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.

dressed like a punk you were too young to remember

Had a great session with Doc A on Thursday, where I rambled about my babyish fears and feelings of separation anxiety from my family, and he made the predictable, yet accurate, statements about the challenges of individuation and such. I sometimes think that my main gain from therapy is the validation, which seems so irritating because it's a basic service I shouldn't need to pay $250 an hour for, and for which Doc A needn't have studied for ten years! I could have just recorded my own voice on a tape recorder saying "you are fine, you are okay, yes you have reasons to be angry, yes it's okay to feel sad". Aaargh. I'm kidding, really, I know there's more to it and that the work I'm doing with Doc A has helped my Ego gain control over the rampaging Id and all that Jungian palaver. In the end, I can say 100% that therapy is worth the effort and the financial outlay - I'm "better" with it than without it I guess. That's what it comes down to with medication, too. If I function more effectively, and feel happier and more peaceful on fluoxetine and amisulpride, then I'll keep taking it.

In other news, I had a brief reawakening of my mojo a couple of weeks ago, brought about by a flirtatious afternoon with my 18-year-old coworker Logan. Innappropriate, who me?? It's interesting to me that I could actually FEEL myself becoming BPD-ish, and more importantly could head my obsessive fantasies off at the pass, as if they were runaway brumbies lol. He's a lovely lad, and if I was twenty (or even ten haha!) years younger I'd give it a red hot go, but really - even I know where to draw the line. Logan is the only man who works for the Foundation, and Michelle said to me maybe I'd fixated on him because I missed male company and Logan was the only male in my environment... Probably true! I'm not exactly falling over blokes in my current life. Most of the time I don't want one (a bloke that is), but sometimes it's nice to imagine. I'm relieved that my fancying Logan was a short and sweet moment in time, rather than a long drawn-out obsessive crush like that last two workmates I flirted with. Maybe I really AM becoming well??

(Belle & Sebastian provide today's song lyric - "I'm a Cuckoo")

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.

Something Old, Something New

I was unemployed, briefly. Emailed my former employer on the weekend to tell them that I wouldn't be coming back, which was probably neither a surprise nor a disappointment to them. It was hard to do, if only because it signalled that no matter where I end up from here, it won't be the place I was before the latest breakdown. I'm sad, but wouldn't choose to go back there, emotionally or mentally, even if it seemed at the time that things were going swimmingly. They clearly weren't. I received extremely nice and supportive emails back, wishing me all the best, and then three hours later was asked to start a new job, with a new company, on April 14th. My disability allowance (which FINALLY came in last week) finishes on April 13th, so it's perfect timing.

The new position is quite different for me - sales administration, which I think will require me to use every tiny maths skill I have. Hopefully, I won't get bored and get into emotional and social mischief...

I had my psych appointment with Dr A this morning, and apart from the new job it was all about I. Oliver. I'm not sure how or why he came into the conversation... I think narratively I must have been revisiting 1992, which is where it all started. It always astonishes me how much I cry telling the story, or stories, even twelve years after the end of things. I guess that investing yourself as passionately in someone, as I did with I.Oliver for 5 years, and then being left with nothing to show for it, is enough to make me cry. Even though I think he made the right decision, chose the right life for himself, the right woman, part of me (a crazy, adolescent deluded part) will always believe he and I will end up together in the end. I suppose I will continue that stupid fantasy until my last breath, but at least these days I don't waste time or energy on pursuing the fantasy.

I know it's sick and twisted but I love the fact that the I.Oliver finale causes people (even my hardened and impartial shrink) to gasp and groan. Even though I can't do it without crying, I kind of enjoy describing my arrival in South Carolina, the long imagined romantic reunion, the voice of the other woman on the answering machine, running away to a edge-of-town motel, stuck in this backward town because of the Independence Day holiday, him saying "but I love you", "I knew if I told you about her you wouldn't come and I wanted to see you..." blah blah blah. Most of what I remember of those 5 days in 1997 is bad movies on HBO, surviving on food from the motel vending machines and mostly just cycling between numb and hysterical. I sat in the parking lot of the motel watching the July 4th fireworks, next to a pickup truck full of Georgians who came daily across the border (apparently) to swim in the motel pool. The reality was the polar opposite from how I'd imagined this Independence Day, during the 60 hours a week I'd been working for the previous year, during the last semester of University when I broke my back to graduate top of my class to impress the great I. Oliver (future Doctor don'tcha know). The previous two years had been all about getting back to the States, getting back to him and living this so-called perfect life. Once that was gone, and gone so immediately and permanently, I had nothing left. And nothing to look forward to except a breakdown, massive weight gain and finally returning to Australia to try and rebuild my life.

Sometimes I think that's a work still in progress. Mr Ex came along 18 months later, and provided such a different picture to the one I'd painted with I.Oliver. On the rebound, on the defensive, how could I NOT marry him. If I'd searched the world I could not have found someone more different. Of course, running away and hiding my head in the sand could only work for so long, and now here I am in the same place, twelve years later. To borrow a phrase from my best friend S, I think I'm relationship-challenged. Dr A has given me as homework this week the task of writing a list of things I want from a potential partner. I quipped "to be non-existant", which was deemed by Dr A as "avoidant". Tee hee. I really don't see myself with someone, not now, not ever. Any desire I had for partnership has been swallowed by libido-killing medication, mind-fucking crushes and general malaise. I don't think Dr A believes me. I wonder if he'd be mad if I wrote "richer than god", "mute" and "impotent"...

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.