BPD and Confusing Contradictions

Sometimes I wish there were not so many contradictions. Can two opposite things be true at the same time? Can I feel something and not feel it at the same time?

For example I was doing some serious thinking about why I get so aggressive with mom sometimes and try to lure her into a nasty fight. I do it because I feel like I need to force her to admit to the fact that if she’s honest, she’s hating me, I realized. But just the same I do it because I feel like she truly loves me and shouldn’t be loving me, so I show her how nasty I am.

Hello lunacy or what? Do I feel like she really hates me or do I feel like she doesn’t hate me at all, but really loves me now? Wouldn’t one exclude the other?

Truth is, both feel equally true at the same time, and I am left feeling like a fraud or a liar, because how COULD both be true? How could I genuinely feel like deep down my mom really hates me, when I’m also convinced that she must truly love me? It doesn’t add up. One statement must false.

So what happens? Splitting happens and I switch back and forth between the opposites. But splitting is unhealthy and surely can’t be the solution. Which leaves the problem of what else to do with the confusion and the contradictions.

My mom often says “people are complex and big systems. There is room for several things at once in them”. So I try to think that maybe I’m really not so much just this one coherent person inside, but that I consist of many different sub-selves who kind of go through a casting of votes before I react to something, and sometimes they are 50/50 about how I feel or what I should do. Not in the DID sense, where the sub-selves are properly developed people who have split off, but just in the sense that maybe what I think of as “me” is really not so much just one entity, but rather the sum of many aspects of me, who can all have different or opposing opinions about stuff.

Kind of like this, maybe?


Maybe I need to figure out which part says what and why in order to avoid feeling like a walking contradiction, rather than thinking of myself as a fraud for feeling and behaving like one thing, while the opposite is just as true.

Hmmm. Food for thought.

The Day Christmas Turned GOOD!

I don’t have words to convey just HOW excited I am!! Seriously, I don’t! No fucking way in hell could any word be awesome enough, I’m so happy!!

So what happened?! First of all, we waved the family goodbye! They are good people and I love them. Really, I do. But loving all of them at once is a bit much. I’m better at loving them from a distance or one at a time, so I’m really, really, really relieved that they finally all hopped back into the cars they came in, and quite early in the day, too.

That made for a great start into the day! Seriously, once everyone was gone, I just sat down and listened to the silence and the familiar sound of mom doing the dishes everyone left her with after breakfast and it felt like finally, FINALLY after way too many days that stretched out like a mini eternity things are back the way they are supposed to be. So that alone was a top-notch start into the day.

It also meant Christmas was technically over. Good riddance and all that.

But THEN the mailwoman came. See, I’m curious and even when I never really get any mail, I always want to know what mail we do get. But instead of letting me take the mail with her, mom sent me away. She turned all “no, you stay in the living room today” and when I took offense and demanded she stopped this injustice, she just said “because I say so” with her ‘don’t you dare talk back now’ voice. Which almost ruined this perfect morning, because I got quite pissed at her over it.

So when she and dad came into the living room after the mailwoman was gone, I was sulking by myself in the armchair. I did my best to markedly ignore them, with mom having been so mean. But they came over and wished me a merry Christmas all over again. That was so weird and out of place that I forgot to keep sulking, because checking whether they had gone nuts took priority. Crazy family or what?!

Yet they were smiling and looked like they were serious, and produced from behind their backs a fairly big package. Not wrapped or anything, just a cardboard box.

Remember how I was disappointed because I was not getting the one thing I had ended up hoping to get for Christmas? How I had stupidly not even told mom (or anyone else, for that matter) that I was hoping to get that? The stupid disappointment that had sort of ruined Christmas before it even began, because nobody had known I was hoping to get that thing, and therefore ended up not getting it?

The thing was a doll that might have ended up at our house because a lady from the neighborhood had asked mom whether she had any use for it. I had caught a glimpse of the picture of the doll the lady had shown mom, more out of curiosity than because I care for dolls. But when I had seen the doll I had been caught by surprise, because hands down, the doll looks like little a plastic version of me. I kid you not. So when mom had told the neighbor lady she’d consider whether she wanted the doll, I had kind of started hoping that she’d say yes. And then I had started to really, dearly hope she’d say yes, because in my mind I had started picturing how cool it would be to make the doll, like, mini-clothes that are just the same as I would wear, and maybe put a pink strand in her hair like I have . . .

