ain't nobody who can sing like me

The improvement is slight but it's definite. A few days ago I started taking my Cymbalta at night instead of when I wake up, as I thought it might help with the early morning moodiness. Although my sleep has suffered, and I wake up more easily through the night and don't feel as "rested", there seems to be a marked difference in my morning attitude. Whether this is just because the increase to 120mg has started to work (Doc A said it would take a week to feel 10% better), who knows, but I'm grateful for the improvement. I don't feel the dragging, energy-sapping dread upon waking. I'm almost "perky". Well...almost!! I'm planning to continue the evening dose as long as I don't start waking up early (pre 6.30am), start to feel extra tired during the day, or get manic. I'm still averaging seven or eight hours of sleep a night which is less than I usually need but still plenty.

The last couple of days have seen the suicidal thoughts almost disappear. I can't describe what a relief that is, and anyone who has been there will know exactly what I mean. Part of the relief is that I now feel enthusiastic about my upcoming birthday (Sunday 19th). We have some great plans, so I was feeling very depressed about being depressed (LOL). Now, for the first time in quite a few weeks, I feel life coming back into my heart and mind and excitement starting to build. Hooray for turning 41! I have to say, so far being in my 40s has been wonderful (-: Meeting Neil was one of the best things to ever happen to me, and I'm so thankful he has put up with me and continued to be calm and stable and love me through this last bleak episode. I guess it really is true love!

My plans for my birthday are as follows: Saturday night we are going out to watch a Roller Derby bout with some of Neil's friends from work. Then the two of us will go on to a strip club, just for a laugh and to hopefully get in the mood for some hijinks in the bedroom *blush*. We've been to this particular club before and enjoyed some lapdancing; Neil loves the fact that I am openminded and keen on this kind of thing. The girls there are really nice and sweet, and are always extra friendly to women. On Sunday we are going out to the movies to see Super 8 (even though I am petrified of aliens and I think this movie is about aliens!!) and then out for a pizza dinner with my parents. Monday night I am going out with Michelle to see Bridesmaids, which I can't wait to see. I've heard so many good things about it! So all in all I think the next few days are going to be super fun. One of the things I love most about my birthday is my friend H always sends me the BEST presents. Well, last year she was visiting so she gave them to me in person, but as she lives in a different state she usually posts them and isn't it fun to get packages in the mail?? I LOVE it. We are both into the same girly, selfhelp, pink, Barbie, princessy type things so I always love her presents. She spoils me rotten.

I know I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but thank you SO MUCH to everyone who commented on the last few posts. I hadn't realised that I was having some BPD issues with Neil until your comments pointed it out, so massive thanks. Big hugs to my darling Kate (Lucid Intervals), BPDisme2, Shattered One (Walking the Borderline), Afton (In the Pink), Pixie (Cloud Illusions), Saracide (Borderline Psychobabble), Sairs (This Lunatic Express), Linda (Blue Skies, Cloudy Days), D'Artagnan (Living in Iowa), and a smiley welcome to Lola (Moose Lips Sink Ships) and www.friendtoyourself.com

I really love Billy Bragg, and he recorded a great song with the band Wilco called Way Over Yonder in The Minor Key (previous post title). The second line to the chorus is "ain't nobody who can sing like me", hence the title for today. The song was used nicely in the recent rom com movie Love and Other Drugs, which starred the gorgeous Anne Hathaway. Did anyone see the film? I thought the themes were interesting, especially how much time, money and energy went into finding a successful drug to "cure" male impotence compared to drugs to cure Parkinsons Disease (and also, I believe, to find cures for illnesses like depression, and other girly things like PMT haha).

That's all from me for now, and I can't help but be hopeful that my positive mood lasts and that the next post will be just as sparkly. Wishing you all love, happiness and peace xx

drawn to those ones that ain't afraid

I'm really not good with change. One of the precursors, perhaps even catalysts, to my last psychotic break was shifting offices - the entire company moved across town to a newer, fancier office space which was my very idea of hideousness. Our old building was opposite a park, walking distance to the comfort of retail outlets and various cafes, and the office layout was cubicle style. I shared my cubicle with people I almost-liked. Then we moved to a street shared with a brothel and a methadone clinic where our entire company was set out over one huge floor, in open-plan setting, and my desk was adjacent to a couple of the loudest, most irritating telephonists and also near enough that I could overhear every critical comment directed at me from the woman known as the Notorious B.I.T.C.H. My paranoia, OCD, introversion, hysteria and the like escalated to the point that within a month I could no longer do my job and was put on medical leave (never to return).

I guess my point is that I need to make sure I'm doing okay with this new massive change in my life. Loneliness and abstract terror aside, am I managing to readjust and get in to some kind of groove? On the plus side, I am in good therapy now and have working medication (unlike prior to my breakdown when the huge dose of sertraline I was taking was making things worse rather than better). On the negative, I don't really have any stability in other areas of my life - although I've been at my job for 7 months now (can you believe how fast time passes??) I still feel like most people there consider me at worst a destructive influence, at best a hard-working annoyance. I'm determined to work at it, and stay there, because it's proving to be a great way to work through some of my Borderline issues and tendencies. But it's not the most comforting place to be and consequently I'm in a state of unease (disease? lol) at home as well as at work.

Knowing all this, and being self-aware and mindful (love that DBT), I believe I can claw my way to a state of security and calm. In some ways, the odds are probably against it, but one thing the odds don't take into account is my sheer bloody-mindedness haha!! I swear, that is more powerful than any medication or therapy for getting me through hell and high water. I simply refuse to let my illness, other people, fate, Satan, or what-ever beat me down. Dylan Thomas would say "rage, rage against the dying of the light", P!nk would say "don't let me get me". I like to quote the game show and shout NO DEAL.

the story is old, I know, but it goes on*

A friend of mine, John at www.myranting.co.uk, wrote a short story once that said, in part : There's just something missing right now. I'm not sure what it is. But whatever it is, it's not fuckin' there. A big void in my soul that I've tried to fill with every single kind of nonsense that I can possibly think of. This statement has always struck a chord with me, as it describes the way I've felt all my life. It explains SO MANY poor choices...the wrong men I pursued, in the wrong ways...the terrible/wonderful substances with which I've abused my body...the obsessions, hobbies, compulsions, images, personas, vendettas, friendships, all of which inevitably failed to fill that void that I call the Big BPD Empty.

