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.
Showing posts with label hyperattachment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hyperattachment. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
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??
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??
Saturday, April 11, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
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?
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?
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Is It Wicked Not To Care
Lyrics
Is it wicked not to care when they say that you’re mistaken
Thinking hopes and lots of dreams that arent there?
Is it wicked not to care when you’ve wasted many hours
Talking endlessly to anyone that’s there?
I know the truth awaits me
But still I hesitate because of fear
Skipping tickets making rhymes
Is that all that you believe in?
Wearing rags to make you pretty by design
Rusting armour for effect
It’s not fun to watch the rust grow
For it will all be over when youre dead
Counting acts and clutching thoughts
By the river where the moss grows
Over rocks the water running all the time
Is it wicked when you smile even though you feel like crying
Even though you could be sick at any time?
But if there was a sequel
Would you love me as an equal?
Would you love me till I’m dead
Instrumental
If there was a sequel would you love me like an equal?
Would you love me till I’m dead
And if there was a sequel
Would you love me as an equal?
Would you love me till I’m dead
Or is there someone else instead?
I've had a day of strangeness, good and bad. I have been trying to listen to some peppy music, which I do have on my ipod contrary to popular belief! But I keep coming back to Belle & Sebastian, who seem to capture the essence of me and my nutso life. I couldn't decide whether to put Wicked Not To Care on today's post or I'm A Cuckoo (one of my other favourites). The film clip for Wicked Not To Care is so beautiful, reminds me of the film Breathless which I relate to in all my usual high-strung ways haha!
I went for a job this morning...even though I have been ordered on to disability for at least 4-6 weeks on the proviso that I would be returning to my previous job in admin/telecommunications. I clearly have no idea what I am doing!! I applied for it in the middle of the night over the weekend (damn internet job sites), having realised fully, for the first time, that I really really really really really don't think I can go back to my old workplace. Well, I know I physically COULD. But I don't WANT to, and I think recovery and learning CBT/DBT and future therapy will all be easier with a "blank canvas". My breakdown during Dec and Jan was pretty ugly. Made me some damn fine enemies...even though I know people will have new crap to gossip about now, and that true friends will have forgiven and been understanding, in the end I don't know or trust anyone there. For the entire year I've worked there I've been over-medicated and therefore blunted beyond belief, or (latterly) unmedicated and hypomanic. I don't know who I am. Or where I'm going. Kind of the Borderline Personality Disorder meme HAHA. But I know that the journey to self seems waaaay more appealing without the knowing looks, the avoidance and the jokes about crying in the bathroom. Two people I "hyper-attached" to (my way of describing the BPD "As If" bonding) are now not speaking to me, and are very attached to each other actually. Which caused me a ***major*** freakout. I would gladly pay money to not have to see those two again. Even weighing up the nice attitude my bosses have had about my breakdown, and the fact that I know my job and like it, and I'm good at it, I truly think I might need to find a different job.
The job I went for today is part-time, and located in a nice area of town (unlike my current job which shares its block with two brothels, a pub and a drug addiction centre). I would have enough money to live on, but enough time off to go to the shrink, the gym and do my homework. The horrifying thought occured to me today, though, after I had been all "high-functioning" and wowed them in the interview, that they may ring my current boss for a reference. WTF will she say?? I have been on the verge of vomiting all afternoon just IMAGINING that conversation. I would dearly love to be upfront and disclosing about my illness, but let's face it, we all know it can be hard enough out there in the job market without adding all my non-academic acronyms. BA = OK. BPD = Not So Much.
I couldn't fight my impulses once I got my freak on, went shopping with my mom's atm card (what am I, 12?????) and bought underwear, hair colour, books, magazines, a dress and two pairs of pants. I only had the keycard for my stupid glasses, which I didn't even get to be tested for on account of being mental and going on a job interview... My mom will be understanding and pitying of my shopaholic binge. Why does that just make it WORSE??
A difficult day. Why is it so damn HOT? It's supposed to be Autumn.
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