet on other peoples furniture. I just don't. And yet out of three sessions with this man (OK, the three most recent) there has not been one where I haven't had at least one foot on the chair as I hugged my knee to myself. I've changed my mind. I don't want to do this, I'm sorry. These folks have been so helpful. Bend over backward helpful. I don't understand it but I really do appreciate it. I just don't want to do this. The goal of DBT is to help the person tolerate intense emotion without reaching for the razor blade (or the lighter or whatever other self harm behavior they engage in). This sort of conversation makes it that much harder. I didn't reach for my razor blade this time (or the candle as on rare occasions I will burn rather than cut)... I came home, ate, and then stuck my finger down my throat (he doesn't know about that bad habit of mine as of yet >.<). *shakes head* That's not much better.

*sigh* How did my life become such a mess?

(Disclaimer: there are supposed to be a couple paragraphs in that one large one... but for some reason blogger won't post it as such... I will admit to being awful with such things as paragraphing but I'll not take the blame for that, lol)