It's only now, nine months after my official diagnosis with Borderline Personality Disorder, that I am starting to feel the void getting smaller. And it's amazing to me that I never realised the way to heal my heart was from the inside out. Always wanting to push/shove/stuff things IN to myself, there wasn't room for the growth of what wanted to come OUT. That sounds slightly gross, lol, I swear this isn't one of my posts about bodily functions! I guess what I am trying, poorly, to say is that all along the substance that was needed to fill my Big Empty was stuff that already existed in ME. It's not one thing, it seems to be a grunge-coloured mixture of fury, joy, terror and rapture at the moment... but it's definitely true and real and all that hippy stuff haha. It seems like the more work I do at finding out how I really feel and think about things (my self, my life), the less that void threatens to engulf me.

I had my last session with Dr A this week before his month-long vacation - now I'm flying solo for four weeks, when I usually see him once a week. I think it's a good opportunity for me to see how I travel without him to keep me on track, and maybe it will all go down the tubes by the end of October but there's a good chance it won't. Although I've never been a member of AA I know enough to be able to quote one of the sayings of the 12 Steppers - "it works if you work it". That definitely applies to my battle against the Big Empty. Even though sometimes I would rather stay in bed and/or drink gin and/or eat a truckload of junkfood and/or pull my hair out by the handful I know that the hard work is where the reward lies. Damn it.

(*The Smiths - Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me)

It's The End Of The World As We Know It

And I feel fine (as the song goes).

This week's session with Dr A focused mainly on the two tasks he's set for me as homework. A while back he mentioned that me getting my driver's licence would be a huge benefit, not only in practical terms but also because it would mean I had conquered a life-long fear. He's right, and it's not like I haven't already thought of that myself... but the actual physical task of going and getting my Learner's Permit (for the SIXTH time) is beyond me at the moment. However, I have promised to visit the licensing website and do the online Learner's test as practice, and also to find out the costs involved. I first got my Learner's Permit when I turned 17 (the legal driving age in Western Australia), and was also given a car by my beloved grandfather. The car, a 1972 Ford Cortina, had been his and when he died a few months later I wondered if the loss of freedom (he never got another car) had finished him off. I moved to the city a few months after my birthday, leaving the car with my parents until I eventually decided to sell it (having only had a few lessons and not really ever feeling comfortable with the idea of driving in our country town, let alone the Big City). I've had other goes at learning to drive, with varying success, but I've never booked a driving test - the idea of having to park on command, and to follow complicated instructions from the examiner, seems to negate the fact that I am actually a fairly competent driver (according to the various instructors I've had over the last 22 years).

My second piece of homework involves Mr Ex, and the fact that our 12 months' legal separation was completed this week. I downloaded the paperwork (don't you love the technological age) for the divorce but had yet to broach the subject with Mr Ex, especially as last weekend he came along to my Bowling Birthday Party and we had a great time. Not a "getting back together, happy every after" great time, but a great time nonetheless. Dr A had a bit of a go at me for the mixed messages I was sending out willy-nilly... especially to myself. I definitely DO NOT want to be married - to anyone. But that fact remains that I adore Mr Ex, for all his faithlessness and foibles (and by that I don't mean "infidelity". Blame Wandering Coyote's deep thoughts here for the use of the word "faithless" haha). Part of my worries about him, whether he thinks we'll get back together, whether he will do something self-harming. But, in the spirit of "Being In Therapy" I agreed with Dr A that the paperwork needs to be addressed. I printed it all out today and was planning to deal with it when Mr Ex came over to walk his dog. My best-laid plans were thwarted when Mr Ex texted me to say he can't come over today. At least the papers are printed and filled out, and in reality I don't need Mr Ex's permission or signature to file them. I do, however, need an amount of cash to go with said papers. Ouch.

Apart from these nagging administrative tasks, my life continues to sail along. I start my new hours tomorrow, which sees me working every second Monday along with Tues, Wed and Fri each week. On the opposing Monday I see Dr A. Which still gives me Thursdays to sleep in, vege out, blog and blog-visit and see friends. I think I will manage, it's a fine compromise, and having some extra money is always welcome. I can save up to get divorced - blah. I still haven't written to my friend H, who sent me the out-of-the-blue birthday presents. I've been thinking about it, and intend to do it, it's another one of those "when I have the energy" tasks. Being mental is exhausting lol.

One area I need to watch is the continuing urge I have to over-achieve at work. Given that work was my area of downfall prior to this most recent breakdown, I've really been keeping track of my thoughts and emotions at work - and during the week I had a weird "showing off" hypermanic episode. I still crave validation and approval constantly, and have to fight the urge to pursue it from my superiors at work. It's one thing to do my job well, but another thing to undermine other staff, over-achieve, big note myself and get breathless and giddy when I'm given praise. The best thing was, though, that I caught myself in Emotion Mind (as DBT would call it) and could step back and use Reasonable Mind to see the situation for what it was - thereby stopping the roundabout before it got going. Something that might have progressed and spun out of control, was dealt with fairly quickly. Being only low-dose medicated also helped, because I am not as numb/blunted these days I'm more aware of my changes in physiology (heightened colour/warmth, faster breathing, shaking hands, talking faster) which sometimes come along with my Emotion Disregulation episodes.

"Kathy, I'm lost" I said, though I knew she was sleeping

It's strange the things that can bring on the melancholy. My stepdad bought a dvd today, of Simon & Garfunkel's Concert in Central Park (1981 I think) and has been playing it while I was in the kitchen cooking. For a lot of different reasons, the songs brought up memories, mostly sad. When I was about 10 years old I found an LP record in my parents' collection that had a handwritten name on it I recognised. It turned out to be (as I suspected at the time), one of the few things my mother kept that had belonged to my father - a Simon & Garfunkel record that I would secretly play when my mother and stepdad weren't around. Over the years I became more and more enamoured of them, and folk music in general, and I ended up buying the Concert in Central Park album in about 1987. Hearing the songs again reminded me of how in those days, at 17, I was still under the misapprehension that being depressed was something I would "grow out of". I believed that all the low moods and suicidal thoughts were part of my groovy & creative personality and I channelled them as much as I could into writing songs, stories, poetry.

