Fear

I'm depressed. And that's not a thing that is new to me, but it feels different this time. I'm lonely, and I'm scared. I'm scared of losing myself and who I am. I'm scared of being abandoned again. I'm scared that I will never be able to have a normal relationship. I miss my mother, which is also not a new thing. Anyone who knows me , knows that I miss her on a constant basis. My mothers facebook page will also tell you how much I miss her. Her birthday was yesterday. She would have been 65. My best friend knows that I'm depressed and is calling me everyday to try and help me figure out how to improve my thoughts and get out of this rut I'm in, but all I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep. I need to find a therapist where I am now, but I'm overwhelmed with everything that I have to do and with what I'm feeling. Occasionally, the thought of death floats through my mind, but I have no desire to kill myself. It would require too much work and planning. And I'm already overwhelmed with everything as it is like I just said above.

I could read or paint or watch a movie. Something to just restart my brain. Instead I write this. Someone reading this would say that I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Maybe they would be right. But I don't fear what people may think. I fear the dark place engulfing me once again. It's a place I know well and wish to not visit again. I'm afraid of losing my freedom but of also being alone. I want to be loved by someone. I crave it. I don't know how to be in love without losing myself. It's terrifying and paralyzing at the same time. I wish I could just feel normal like everyone else. This shouldn't be a hard thing to do, just living life. Everyday is a challenge for me. I have to think about everything. I have to weigh it out, and figure out what's the right way to respond to it. Being what is considered normal would be like a breath of fresh air. I can't even imagine what that would feel like.

I started this blog to help people like myself and to give people an idea on what a person who struggles with borderline personality disorder deals with on an everyday basis. But I don't know how to help myself most of the time. There are so many things you can do from writing a journal to making yourself do something that you enjoy to keep the thoughts at bay. Trying something new sometimes helps as well. I used to love to read. I would constantly have a book in my face. I can't tell you how long it's been since I read anything. I go to thrift stores and buy books that I will never read. I just can't make myself do it. I've recently started gardening. But that probably wont last long for me. I tend to get bored easily. Which I why I don't paint or write books anymore. I'm just bored with it. I have all these wonderful ideas that I start and never finish writing. And there will probably come a day when I get bored with this blog, but for now I write. I write to maybe one day read back, to help understand my thoughts better. I write because its all I know how to do at the moment. I just wish it could keep the fear away.

My brain won't shut off today. It actually hasn't shut off for the past few weeks. It can be maddening. My last post was filled with anger. This one will be filled with worry. When my brain tells me things that I can't shake , it wears me down. And no matter how many times I ask myself if what I'm feeling is real, it doesn't seem to make it stop. I'm torn between two people. Two people whom I love deeply and for different reasons. Two people whom just clash because they are completely different in every way. One is my best friend, my soul mate really. We have this bond that people don't understand. From day one of meeting we felt this draw towards each other that we can't explain. He's been a joy, a huge mess at times, an angry word and conversation, a shoulder to cry on and the person whom always accepts me even at my worse. He can make me laugh like no one else and he can frustrate me like no one else. Sometimes in the same day. He is my best friend. And if he wasn't a gay man , you would think we were married. We actually make a joke out of it and he calls me his "not my wife." I can never imagine my life without him.

The second person is my boyfriend whom I also love deeply. People say that he is just a symptom of my BPD. That its not possible to fall in love with a person as fast as I did. But who knows the guidelines on this? Who sets the rules on the timeline of love? Yes, I have BPD, but I've been with this man for right at a year and I can't imagine spending my life without him either. He is kind, and caring. He makes me feel safe and comfortable. He also makes me laugh and I can tell him anything without fear of judgement. And he truly listens to me. Every word that I say. I wish I could say that I was just as intentive, but I drift off into Bonnie land quite often. I love the way this man holds me close and the way he smells and feels. And how he makes me feel just by being in his presence. I have written this about him before. He is an introvert to an extreme, meaning he doesn't wish to be around anyone and sometimes doesn't want to be bothered at all. He is how I used to be before I let myself out. He's been putting himself out of his comfort zone to make me happy. So we are now trying to figure out how we can make this work with us being so different from each other.