But of course I never told mom about any of it. That’s BPD for you. Surely everyone should be able to read my mind, right?! So when I had casually asked mom before Christmas whether she had decided what to do about the doll yet, and she said she had told the neighbor lady to rather make some child somewhere happy than have the doll gather dust with us, I was gravely, utterly, terribly disappointed. Devastated, really, because my little dear fantasy about turning the doll into a tiny version of myself just vanished into nothingness and I hated mom for not having thought of me.

Yeah. So guess what was in the box mom and dad produced from behind their backs.


Have I mentioned that I really, really love them? And not because they ended up spending all that money on the doll for me. That’s the part that makes me feel guilty, because I think for having been so stupid not to even tell mom, I shouldn’t be getting anything at all now. No, why I love them is that they noticed how disappointed I was and took it seriously. Instead of teaching me a lesson by saying “see, that’s what comes from not sharing your thoughts” they got me the doll and said “see, that’s what comes from sharing your thoughts”. I love them.

And I love the doll. Yes, that probably makes me a big kid, but I still love the doll. She looks like a mini-Lola. Her hair is the same color and length as mine, it slides over her eyes just like mine does and she has blue eyes, just like I do. Even the shape of her face looks similar to mine.


I adore her shoes and pair of jeans. The rest of her outfit I probably wouldn’t wear, but hey, I’m gonna change that! I’m gonna give her a pink strand of hair like I have and I’m gonna get her clothes I would wear. And then, I don’t know.

I’m so happy. Christmas turned GOOD. And I have awesome parents. I love, love, love, love, love them! Bring on the rest of the year and the start of the new one! 🙂

Journey to Myself

Journey to Myself

Journey to Myself
by Lola (2012)

stagger on into the velvet darkness of the night
stagger on ‘till so-called civilization’s out of sight
creep through the undergrowth where beast roams free
where wild and danger every fate foresee.

sleep on dusty ground as hard as sturdy steel
that’s dry and bursts from drought it can not feel
for safety take that withered trunk of old
forgotten in this desert’s gruesome cold.

then try to cross a murky, muddy bog
across unsteady waters and the densest fog
for help you need to trust a boat that’s leaking
but still you must go on, if you’re still seeking.

you’re welcomed by the raging flames of fire
that try to turn away whatever sick desire
has made you withstand beast and cold and danger
within this land, to which you are a stranger.

to try you further, you will find demonic traps
‘tween tiny patches of solid ground to place your steps
watch out for ancient daggers, pits and spears
avoid the sirens’ gentle tempting song of tears.

if you have lasted, enter now a maze
that turns your senses upside down in daze
that tries to lure you down each deadly end
where naked branches o’er your cold bed bend

and if you happen yet to want still more
the maze will lead you to a stony shore
where you will have to swim across an ocean
that notices your each and every motion.

for if you want to find that tiny isle
you have to swim abandoned, mile for mile
stripped of your every nice possession
that drags you down to horrid beasts’ aggression.

And if, at last, all wet and tired you arrive
be greeted by a sharp and thirsty knife
then try to dodge its fierce and deadly blow
until your skill and sturdiness do grow.

if you survived, if you still got your wit
then for the last and hardest quest you’re fit
you’ve got to find my castle on this empty island
obeying to my rules, ‘cause this is my land.

but if my door will open up to you
all stripped to skin, no shirt, no shoe
you need to be afraid no more
‘cause safety’s starting right behind my door.

No right to feel bad

I’m feeling increasingly crap these days. I’m having a much harder time eating. I don’t sleep through the nights anymore. I’m even more touchy than I usually am. I spend a large part of the day crying. Small things set me off. A constant feeling of trepidation closes in on me. It’s really unpleasant. It exhausts me. I feel bad.

And at the same time I am terribly reluctant to post about it, because I feel like I have no right to complain or even feel a little bit bad at all. I’ve been reading blogs of people who really struggle. So much they don’t want to live anymore. That’s serious. And while I have had flirts with the feeling, I’ve never been that bad. Depression isn’t so big a part of my lucky bag of mental health conditions.

I also have a mom who’s not working, but is only doing the household and helping me get better, a dad who earns enough that the family is nowhere near financial want and siblings who are quite understanding and don’t look at me funny (most of the time) when I am being difficult. I really lucked out with the life I have now. I feel awfully guilty for struggling. Guilty for not being better. Angry at myself for wanting to write that I’m not feeling good, because it’s illegitimate. Because it only shows how ungrateful I am. That I don’t deserve any of the good I have. I feel like a sham for saying I’m struggling, even when it’s true, because I’m just too thin-skinned and have no right to feel sorry for myself.

