A few days ago I had the thought that if I were to write a book or short story from the vantage point of a narrator that had BPD manifesting similar to mine, nobody would buy it. And I don’t mean “buy” as in “spend money on,” I mean it as in “believe it.” Stories are written for the most part to connect to the reader. The leaps in logic, rapidly shifting emotions, and contradicting ideas would very likely leave the reader thinking that the narrator just wasn’t very well thought out, or wasn’t realistic. So, naturally, I decided to write a short story type entry to this blog with that very premise: what my typical day looks like inside my head, how I experience life with BPD.
Oh and TW for suicidal thoughts and imagery, and discussion of drugs and possible language relating to eating disorders.
Wake up. It’s later than usual. Is that good or bad. Did I sleep well? Am I going to be tired all day again? That’s been new. What if it means something’s going really wrong? Or maybe I just can’t handle life outside of a structured psychiatric program. It’s been worse since I discharged. I knew it would be. My therapist did too. But I did make sure to set up a solid outpatient care and I’m all moved into my new place. I mean. I think I’m doing well. I think I’m doing the best I can. But if that’s true why do I always feel like shit?
At least there’s breakfast to look forward to. I’ve been eating way too much. And drinking soda. Why do I let myself do that. I could blame the Seroquel, but I think it’s more a problem of being stressed and not having any goddam self control. Take my pills from my pill calendar and these are supposed to make me better for the day. Except they won’t. They did a few weeks ago. Then I had to discharge and come back to the real world. Give me a drug that can make me okay with having to take a job that scares the shit out of me so I can keep living in a part of the country that at the very least doesn’t despise transgender people and has a few relatively available health care providers and I will start believing in miracles.
Fuck. That job. What if I screw up. What if I can’t take it just like the last one. I’m already thinking of killing myself every night… How am I going to survive a job that demanding? It’s such a good prospect. It would help my resume, it would help me get into grad school, it would be rewarding, it pays well. But what if it’s the same thing all over again. What if I just can’t change. What if I’m stuck this way and there’s no getting better. I should kill myself. There’s a knife in the kitchen that I could use to-
GAME OVER… RE-SPAWNING AT NEW POINT IN 3…2…1…
I look out at my car. I can’t drive it anywhere. It’s got a quarter tank of gas and I have less than $15 in my account. And I have to drive sixty miles Monday and potentially Tuesday. I could ask my parents for money but they’ve already spend so much money on me and I just… I just can’t ask that same question anymore. It hurts. I feel so ashamed. I mean fuck I’m living on PB&J because I don’t want to ask for money for food. Which is why I have to get this job. If I don’t get this job not only do I come closer to having to move away, it means months of money on top of the sum that is already all but impossible to pay back. It would be better if I just died. Thanks to July I know what doesn’t work. I can’t think of something that-
GAME OVER… RE-SPAWNING AT NEW POINT IN 3…2…1…
Just watched a movie. That was cool. Oh and my best friend is texting me! It’s been so long since I’ve seen them. Man, it’d be so cool if I could catch a flight over there or vice versa. Oh well. Maybe another time. Do you really think Psychology programs look down on applicants with mental illnesses? I’ve been told not to disclose that in my personal statements, but honestly like that’s a big part of what drives me and I don’t think that’s bad. I see no reason why it shouldn’t be a good thing that I can say I’ve been on the other side of the patient-therapist relationship in several different settings and those personal experiences have given me insight into things that I want to research to make the field of psychology better for people with mental illnesses like myself. Huh. Oh well. Fuck ’em.
Been home along a lot today. Spose I should do something on my enjoyables list. I should play guitar. I actually feel pretty good about the fact that I have to practice for the band I’m in kind of forcing me to pick up the guitar and play. Gives me that extra motivation which is nice. Honestly though it’d be nice not to have to have that extra motivation to do something I love. Goddam it’s been so fucking long since I just like enjoyed things. And here I am stuck on like 8 different pills scheduled for 4 times a day, just stepping down and out of Residential for the second time less than a year… and honestly things don’t feel a whole lot better…
…but maybe I’m just seeing through a foggy lens. Haha it looks like Trump said something douchy again. God if that man wasn’t so fucking apocalyptically dangerous, he’d be goddam hilarious just based on the sheer absurdity of everything he says and the absolute brazenness with which he lies… about everything… Oh damn I’m getting hooked again. Most of the people I know don’t like to talk about Trump and every time I get drawn into a story I need to talk about it for some fucking reason and then I agonize about being an annoying piece of shit for the next 56 hours so I’ll just put the phone down and play guitar.