What struck me the most today was that I could recognise melancholy approaching, and rather than eagerly laying down and becoming its mistress, I fought it and won. I used Mindfulness to view the feelings objectively, and could see clearly (maybe for the first time) the two paths on offer. I could either go with the sad memories, and add to them in the same way I was adding ingredients to my vegie soup, ending up with a confusing mess of mixed emotions and general blah. Or, I could feel and acknowledge the sadness/loss, briefly revisiting the memory of the past before letting it go.

Half an hour later, instead of being bedridden, binge eating, self-harming or bawling, I was finishing off making my soup and starting on brownie cheesecake (as my birthday treat for tomorrow). All the while still singing along with Simon & Garfunkel (that's one long concert lol).

I used to think that my over-emotional or extreme reactions to songs, films, books, etc were part of my personality. With DBT, I view it differently -- the reaction is the first, "normal" part of the equation, and the BPD encouraged me to take the reaction to the extreme and let it overwhelm my thoughts and (therefore) my emotions. With the new filter of my Wise Mind I'm learning/trying to enjoy the reaction to the song (for instance), but keep it in context and balance. It's still not second nature to me, but I know it gets easier to practice DBT/CBT skills.

One of my all-time favourite songs, and my favourite S&G tune, is "Kathy's Song". I used to cry when I heard it, especially the lines:
"I sit and watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you, go I"
Forgive me if I've misquoted, I'm writing them from memory! Anyway, today I heard those words in a completely different context and they didn't make me sad. I even half-jokingly substituted "DBT" for "you" in the final line. This morning could have ended up very differently, much bleaker, without my new therapy. A few people I know who have done DBT call themselves "DBT Geeks", or DBT Obsessives - experiencing it work really does make you a convert/true believer! I hope I don't come across as simplifying Borderline, or other mental illness, and I am definitely not saying Dialectical or Cognitive Behaviour Therapy is the only way to treat these things. They have just worked for me, after many years of NOTHING working. And I wanted to share it.

The Trouble With Love

I've decided the trouble with love is that its a finite resource. Much like gold or copper, once its gone, all that's left behind is a dry and barren landscape which is good for nothing. Today I was thinking about all the great passion in my life, for boys mostly but also for "obsessions" (some ppl call them hobbies lol), and how that passion is so closely linked to my illness that I doubt I will ever "go there" again. I just couldn't trust myself to feel that extreme and still remain emotionally in control...yet I don't know how else to be when I am involved with someone or something new.

So I'm left with the feeling that while I may have a productive and sane life for the next 40 years, I doubt whether I will ever feel that grand love. I've spent the first half of my life being crazy for things...crazy for boy X,Y or Z, for girl A, or for Dawson's Creek/Barbies/Scrapbooking. Then I was just plan ole crazy. And now, I'm not crazy, I'm mostly stable and sane, but that seems to come at the price of losing the passion. Or at the very least curbing it.

I do think it's a step forward, to grow up and away from all-consuming hyperattachments, crushes and obsessions. But I think I will always miss that mania. This time last year, every breath was pure adrenalin and excitement. I longed to go to work to interact with Lewis, and to feel hilarious and gorgeous and fabulous. There was always that emptiness underneath, though, which is the nasty worm in the Borderline apple. While I may not scale the dizzying heights of lust and passion, these days I can sit safely in my own skin for long moments at a time without wanting to rip myself apart. It has to be a good thing.

Xenophobe

I really don't play well with others.

I love y'all here in the virtual world, you don't require anything from me apart from occasional touching base and a modicum of honesty when I do so. As part of the online mental health community, I know that my friends understand how hard it is to form sentences and make sensible comments when in the grip of madness. In the real world, it's SO damn hard to fit in and feel comfortable. The way I have coped with this past year, with psychosis and diagnosis, is to stop being part of the "real world" in anything but a token way. Leading up to my breakdown I was permanently "on"- hyperattaching, falling in love, falling out, imagining enemies, experiencing vendettas. It exhausts me to even think about it now. No wonder I am spent... strung out and tired of the nuances and negotiations. These days, I prefer my own company and can barely make the effort to hang on to the couple of friendships that have survived the post-BPD-mania fallout.

At work, everyone gathers at noon to have lunch together. I can't tell you how irritating this is. I'm using all my coping skills to just stay focused and be productive, and then I have to sit and make chitchat with the nice ladies? Oy. They are the friendliest group of people I've ever worked with, and I know that compassion is something they have in spades, but for obvious reasons I don't feel inclined to share the whole "crying/slashing/screaming/blackness" that was the first half of 2009. I've been really strong, and followed Dr A's advice in not over-sharing or being trusting with people until I make real connections with them. In the past, my MO has been to throw myself headfirst into social situations, showing off and sharing all my gory details in an attempt to impress people and "make friends". I'm not interested in being that person any more, truthfully, I cringe at the memory of it.

I'm embarrassed at the so-called bonds I imagined I had with people.

I'm hopeful I'll never leave myself open to manipulation and ridicule like that ever again.

Even if it means living a solitary life, I need to stay away from that kind of behaviour and its consequences. Since I've retreated into my own world, things have been undeniably smoother and calmer. Away from the drama and potential fuck-over that is "Other People", I'm making some headway and feeling like I may actually live to see 40. It's not reality, and some day Dr A is probably gonna expect more from me than "getting to know myself". I really think, though, that I might be someone who needs to live a life somewhat removed from others. The big areas of catastrophe in my life have been those involving connections to other people (both men and women, platonic as well as sexual).

Meanwhile, I am finding myself "finishing up" at my desk for ten or fifteen mins after lunch has started. Then, I take a while to make my lunch. So that hopefully I only have to face the conversational firing squad for twenty minutes maximum. I try not to, but I feel guilty for being so "antisocial". These are kind, sweet ladies, who just want to get to know me. How can I start to explain the grocery list of reasons why they really DON'T want to know me??

Mental May

From what I can gather, May is going to be a rockin' month for the "mentally interesting". Not only is May "Mental Health Awareness Month", apparently Congress in the USA has also decreed that May be "Borderline Personality Awareness Month". I heard from my friend Jennifer over at BPD in OKC that May 15 has been designated the second Wear Purple for BPD Awareness Day. There's a lot to celebrate!

I am following Jennifer and Wandering Coyote's lead in supporting Chato B. Stewart's Cartoon-a-thon and have donated my $25 in the hope I will be immortalised in a Chato caricature! I think that's just the thing to cheer myself up and to celebrate this great month of Mental May.