That’s how it feels. Like I ought to be ashamed of myself for even writing this post. Like I should give my life and the good things I have to someone who would use them. Not whine, or struggle or feel bad despite everything. It makes me want to hurt myself and punish myself by NOT doing it at the same time. Because not doing it is more torturous. Which I deserve.

Feeling awful and guilty about not feeling bad enough, yet considering it bad already. I kind of notice it’s a sick and twisted thought, but I can’t get rid of it.

I can’t think

Just what the title says, really. I can’t think. Since days I feel like my ability to think is getting slowly snowed in. Just now my mom asked me how I would feel about going to the mall later today. And what does my mind do? It goes “mall . . . mall . . . mall . . . shopping . . . mall . . . do I want that . . . mall . . . “ and that’s it. Insert me pulling the thought back up from a black, sticky bog every time you see the tree dots.

I want to pull my thoughts together so bad, but it’s so hard. Has gotten increasingly harder for some days now, actually. Same with writing for my blog. It takes me so long to write a post, it’s ridiculous. Whenever I think I have found a good thought, it slips away again, back down into muddy, murky waters and I have to stick my arm back in and grope around in the dirt until I get a hold of it again and can pull it up for another brief moment to look at it.

I guess it’s some kind of dissociation going on. Or maybe not. I don’t know. I want it to stop.  😦

Success is . . . A Little Piece of Art with Words of Wisdom

On a totally light note, look what I made to put up on a wall!

I’m quite proud it turned out so well. I’m not often one for sitting down patiently so I can finish stuff I start. Or if I do, it often ends up looking ugly. But I like how this turned out and I almost did not lose my temper over it, except a little bit only once when the glitter stuck everywhere except where I wanted it. But I finished it!! HAPPY!!! 🙂

Self-soothing skills and Borderline Personality Disorder

Still thinking about the social maturity and emotional maturity issues. Still talking about it with my mom, too, because she helps me keep my thoughts together and knows stuff. One thing she has been saying for a long time is that one key ability is for me to learn to self-soothe.

What is self-soothing?

I understand it to be the ability to calm myself down, emotionally, when I get upset. Not by going emotionally numb or by dissociating and not by using some unhealthy coping strategy like self-harm or drugs or distraction. Proper soothing myself, calming down, so that I don’t go off like a contact mine if anyone, myself included, makes only one more wrong move.

Mom says it’s an ability people usually learn when they are still young. Like, as babies, when they are upset and cry, someone comes, attends to them, gives them what they need and they calm down. Their brains produce “upset and stress chemicals” (forgot their names), but those don’t hang around for long, because soon some caregiver will do things that cause the baby’s brain to release soothing chemicals that neutralize the stress ones. The baby is fine again.

Then, by watching how the caregiver does that, and by experiencing that it does work over and over and over and over again, the baby, as it gets older and becomes a child, learns how to do it herself. And also learns to withstand a certain stress, because it knows from experience it will go away soon enough.

Kids like me, whose parents can’t be bothered, and even added a shitload of stress instead of making it go away, aren’t as lucky. If my brain gets stressed, it’s stressed for good. And it doesn’t take much to get really stressed either. Sure, I can turn to artificial soothers, like alcohol or cutting, or I can dissociate and just disconnect from my stressed brain if shit gets bad, but I have a hard time finding ways to release those soothing chemicals that make me okay again.

My mom can do it. She can usually soothe me. I watch how she does it – by being there, by comforting me physically with hugs, by taking me seriously even when I’m being unreasonable and by talking with me until I feel calmer again, but also by taking no crap. In a good way. But even when I know what she does, and that it works, I have trouble doing it by myself. Although I’ve gotten a bit better. I used to immediately act upon my feelings, and I don’t do that so much anymore. Like with the cereal mess this morning, all I wanted to do was destroy something, like throw my mp3 player on the floor and step on it (yes, pretty darn clever, I know), but I didn’t. So I guess I have gotten better at tolerating a stressed brain. I have also learned some small things I can do to calm down a bit.