Damn so glad I finally get to write some guitar pieces instead of playing “Into the Sunflower Prairie” by Peace & Love Groove Hour for the thousandth time. Hm that’s a pretty catchy riff. Even goes with the beat. Nice.
YOU ARE RECEIVING A: CALL FROM A RELATIVE.
Do you (A) let it ring out and call them back later, or (B) take the call.
You have chosen option (B) take the call.
Goddam I was just in such a good mood. Well, I mean pretty good for me at least. Why am I so flat and frustrated talking to them? Like we’ve even worked through our problems. They’ve been really helpful with me being up here. They do shit like feed me dinner and invite me over and seem to genuinely like me. I don’t dislike them. I think I love them. Not really sure what that feels like sometimes but regardless of that I shouldn’t have a total mood change just because of a call. Now they’re gonna think I’m not doing well or that I’m pissed at them. Which, well honestly I guess the first one is kinda true. But still.
I don’t fucking know. Back to guitar I guess. God what if I fuck up the job I haven’t gotten yet and have to move again. What if I’m not ready for grad school and I try to go but I fuck up there. Honestly what if I just can’t be stable and on my own and self-sufficient in life. Man, fuck all of this worrying. Honestly sometimes I wonder if it would just be better to drown myself in drugs-
YOU HAVE ENTERED A TRAIN OF THOUGHT THAT MAY RESULT IN A GAME RESTART.
Do you: (A) attempt to dismiss the thoughts, (B) do something to drown them out, (C) just say “fuck it”
You have chosen option (C) just say “fuck it”
Like obviously I know it’s hell. I’ve met enough addicts and heard enough personal stories to know that. I guess… I guess what I’m wondering is if that might be a way to kill myself while having some fun on the way down. I mean I’ve only ever smoked pot and drank alcohol, but I know damn well I’ve felt better when I was doing those things than when I was sober. Maybe it’d be the same for harder drugs. But you need so much fucking money for drugs. Maybe I should just get it over with and-
GAME OVER… RE-SPAWNING AT NEW POINT IN 3…2…1…
At least there’s something soothing about doing graduate school research. I like seeing the different programs and making sure I’m not missing any good ones. Spreadsheets are fun too. Conditional formatting and formulas and shit. Love that shit. Even if I’m getting pretty obsessive about it… I mean 150+ programs is a lot to do research on. Plus I’ll probably have to do the same thing for the other type of program I’m interested in. I should be doing something more active. I did take a walk today. But I also took a nap. I don’t I just don’t know anyone around here to hang out with. It’s been almost one entire year and I’ve yet to make real, lasting contacts. I’m such a coward. Anybody else would be able to make friends in this amount of time. But no, when I’m outside Residential, I sit on my ass and do nothing. I’m a coward because all I can think of is how terrifying it is to meet new people; how dangerous it is for me because not only am I transgender and pansexual, I have like a million mental illnesses. How am I supposed to “just get out there”?
Ugh I don’t want to think about this. I’m going to take another walk. I’ve got Spotify premium. That’s pretty fuckin awesome. So I can sit here for a second and set up a queue of songs to play while I walk. God I love looking at the trees. I don’t know what it is about it but they always put me at ease. I mean for a minute until I get back- let’s just let that thought pass on through. Do some of the visualization shit they always talked about. It’s okay to be having the thought, but I don’t need to be controlled by the thought. And I need to enjoy this kind of time while I have it.
WINNER! You have successfully completed the level “Saturday” without acting on your suicidal thoughts. As a reward you have unlocked the level “Sunday.” Good luck and remember what you’ve learned!