Layered, As An Onion

Sometimes it feels like I am shuffling deck chairs on the Titanic (as they say). Or maybe I'm building a particularly precarious matchstick bridge over this raging torrent I call the River Crazy. As I posted yesterday, I constantly question the point of planning, of having ideas and making choices. What if, what if, what if. Nonetheless, I went to an interview yesterday for a job so exqusitively perfect for me it should be framed and hung on the wall in order for it never to tarnish or disappoint. Three days a week - exactly what I think will work best for me financially and logistically. With a not-for-profit organisation, specialising in literacy. Great team of women, laidback office, interesting and varied work. There were 6 of us on the shortlist, and I will find out one way or another by the middle of next week. Don't you just love that expression "one way or another"... such an innocuous way to describe the beginning or the end, the heaven or the hell of things.

Mr Ex took me to the interview, as he is on holidays and a genuinely decent bloke. The office is located a fair way away, but for 3 days a week I can manage the bus trips. Having a lift there and back for the interview was terrific, and we spent a bit of time together afterwards. In a few days it will be one year since I decided I had to put the dying marriage out of its misery, in order to salvage some happiness for Mr Ex (and maybe, myself). I can see he is more himself again, and that rips at me more than anything. I always believed I was a person who added to situations, to people, rather than took away. But although Mr Ex will say I was everything to him, and brought so much to his life, I would be an idiot to not recognise the path I took him on was nothing he would have chosen or imagined for himself. Still, I made the hard choice for both of us when he was too stuck and too afraid to make it, and every piece of serenity he's gained since then reassures me that it was the right thing. For a while, I wondered if he would fight to get me back, or try to convince me we should try again. But a year later, it hurts me to look him full in the face and realise he is scared that I will ask for another chance.

I blamed so many issues for my marriage problems, and told myself I was leaving to pursue a lot of different things for myself. I have achieved none of them, and now I realise that I was telling myself stories of an exciting and passionate life full of truth in order to disguise the facts... I knew a breakdown was coming, and I could not survive it for both of us. I had to know that Mr Ex was relinquished of responsibility this time, so that I could avoid the crippling guilt and the temptation to fake my way out of it. He was, and is, my best friend, even if we were never ideal marriage partners, the friendship is still there. And this year I have been overwhelmingly relieved that his involvement with this breakdown was limited, and that he could get on with his life without the mental wife hiding in the closet.

Being alone is also the only way I will be able to fight my way back from this illness, knowing myself and my behaviour as well as I do. There are so many layers to my Crazy, like an onion I peel back one only to find another and another. There are scary times ahead, as I start to realise some of the truth at the centre of the layers. But this time I can't just put the layers back together hoping no-one will notice the weeping cracks. This is one time when it HAS to be all or nothing.

True Confessions of A Shopaholic

I'm Lil and I'm a shopaholic. Not one of the cute and stylish shopaholics like you see in the movies. It's rare to find me with anything designer, and being a 250 pound-plus woman means that teetering high heel shoes are not something I would ever buy. But nonetheless, one of my main binge impulses is to overspend. I may never have owned a pair of Jimmy Choos but I have in the past owned 7 pairs of Crocs in one season. In every colour and style imaginable. Now, even I know there are very limited occasions when it's appropriate to wear Crocs...

One of the difficulties I've had in getting an official diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder is what I perceive to be the "inanity" of my impulses. Rather than starve or binge/purge, I like to eat. Too much. Too often. With detrimental effect on my health. Rather than sleep with a different man each night, I like to go shopping. Too much, Too often. With detrimental effect on my credit rating. Rather than cut myself, I like to pluck my eyebrows. Too much. Too often. With detrimental effect on my facial expressions LOL. I know intellectually that having the impulse control problem is the illness, not WHAT I do with the impulse. I'm not "less" BPD because I abuse carbs instead of cocaine. It's the fact that I use or abuse anything in an attempt to regulate my emotions or subvert unpleasant feelings.

Sometimes I think my personal choices make it hard to differentiate between "benign" behaviours and "dangerous" behaviours - after all, everybody has to buy things and everybody needs to eat food. But I've always known that what a non-BPD considered shopping or eating did not compare to the sheer volume and velocity of my consumption of both. The food thing is for another day, another post (and probably my other blog). But in the last few days I've found the spending demon to be rearing its ugly head again, and hopefully it will help me to blog it out! Although I've been pretty much housebound, since Wednesday I've managed to spend $200 or thereabouts - Ebay has a LOT to answer for. CDs, DVDs, clothes, shoes, electrical goods, books, books, books...these are my passions and Ebay means I don't even have to shower or dress or leave the house.

My Ebay addiction started in 2003 when I was severely agoraphobic and could barely leave the house. I was out of work for 18 months, supported by Mr Ex, and as a comfort I started obsessively collecting memorabilia from one of my favourite TV shows. These purchases (sometimes $300 a week on crazy things like magazine clippings, yoyos, photos, props from the show) were in addition to my existing credit card and store card debt, and in conjunction with me and Mr Ex having spent $30,000 profit we made selling our house (mostly on an overseas trip). Stupid, reckless decisions - I take the blame entirely as Mr Ex was floundering, dealing with an increasingly mental wife whose only joy was in buying junk and eating (hence the weight gain of 60 pounds during this time).

Eventually I started on Zoloft, had some great counselling and EFT and returned to work. Unfortunately, I worked in Australia's most fabulous department store so the shopping was not curtailed - my next obsession was Barbies (I worked in the toy section), but I also bought a lot of linen, clothing, perfume, jewellery, CDs, and yep books. I spent almost all of what I earned, and as well had spare time to browse other stores in the mall and spent a huge amount of money on junkfood ($30-40 some days). Mr Ex and I had to get a consolidation loan to close out all our store cards and credit cards (I think I maxed out at 6, Mr Ex had a few of his own - and this while we were both barely earning minimum wage). It didn't help, as soon as we had them paid out by the loan we put the limits up again and went on three interstate trips we couldn't afford. You see, it's not just buying things, with me it's general misuse of money. I feel joyous and happy and briefly "okay" when I'm spending money, and holidays are even better because they fill the "obsession" gap as well - planning them becomes my focus and I obsessively research and plan every detail.