I live at least two hours away from my support system. And herein lies the problem. I need people. My BPD would tell me that all I need is him, but I miss my best friend and my children. I want to travel and see things and do things. I want to enjoy life and not just sit in front of the television. I have a bucket list and my boyfriend does not. He's content with just sitting at home watching movies, and playing games. And I still love him immensely. So is love enough? I know I can't just give up who I am, nor can I expect him to change who he is. That wouldn't be love. I want him to be happy just as much as he wants me to be happy. So we are having to try to do something different. Something that probably isn't considered normal. Through the week, I will live with him and then on the weekends, I will go and stay with my best friend. So that I can see my children, and go on trips with my best friend, and enjoy what life has to offer. And just hopefully figure out how to make this relationship work. And I desperately want this to work without one of us having to give up what makes us, us. And if we still can't make it work, then I guess I just have to move on. Because what else is there to do. I am saddened at the thought of losing him and I can't lose my best friend and my support system either. Love is a mess.

As a writer you get told to write what you know. Here's what I know. I'm pissed. I'm beyond pissed. My best friend has told me that my life has been an experiment in terror. And hes right. And I know that a lot of people have had it worse than me. But that doesn't take away my pain. I was different growing up. I felt like I didn't belong anywhere and that my parents loved my sister more than they loved me. Which is why I think I held onto my Uncle Howard as tightly as I did. Growing up and throughout my entire life I always felt like I was on the outside of a house looking at the people inside through the window. And they are all in there laughing and having fun but I'm outside in the dark and cold. My therapist once asked me why I didn't just walk in. What would that look like for me? I don't know what it would look like. I can't imagine what it would look like because I've never been "normal" a day in my life. At 15 my mom left us for good and I told myself I was glad because she obviously didn't love us. She left us all the time. Inside I was pissed. And I was hurt. My dad was too busy worrying about having a girlfriend to have sex with after that to be bothered with us. So I left and moved in with my aunt. I didn't know that I was putting myself in an extremely terrible situation.

Shortly after I moved in with my aunt I was talked into dropping out of school and getting a job. And eventually worked two jobs to support her gambling habits. I would get my checks and literally sign them and hand them to her. The whole time being verbally abused. Later on I would have to give her a certain amount of money or I would have to go and give plasma to get up the difference. Which still wouldn't be enough. But I endured it because I didn't have anywhere else to go. I was so desperate for love that I looked for it anywhere I could and with anyone I could find. And then I wound up at 18 leaving in the middle of the night in my Burger King uniform to go to Texas with my future husband. In the back of a Uhaul with nothing but my purse to my name. No money, no clothes, just me and my purse and my Burger King uniform that stank of stale whoppers. I had tried to tell my aunt that I was going to move out and it ended with her hitting me across the face and going to work with a bruised cheek the next day. I had to stay with her and give her my money so she could put it all in poker machines, cigarettes and bingo halls.

I thought that I had it better being with my children's father, my future husband, but I wasn't. He was also extremely verbally abusive. And I made myself deal with it because I had gotten pregnant shortly after we went to Texas. And of course I made a promise to my kids that I would always stay no matter what because I didn't want them to grow up the way I had. And to make matters worse, I let my church talk me into marrying him for my children. I told myself that it was what I wanted but the day of, I really wanted to back out. But I shook it off and got married anyway. 24 years later with years of having power cut off and not being able to pay rent and dealing with his gambling and pot smoking and finding out how he cheated on me wore me down. And that''s when I met my best friend who gave me a way out. I just had to save up some money to do so. I told my husband I was leaving and it drove him crazy. The last night I spent with him, he forced himself on me. I told him that we would not be having sex again because I was done, and he didn't like that answer. The next day I was in a good bit of pain and went to the doctor. I refused a rape kit but they made me do a urine sample and there was blood. The doctor knew that something had happened and called the police. My husband knew something was up and demanded that I come home. But the police were there and asking me a million questions. I was crying and scared. He was texting me non-stop telling me he was going to kill both me and my best friend. I was then talked into going and filing a police report. I refused to press charges because of my kids and they said it didn't matter because they were going to press charges themselves. He went to jail and I bailed him out. I was told I couldn't stay there with him at home so I left him money to pay the bills and left. My eldest daughter was still living there so I left on all the bills in my name. Of course, he quit his job soon after and went through the money I left him and left me with all the disconnection bills of everything I left on in my name. So now, after almost 5 years of being gone and trying to get on my feet, I will have to take on all the debt including owing the IRS for back taxes from where he didn't file for years and years. But they keep on adding late fees and he wont pay it so I have to. He currently does not have a job and I just want to get my divorce and be free of his crap.