Healthy stuff that I’ve learned, which helps soothe me:

  • crying – I used to never cry much, but it helps and now I cry a lot, over anything, and it probably helps doubly, because it also alerts others that something is wrong with me
  • talking – well, or ranting, more like. I used to bottle everything up, so that’s a big improvement
  • music – I learned to play the guitar and I sing and I find it helps to express my feelings with music, like by playing and singing angry stuff when I’m angry or sad stuff when I’m sad, etc.
  • seeking comfort from someone healthy – as opposed to going for a mindless fuck, lol
  • awareness and thinking – go figure! since I know more about the mechanisms of these things, I have an easier time pausing to actually think before I act on impulse. At least sometimes.

Well, and there’s one last thing, which I am really embarrassed to admit to. In my family everyone knows it and it’s no big deal, but people in general don’t really understand. Ah well, but as I recently learned how vulnerability is supposedly doing so much good, what the heck, I’ll say it: I use a pacifier. Like the same kind babies do. Only mine are way cooler, because I picked cool-looking ones and am not stuck with whatever is popped in my mouth, like a baby would be! Anyway, I don’t know why, but they work. They’re comforting. They feel kind of innocent and pure and like a good part of childhood that I never had. And for some reason they feel like I’m contained and don’t fall apart so much when I have a pacifier in my mouth. I don’t know if that is because they give me something to focus on, or for another reason, but it helps. Guess they’re called pacifiers for a reason.

Otherwise I’m normal, lol! As normal as I get, anyway. And I figure it’s healthier than smoking. 😉 (Gee, and now please, vulnerability thing, work out.)

Anyway, the point is, I really hope whatever I do helps my brain to get used to some of the good, soothing, positive chemicals hanging around. Not of the artificial happy pill kind, my body’s very own chemicals. For stability. I hope I get better at it, too. The little good chemical bastards are probably not used to being called into action so much, but I sure hope they get more used to it soon!

And I hope everyone who’s struggling finds good ways to soothe themselves. And can find someone healthy who can help with it. I believe it makes a real difference.

Insignificance, Omni-Importance and Seriously, I’m Nuts

It’s one of those really crap days today. One where it’s not even nine in the morning and already I feel like everyone would be better off without me. Not in the suicidal way, but just in the hopeless “gotta accept I’ve always been and will always be scum” way. No drama about it.

On those days I feel utterly insignificant and unimportant, like I can’t do anything – not even the littlest thing – right, like I don’t mean anything to anyone. One of those days where I realize that no matter how hard I struggled, no matter how much I thought I achieved, it’s still not even close to being good enough for anything. That I don’t deserve being good enough for anything either. That I’m just too insignificant for anything.

And you know what’s so odd about that? At the same time, I feel that everything happens because of me. That mom allowed my favorite cereal to run out because she really hates me and thinks I deserve not to get my cereal this morning. That she did it on purpose because of me. To get back at me for something without having to own up to it, so she can still play the good mom while she gloats at how it ruins my day.

Isn’t that weird? On the one hand I feel too insignificant for anything, while at the same time my feelings are convinced that something that my rational mind knows is coincidental in reality is not coincidental at all, but happens because of me, like I’m the center of the universe or something. You’d think one would exclude the other, but no. I’m such a nutjob.

Self Image Barbie

If they made a barbie doll after how I feel, this is how it would look, right down to the spacey expression.

(Yep, I’m bored.)

What kind of barbie would you make for?

A drawback of blogging, or: Self-Consciousness Reloaded

Oh crap, I wouldn’t have thought blogging can be so challenging. It confronts me head-on with my fear of not being good enough, not performing well enough, not sufficing in general and of making a fool of myself (or rather, exposing to other people what a fool I really am).

Pushing that “publish” button feels like jumping out of an airplane. My heart pounds and I get all shaky and ask myself whose bright idea it was to want to blog in the first place! I want to do it, but don’t have the guts to do it and debate with myself whether to publish or not for what feels like a f***ing eternity.

How can it be so hard to click on a simple button, damnit?!

In the end I ask for advice and only push the button if someone else read over what I wrote and confirmed I should do it. At least if I don’t have a super-brave moment.

And then once my words are out there, I sit here and go hot and cold inside, asking myself if what I wrote was really good enough, meaningful enough, if anyone would even bother to read it and feel like a total jerk and like I just showed the world how wretched I am!

Isn’t that pathetic?!

Anyway, going to grab some food and trying to work it past the nervous lump in my throat now. If you can relate, feel free to let me know! If you think I’m being ridiculous . . . well . . . thanks for keeping it to yourself.

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