Fast forward to now, and my credit rating is so bad I have been knocked back for even the smallest of credit card limits. I can't qualify for a new mobile phone contract unless I switch to prepaid. I have to have one of those VISA Debit cards, which is attached to my savings account - so if there's no money, there's no buying. It's a smart idea, and one that is just what I deserve after the binges I've had, but crikey it's embarrassing. Other people my age have assets (cars, houses, bikes, stereos, tvs), whereas I have a PC that I rent and people's secondhand electronic castoffs. I don't have the excuse of alcohol or drugs having consumed all my money. I don't have kids I'm putting through private school. I don't have ANYTHING to show for all those thousands and thousands of dollars I spent (and some I stole to spend, but that's not for discussion here). The food went to my hips, and then took $18,000 of my superannuation (retirement fund) in weight loss surgery to shed. The books have been read and reread (and sometimes exchanged for others), the TV show memorabilia is hidden in boxes (yes, plural) in my closet so I don't have to face the shame. These days, after binges I re-sell what I can on Ebay. And if I feel I can't distract myself from shopping/spending binges I try and go to thrift stores and dollar stores.

So there you have it. My name is Lil and I just LOVE to shop, in person or online. I love the rush, I crave the feelings of bags heavy in my hands, I love the smell of new stuff. I love the potential that each new "thing" has for developing my latest image or obsession. Combined with a new "hyperattachment"/crush, and the desire to be like them, or have them love me, shopping is the ultimate high. But, like all impulses, the rush is fleeting and afterwards I'm left with the horrible darkness again, except with the added feelings of guilt, fear (of being bankrupt, creditors, etc) and the realisation that I will never wear or use a large percentage of what I've bought. So this is why I know that ordering a few things on Ebay is not just that. I have to be vigilant, and watch out for warning signs - especially when I can recognise my mood is low and my stressors are high. Which is now.

Twitter Me This, Twitter Me That

I have recently become enamoured of www.twitter.com, after reading about Demi Moore thwarting a fan's suicide attempt. Not only have I started following some online and "real time" friends, I've also managed to net-stalk some brave celebs who have Twitter accounts. There are an amazing number, some more interesting and involved than others - Demi and Ashton are two of the more well-known Tweeters, I have also been reading updates from Ellen, Taylor Swift (bless), Mandy Moore, Rainn Wilson, Phil "Amazing Race" Keoghan and Stephen Fry. There's something strange and yet slightly comforting about it...the 140 character updates from people who obviously (like me) really DON'T have anything better to do right now.

If anyone wants to follow me, I guess you can just search BorderlineLil. Rest assured there is nothing thrilling over there that y're missing out on!

Which brings me to something a little more relevant and supportive in a day-to0day sense, especially for those folks just finding their way in the Borderline Personality Disordered world. Through BPD in OKC and her kick-ass blog, I found a new support site - BPD Haven. It's just starting out, ably mentored by Leona (herself a person coping with BPD), and I have been over there and registered. These things need input and activity, so I'd encourage anyone with BPD, or anyone who knows someone with mental health concerns, to check it out. Click on the link above, or type into ye olde browser http://www.bpdhaven.proboards.com

I'm determined to enjoy this last week of freedom before I hit the work trail once more. Spending time on all the boring stuff: "where the dickens did I put my work shoes?", "crikey, do ANY of my pants fit me?", "is it too warm to wear a jacket to work?", "where will I eat lunch?", "will I make friends mommy?"

The Way It Feels For A Girl

In the last month I've dreamt about Lewis four times. I haven't spoken to him in 6 months, it's more than 5 since I last clapped eyes on him. Yet he comes to me at night and reminds me of why he was the one who changed it all, and who changes it still. How is it that someone can make me laugh until I cry in a dream, yet the next morning I can't remember what he said, or how he looked, I just get that overwhelming reminder of how good I felt being with him. I read somewhere that dreams reach forward from the past to make a point about the future or the present. What are you trying to tell me, Lewis...

I have such a long and detailed list of my hyper-attachments, starting at age 9 when I stole perfume and jewellery from my so-called best friend in order to better emulate/become her and have her tricked-up life for myself. Lewis came into my life last year, 12 months ago almost exactly, when I was already feeling uneasy in my shrinking skin. It took a few weeks, which is a long time for me -- often my BPD hyper-attachment crush strikes me one day and is set in stone the next. (The one after Lewis was literally picked from the crowd, with a friend, CS, directing me as to my best bet for my next Flirt Object.) Anyway, Lewis moved desks at work to sit opposite me and the rest is platonic crush history. Hundreds of emails, shared DVDs and CDs, sotto voce confabs, laughing, laughing, laughing and lo and behold, suddenly I'm sleeping alone and not wearing my wedding ring. I in no way blame or credit Lewis for me finishing things with Mr Ex. His smart, sarcastic connection with me just rocked an already sinking ship. Next thing, Titanic city.

In the way of these things, invariably my BPD style of psychotic bonding freaked him out. I moved departments. We drifted apart. I chose my next victim, and therein lies a whole new ball game. Let's just say, I don't dream about HIM. But Lewis...ah, Lewis. He'll always be special. He told me the truth , which is always scary for the deluded among us! My adoption of his culture introduced me to Saxondale and Chewin' The Fat. He handled me, and the strange love/hate roundabout we were on, with sensitivity and aplomb. Mostly. I don't know what the dreams mean, or if they mean anything. I'm fond of telling people who confide their dreams to me that dreams are junk mail from our subconscious...but that's more to make them shut up than because I believe it to be true! I always have a soft spot for previous MFO (Main Flirt Object)s, except for the ones I've attempted to poison or who took out restraining orders - JOKE!

If I had to look back over the last year and pick out fleeting moments of happiness, they would all feature Lewis and my friend Michelle, who for a short while formed a triumvurate of anarchy with us in our staid and oppressive workplace. Maybe that's why he still features in my dreams, because I've always been lucky enough to create a BETTER world in my dream state, rather than deal with nightmares where I'm naked, redneck or being chased by dogs. Trying to recreate recent joy, I guess I naturally turn to Lewis. It used to always be I. Oliver in my dreams, my long-lost soulmate and star-crossed lover, but he is a long and sad story for another day.

By the way, here's a secret for ya. Sometimes, in the dark part of my heart, I wonder if I really want to get well, if it means losing that all-consuming rush of hyper-attachment. I miss it, I crave it more than anything else "forbidden". I struggle with it every day. I dread going back to work if only because it throws up that possibility. Here, safe at home, there's no-one to hurt me. But there's no-one to adore, either. A dilemma, no?