There are a lot of people whom can't believe the above story of "that" night. They think they know my husband well enough to know that he would never do that. But no one knows him the way that I know him. I spent 24 years with this man. I know him better than anyone. And you would be surprised on just what you are capable of doing given the right circumstance. Nobody was there that night but myself and him. I know the truth and he knows the truth. He can try and rationalize it all he wants. But when he is holding my arms up over my head and forcing my legs open with his, what do you call that? He had to hold me down because I was trying to get away and hitting him trying to get him off of me. What do you call that? Because I know what it is and I let him get away with it for the most part. Because everyone was telling me that I was wrong. I wasn't wrong. I'm still not wrong. I hate him for that. I hate him for adding more pain to my life and the PTSD that comes from that night. No one has the right to tell me what happened that night.They weren't there. And I relive that night all the time. I will never forget it. And I get so angry when people feel sorry for him because he's not trying to better himself. He's living in a small RV on his sons land and doesn't have a job. But do you think he will take any responsibility for anything? Nope. It's all because of this person and that person and how he can never catch a break. But after almost 30 years he hasn't grown from when we first got together. Not one bit of growth, just excuse after excuse. And I'm just done. I am so done.

I was born in Florida on April 18th 1976. Jacksonville, Florida to be exact but Pinetta is the place I hold close to my heart. PInetta is this little small town right on the edge of Florida and Georgia, near Valdosta. Pinetta is a beautiful little country town with its dirt roads , pecan trees, and swamp land. This is where one of my favorite people in the world lived, my uncle Howard. Uncle Howard was alot of peoples favorite person. Mostly because he was just simply great. He was kind, caring and funny. He truly loved all those close to him as well. Howard came to our family when he married my favorite aunt Shirley. Let me tell you, she makes the best coconut cake in the world. She is the younger sister of my dad. And Howard loved her immensely.

We spent alot of time in Florida visiting Howard and Shirley and they were the best times of my life. My uncle Howard loved me so much. Ever since I was baby, he had a soft spot for me. And as I grew older, he knew I just needed a little more attention than others. He was the first person in my life who understood me. He accepted me as I was and that meant more than anything to me. He was more of a father to me than my own. And that makes me sad. Howard and I would take walks down the dirt roads and he would tell me stories and I could tell him anything that I was feeling and he would listen and help me. We would pick pecans together and shuck corn and sometimes pick blackberries. He let me drive his Ford truck (even though I'm a Chevy girl) and let me shoot cans with his shotgun. And I was a pretty good shot. He would chase the giant flying cockroaches that live in Florida when they would chase me. He would finish my meals when my mom made my plates too big for me. He would sneak back to the kitchen and take half of my food and eat it so I could get away from the table. My mom always knew. When I was a baby he spoiled me rotten, always picking me up out of the crib even when my mom protested. He would walk by and I would put my arms up for him to pick me up.

Howard loved to grow things and had potted plants all over the yard. I bet there are still potted plants growing wild in that yard. Howard passed away many years ago. After he passed, Shirley moved into her mom's house and the house that I love so is all grown up and probably fallen in. I miss that house and those memories. Howard is buried in the little cemetery down the dirt road from that house. We would walk to that little cemetery often on our walks so many years ago. I have decided to embrace Howard's green thumb in the place I live at currently with my boyfriend. I have created my own potted plant garden that I know that Howard would love. I look at it everyday from my little office in this house. I imagine Howard saying "that's my girl" with a big smile on his face.

People with BPD tend to make people their "favorite person" until they're not anymore and then they pretty much write them out of their lives. This is something that I struggle with. I never realized that I do this and it's not something I take lightly. But with Howard, I know it is different. I love him still and he will always be one of my favorite people. Always. And because he knew the real me, accepted me and loved me anyway. And I will always hold him dear to my heart. The picture below is of our beloved Howard, me and my mother.