Visual Cues

I'm considering doing one of these graphs each week and displaying it like a flashcard for Dr A, so he can better "assess" me. It's colourful. It occupied some of my day. I am trying hard to focus on the tiny, but brightly visible, sliver of hope still present at the top.

I keep thinking longingly of the activating qualities of fluoxetine. My memories of taking it (2000) are clouded by the intense migraine headaches I had at the time, which may or may not have been a side effect. I imagine myself lucid, energetic and focused...less "rejection-sensitive" (Peter Kramer, Listening to Prozac). My shrink was torn between prescribing an activitating SSRI or a sedating one (namely citalopram aka Celexa, Cipramil). He asked me to make the decision...ie: "would you rather turn positive behaviours ON, or turn negative behavious OFF?" How the %^$#$%^ would I know? I used to think the "right" medication (or the "right" relationship, job, pair of shoes) would do BOTH. Would make me turn away from cake and towards the gym. Would make me see beauty in the mirror instead of horror. Now... I seriously doubt the capabilities of medication. Been there, done that.

• Fluoxetine - failure.
• Sertraline - failure (admittedly after working for a couple of years)
• Mirtazapine - failure.
• Diazepam - failure.
• Venlafaxine - GROTESQUE failure.

Of course, these days I have a more accurate diagnosis and with that, the realisation that medication doesn't really help Borderline Personality Disorder the way it can help other mental illness. Basically, the way to work through BPD is therapy, continuing the CBT and DBT I have started. Dr A seems to think that the therapy might be "easier" with the help of fluoxetine, make the darkness lighter and the energy levels a bit higher.

I know I keep flogging this dead horse. It's what consumes me, when I'm not trying to decide what kind of cheese to eat lol. I'm fairly sure that once I get my disability/heathcare card (with it's associated discount on medications) I'll shuffle off to the pharmacy and fill the script. If only to deflect the questioning of the persistent Dr A. And I will take the tiny pill (or half), and try not to choke on the weight of my sliver of hope.

I Was A Nightmare, You Were A Saint

I don't make a habit of reviewing films. For great discussions of Rachel Getting Married you should visit Wandering Coyote's blog, Bon Dobbs (isn't that a cool name??) or Mystery Man On Film. These guys do a better job of describing the film than I could. I only reference the film here in relation to me and my experience of it! What's new haha? I saw the film today, and loved it... related to it, admired it, hated it because of the reflected pain from my own life/family history. During the film I kept remembering Marsha Linehan's description of BPD as having third degree burns on the emotional skin, so that every tiny experience of pain is amplified to agonising. Personally, I most often say that it's like every bone in my body is broken, as the pain from a burn is more "searing" or sharp, and my emotional pain is not usually so acute. More dull, throbbing, aching, permanently "there" on the periphery of my awareness.

Anyway, I am a huge fan of Anne Hathaway, being a dedicated Princess Diaries fan. I thought she did a remarkable job playing the character Kym, who may or may not be Bipolar or Borderline but has certainly struggled with an addiction to narcotics and an eating disorder. Kym demonstrates a plethora of character traits and behaviours a lot of us can relate to- rapid mood cycling, impulsivity, confusion of self, paranoia, and Anne Hathaway is interesting and convincing in the role. I would like to say the movie or her performance made me cry, but in fact I was just crying as accompaniment, really didn't notice a stopping or starting of the tears, they were just part of the whole experience. I really couldn't NOT cry... I was sorrowful... I was struck all over again by how damnably hard it can be to form relationships with ANYONE, let alone people we are thrown together with by accident of genetics/birth. At one stage, there was a parade of seemingly healthy, outgoing, sociable and articulate people wishing the bride and groom well -- an inexplicably mulitnational, musically gifted group of friends and family. People quoted, emoted, sang, played saxaphone. And you just know there's going to be Kym's turn coming around, and she will be the odd one out. I don't know if I believe in the well-rounded and blessed first group, they just don't ring true for me. Emotional truth and raw, bleak honesty, however, seem to be what fits. The title of this post is one of Kym's great one-liners. Without spoiling the plot for anyone who wants to see Rachel Getting Married, I completely dissolved into sympatico giggles when Kym starts to say "That's not fair!" People in the audience behind me were tsk tsking at the character, criticising her I suppose for her self-centredness. But Kym, honey, I hear ya. Sometimes, it ain't fair.

On a musical note -- yay that the little-known UK balladeer Robyn Hitchcock gets to play himself and sing a couple of tunes during the wedding reception. He reminds me of the folk greats...Dylan...Neil Young (wonder what Mr Young thought of Unknown Legend being acapella-ed during the Rachel Getting Married wedding ceremony??)

Betty Blue

Not a stellar day, but not among the worst. Blah. Dr A set me the task this week of going to the gym every day, and the last 3 days I've managed it (and enjoyed it). Today, I couldn't do it... could barely get out of bed, felt generally unwell and not depressed or anxious, mainly tired I think. Maybe the last three days' workouts have taken their toll!! Prior to this week, I hadn't been to the gym for a couple of weeks due to the hideous side effects of the medication withdrawal. So maybe the aches and pains are genuine muscle pain LOL. Anyway!

I just took the day "off" from my daily plan of getting up, showering and taking my supplements before 10am, going to the gym, cooking dinner, and journalling/homework. It sounds like so little, but I know y'all can relate to the fact that sometimes even that "little" is too much to handle.

I stayed in bed and continued my cultural trip through madness and addiction. I am re-reading The Bell Jar as well as a couple of other books, and also rewatching my collection of DVDs and videos that deal in some way with the issues I'm faced with. Postcards From The Edge, When A Man Loves A Woman, Tom & Viv, 28 Days, Bennie & Joon, Mad Love -- I obviously like great hair on my crazy movie ladies. I often say to my friends that my life as a Borderline is exactly like Winona Ryder in Girl, Interrupted except my hair has never been that cute. I'm being glib. But one thing is true, I would rather watch a movie about addiction, alcoholism, mental illness, rehab, suicide than about anything else. I suppose lots of people are like that, preferring something they can "relate" to. While I was thinking about all this tonight, I found a list on the internet of "Movies and Mental Illness" . It lists every kind of disorder and phobia and then lists all the movies which portray these illnesses/experiences. I was gob-smacked at the long list of Borderline Personality Disorder movies. Then I was horrified to see the following nutso female caricatures in the list (none of whom I had previously considered to have BPD):

• Single White Female (homicidal woman obsessed with flatmate)
• Basic Instinct (homicidial woman with a variety of issues lol)
• Fatal Attraction (homicidal woman obsessed with someone else's husband)
• The Hand That Rocks The Cradle (homicidal nanny obsessed with child's father)
• Play Misty For Me (homicidal fan obsessed with radio dj)
• Misery (homicidal fan obsessed with novelist)

These are six of the classic crazy women of film, the characters that are continually referenced in popular culture! And they all end up killed, I think?! I don't know what, if any, actual diagnostic proof the list author has for putting these films in the BPD category. It gave me a chuckle, in a dark and twisted way. A few of the movies in that category are films I've loved and related to over the years - Betty Blue (again with the great haircut), Breathless, Something Wild, Looking For Mr Goodbar. The list author also adds a couple of classics to the mix - Wuthering Heights and A Streetcar Named Desire, amazing and troubled characters for sure but again, BPD? When Gone With The Wind is classified under Narcissistic PD? Made me think anyway...

Oh, and just when I had spent hours analysing this filmography, I found Look Who's Talking on there. Yep, the 1989 comedy starring Bruce Willis as the voice of a talking baby. Ohhhhhhkaaaaaay.........

Audrey, Abby and Alice

Day Nine on zero medication -- it's like someone took industrial strength cleaning solution to the windows and everything is FINALLY clear and bright and just *slightly* overpowering if I look at it straight on! Am focusing on one day at a time, knowing that my moods can swing in moments - but today and yesterday have been really great days. The physical side effects of Effexor withdrawal are gone, and my psych said to me this morning that due to the smallish dose I was taking, and the limited time I was one it, that I am officially "all clear" of Effexor. Yippee!! Over the next couple of months, depending on how I respond to the CBT, he'll see whether I need an SSRI, I am hoping that I can cope without it (I know, I know, but I can hope lol!) or that if I need one I can take a low dose. I never want to go back to the days of Zoloft MegaDose (would you like a side dish of night terrors with that??).

I try not to focus on my mood ALL day, trying to sense a rapid cycle or a switch. I'm wondering if I will ever get to the point of not being hyperaware of my mood swings, outbursts and such. I can read it in my mom's face ("oh, here comes one of her manic phases") and it drives me beserk...truly...like, can I not just be lucid and coping well for ONCE???

The title of my post refers to an artwork I'm starting, in an effort to rebuild/restore my self and sense of identity. I did a timeline, showing all the influences I have had during my "As If" phases (where I latched onto a new friend, lover, workplace, interest, etc and made their characteristics my own) and am using it to try and separate the "true" interests and image of Lil from the "false" interests and physical/cultural ideals of my Obsessions. I know this will sound nuts, but I ended up with elements of three TV/cinema characters that I have always loved, and often tried to emulate -- namely Abby Scuito (NCIS), Alice Sullivan (from a dodgy 80's Australian TV show E-Street. As a sidenote, The Mentallist and The Guardian's Simon Baker starred in this show, it had kind of a cult following due to its serial killer and werewolf type storylines haha) and Audrey Hepburn (most loved by me in Breakfast At Tiffany's). They are all fantastic women, quirky and individualistic, and I'm looking forward to seeing how the piece turns out.

The Drama Club

Dr A used a throw-away line on me on Monday, saying something about "Cluster B types" - naturally I have been obsessing and Googling about this Cluster B stuff, and found out that it's a category of Personality Disorder. Cluster B, the Erratic/Emotional/Dramatic PDs, includes Antisocial, Borderline, Histrionic, and Narcissistic. Suite 101.com (which as far as I can tell uses "laypeople" to write non-fiction articles, I guess kind of like Wikipedia? But it seems to pass itself off as more "scientific"...PLEASE jump in and correct me if I am wrong!!) seemed to be going for the chuckle element as it subcategorises Cluster B as THE DRAMA CLUB.

Am I the only one pissed at that?? I know, I know, I'm a hypocrite after going on yesterday about BPDs being erroneously categorised as humorless HA! But it seemed like a stupid description for two reasons:

1. "Drama" being used these days to go with Queen, seems to intimate a choice of overacting or acting out...rather than having a genuine inability to regulate emotions.
2. And "Club"...don't get me started...oh, okay then, start already HA! I seem to remember having to APPLY to join the Drama Club at school, as well as any other damn Club I wanted to be a member of. While I am proud to be part of Cluster B (or whatever) and I am determined to make the best of everything life throws at me, I don't remember filling out the application form for Borderline Personality Disorder. How anyone would call it a CLUB is beyond me.

The irony is not lost on me people, fear not. I'm coming across as humourless - and I'm not! If it was me, or another "sufferer" of BPD (and man I hate calling it "suffering"), saying "hey, come join my drama club", I would be laughing louder than anyone. But Suite101.com seemed to be adding itself to the long list of purveyors of "stuff-n-nonsense" about Personality Disorders.

In Effexor Withdrawal News, the electro-pulse disco is still raging in my head. It's the hardest sound effect to describe. The thing it reminds me of the most is the noise the Bionic Woman made when she jumped extra-high... I found a .wav file here http://members.tripod.com/tiny_dancer/70bionic.wav for anyone who is curious! The noise comes and goes in my head, and it physically feels like my ears are trying to "clap" together. I swear it's true lol. I can also only stand upright for half an hour at a time, and sleep for most of the day. But the side effects of the withdrawal have been almost all physical. I am keeping a close eye on my moods and emotions, but so far so good. I think the fact that I was on a fairly low dose, for a short time only, has meant that my come down has been fairly mild. I have ramped up my Calcium, Magnesium, Fish Oils and Vit E and have been slugging down water. Dr A suggested 3 litres minimum per day.

Darth Vader, Chloe from 24 and Tony Soprano

Apart from being moody and melancholy, the three fictional characters in the title of this post have all come under suspicion as having Borderline Personality Disorder. I know there are more, a lot more, but those three came up in a Google Images search I did for BPD. I wanted to change my Facebook profile picture to something suitably dark and depressive. I ended up with a picture of Lucy from Peanuts in her 5c Psychiatry booth (see above).

I'm finding it hard to posit myself in the BPD spectrum. If you think about the 3 characters listed above, it's hard to remember them smiling, laughing, or experiencing genuine mirth that wasn't at the expense (often physical painful lol) of others. I consider myself to be pretty damn hilarious and light of spirit...sometimes...and most of the things I've read and seen about BPD seem to focus on the dark side. Old Darth should be the poster child... Maybe that's going to be where I find my niche in all this psychiatric BS, to be the Borderline Personality Comedienne. There were a couple of cartoons I liked in the BPD Google Image library, which I will probably post on here sometime. One was a guy buying a t-shirt that said "Ask Me About My Borderline Personality Disorder" and his friend asks "What's on the back?" and the guy shows him that it reads "Or I swear to God I'll kill myself". Fark I thought that was hilarious. Does that mean I DON'T have BPD???? Luckily I've still got my sense of humour and my self-relflexivity...I think those are more successful weapons against mental illness than these darn drugs.

Speaking of which...

Dr A saw me last week and I was super agitated and cranky. He recommended I go in for an inpatient stay in the PC (Clinic) to get me off the Effexor (aka "SideEffexor"). Two weeks. Uninsured, costs about $2500 a week. As much as I would love to leave the comfort of my kingsize bed, my stocked fridge, my computer and my 2 cats (yeah right), I thought there had to be a better way. Cut a long story short, I am in Day 2 of Zero Medication. I know, it's crazy to just stop. To be honest, I took 150mg, then 75mg for a few days, and now am on nothing. No Valium, no mirtazapine, no EffexorXR. The withdrawal is nowhere near as bad as the freakin drug, which was amplifying everything and making me nauseous and headachy. But it's there... some of the electro-impulses I've read about, and the sluggishness. I saw Dr A today and he had a minor hissyfit about me going pretty much cold turkey off the meds, but had to agree that I am "noticeably" less agitated and clearer. We are keeping our fingers crossed that the withdrawal stays at this manageable level... I hated the Effexor SO MUCH. Zoloft was nowhere near as weird for me, it blunted me but no excess anger or mania or mood swings. Dr A asked to see my mom today in the session, to help her spot any "withdrawal" psychosis, etc - as I live with my parents currently I guess he thought she was the person who'd have to ring the psych unit if I flipped my lid haha. Anyway, having her in the session INFURIATED me (so much for the anger being subdued haha). I hate sharing lol!! I didn't want to emote or be honest with Dr A with her there, and I know that I could easily get fixated on the paranoid delusion that they are both against me. Intellectually, I know that's total BS. But the feeling was still there...

Guilt

Sometimes I wish I was a psychopath. Or is it a sociopath? The type of person who suffers no guilt or remorse and pretty much goes around doing whatever the hell they like. I am consumed with guilt this week...I should have returned to work on Monday or Tuesday, and here it is Wednesday and I am still in my pyjamas at noon, still obsessively researching, reading and blogging about my issues lol. If only self-obsession was a vaild career choice. I think that technically "sociopath" is the same as psychopath...let me check wiki...well, the wiki gods say that sociopathy describes psychopath AND personality disorder - but not MY personality disorder, naturally.

Damn it, why couldn't I have been an antisocial personality rather than a freakin borderline. All these definitions and descriptions help me not a jot. I have an appointment with Dr A this afternoon, and it's going to be a bit of a strain. He insisted I go back to work this week, as a form of "distress tolerance" (apparently a part of Cognitive Behaviour Therapy). I cannot believe that I need to be distressed in order to learn to tolerate it...can't I just remember all the past moments of distress and work on those?? Why do I need to create NEW distress??

I am sure I'm not alone in this, but I really have to fight wanting to show up to my appointment fully made up, articulate, fashionably dressed, and remarkably "high functioning" as always. WHY do I need to impress everyone all the time... it's clearly screwy... Dr A will hopefully see through my incessant need to be perfect and realise I am one episode away from permanent incarceration in the loony bin.

And They Say Information Is Power...

All I've done since my visit with Doc A last week is read about SSRI medications, anti-psychotic medications, Cognitive-Behaviour Therapy and Borderline Personality Disorder. It's made my head spin. Okay, so the head was already spinning due to the depression, anxiety, impulsivity and emotional irregulation haha. But now it's even worse! The first doctor to suggest to me that I had Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) was during high school, and it's been mentioned in an offhand way since then, but never with any serious attempt to diagnose or cure. Doc A seems pretty certain, and all my reading has confirmed that I have all the recognisable symptoms.

• Turbulent and idealised relationships
• Impulsivity in self-damaging ways (binge eating *who me???*, shopping, stealing)
• Difficulty compromising or viewing "grey areas"
• Intense outbursts, often short-lived, of anger, depression, anxiety

One of the downsides of this diagnosis (and there are many, let me tell ya), is that traditional methods of treatment for depression often don't work, which could explain why I've had no relief from my SSRI (Zoloft) recently, and the new one Efexor is not much better. I'm so wary of SSRI medications now, having just finished the book Dying For A Cure - a biography by an Australian woman who was diagnosed with a range of mental illnesses, and prescribed a number of harmful medications, after presenting with mild postnatal depression. Basically, the meds made her very sick, and encouraged her to self-harm... thankfully she is now off medication and entirely well.

I don't think I was prescribed SSRI antidepressants for nothing. I have a large number of stories from the age of about 5 - 25, depicting varying instances of self-harm, depression, anxiety and hypomania. The medication didn't really change those thoughts or feelings, but seemed to "numb" me toward them. BPD has one major "cure" or treatment available in Perth, which is a 2 week Cognitive Behaviour Therapy course. By all accounts it's hard work, and intense, and involves yucky touchy-feely type "group work" hahahaha. Sharing and bonding and all that hippy junk!! But it will be worth it if I can learn how to regulate my emotions and moods and maybe start to live life on an even keel.

I'm shallow enough to worry about the effect of medications on my weight loss. Efexor is not known to be majorly fabulous at combating depression, BUT it supresses the appetite. One of my other on/off meds is Mirtazepine, an old-fashioned trycylic antidepressant, which can cause weight gain. I know, I know, I know...I shouldn't even care about that side effect. But damn it, I do. I've worked hard and paid well for this weight loss surgery, and I want it to continue working for me. Call me shallow...Call me Ishamel...Don't call me the white whale LOL!!!