I can feel it in my bones.
It’s no secret for those who routinely read my blogs that I only write from a dark place. I don’t write for enjoyment. I get no satisfaction from clicking the publish button and sending my most intimate thoughts and feelings into the vastness of the internet. I’m not an author. I’m not a journalist. Hell, I’m not even a writer. I’m barely competent at all, really. I know nothing about technicalities, form, or proper sentence structure. I don’t know anything of that nature. However, I do know that the word “syntax” has been slapped across my papers in red ink many times throughout my youth. But, that’s the extent of my knowledge on proper essay etiquette.
No, I write because if I don’t I fear what would become of me. I write because I have literally no other option.
This is my outlet. This is my way of coping and surviving when I feel that I have nothing left inside of me to give to the world. I put myself in these situations that will either leave me elated or ripped to shreds. I knowingly subject myself to pain in hopes of obtaining happiness. It’s a risky game, a Russian Roulette of sorts, but I will continue to participate as often as I can… until I achieve that which I so desperately desire.
But, recently I have had little of myself to offer anyone. It’s been a tough two months. In such a short amount of time I have experienced a break up, hook ups, make ups, more break ups, hang ups and then a smattering of break downs, throw downs and melt downs for good measure. Sounds fun, right? Oh wait, no. No, it was not fun.
Of course, there were good times along the way, and that’s why I continue to put myself out there in harm’s way. Because the times that were fun, were so wonderful and amazing that I am willing to risk everything in order to experience just a moments worth of joy.
I realize that my brain is wacky. I don’t view things as most do. At the very least I am able to acknowledge that fact. But, knowing something about yourself does little good if you don’t figure out a way to put that information into action. If I know that I am going to go through copious amounts of mental anguish by putting myself in situations where my primal sense of jealousy is bound to rear its ugly head–and I continue to do it time after time–then I can only blame myself, right? I can no longer place the bounty on my disorder, but upon my own forehead.
Well, I suppose that’s actually not entirely true–for as any scholar on BPD knows, those afflicted will constantly seek out any relationship or companionship regardless of the emotional toll it takes upon their psyche. For being with someone, no matter how potentially damaging that someone is, is better than being alone. And I will continue to walk unarmed into the reign of fire, bullets whirring past my ghastly outline, with the hope of escaping the isolation…regardless of any side effects.
However, even I have been tested in recent days. My capacity to give has dwindled significantly to where I feel as though I’ve been demoed down to the studs. The depths of emotionality have been tapped and drained to where all that remains are bones and pieces of withered skin. Nothing else remains. My heart is still beating, I’m still alive, but there is no denying that a piece of me has died–and an important piece at that. I don’t know if it is my innocence, my unwavering love, my trust in others, but something intrinsic to the core of my existence has perished. And it will never be recaptured.
And that’s okay. Because with each blow, with each knock to the ground, I will rise to my feet stronger and more prepared to forge my way through the days to come. I welcome these moments as an opportunity to learn and grow. Sure, they sting like hell now…and I may never heal completely, but these experiences will aid my foray into the black uncertainties of the future. Life isn’t easy, and the sooner I figure that out, the better.
I have always believed with every fiber of my being that the best things in life are worth fighting for. It’s almost as though we have to participate in an endless obstacle course crafted by fate in order to obtain momentary tastes of euphoria. And we keep on keeping on because we are keen enough to realize that in this shit world any bliss and cheer is enough to walk on fire for.
And these friendships I have cultivated have taken all I have to offer. I am drained and capable of nothing more than floating from room to room, blanket draping from my shoulders, mop of hair on my head serving as a physical manifestation of the disarray and confusion in my heart. The vacant expression on my facade all I can manage to present to those around me. It’s rare to see that crooked smile emerge on my face these days–the deeply embedded lines beginning to blend seamlessly into the surrounding skin. The twinkle has been replaced with gloss and glaze in my grizzled gray eyes. I no longer see hope but only endless sorrow in front of me… stretching across the horizon. It’s a desolate wasteland of missed opportunities, despondency and dejection.
But, it is what it is. And there is no escaping that which I have carved out for myself. I am the leading man in all of my greatest tragedies. Everyone else is a supporting actor. But, I am always wholly responsible for the choices I make, the words I say, the actions I partake in… all of it is me. I accept all accountability. However, that does little to change the outcome. It doesn’t change the pain that I have felt every single fucking day for the past week. It’s the kind of pain a kiss and a band-aid won’t fix. It has manifested itself deep within the cartilage of my bones. It makes its way through the chambers of my veins. It rattles around inside of the folds of my brain. It submerges itself deep within the confines of my self-conscious and infiltrates my dreams. I can’t sleep. I can’t function with these thoughts plaguing my existence.
And what could be this harrowing and excruciating, you ask? Well, as with most of my afflictions, this one is seeped with complexities and intricacies too delicate to divulge. We’ll just say that I fell for someone I could not have. I wedged myself in between two very important people forcing sides to be chosen. My arms were ripped from their sockets. And when you are in the middle of something such as this there is nothing to win and everything to lose. Misunderstandings occurred, hurtful things were said, and I was left out in the cold staring into a window of what could have been.
But, my main concern is with the degree to which my anger grew out of control. I am typically extremely successful with quelling my inner rage. This being because I am not generally an acrimonious type of person. I am a sensitive, amiable, loving kind of girl, who only succumbs to the vitriolic and irritable side of me under the most trying of circumstances. And when someone elicits this part of me it is used as a coping mechanism. I only want to hurt the other party because they had hurt me irreparably. Eye for and Eye. Tooth for a Tooth. Hammurabi’s code kind of thing. Something that I ironically loathe when used against me. But, my blindness to double standards is for another blog entirely.
At any rate, I have always stood by the fact that I am insightful and intelligent enough to really hurt someone if necessary. It’s a terrible skill to have. But, I know that I possess it. I can see people’s Achilles heels from a mile away, their soft underbelly always exposed when I need it to be. When you have as many weaknesses and sensitive areas as I do, you begin to notice the insecurities of others. And I hope to never have to wield these as weapons–I honestly would rather covet them as attributes worthy of admiration. But, sometimes even I am pushed to the point where I feel that a lightning blitzkrieg is my only option.
I have to be insanely marred, mauled and with a heart disfigured beyond recognition to deliver such crippling blows. It’s not in my nature. And I truly believe that were it not for the ability to hide behind the safety of a computer screen or cell phone, I would NEVER be able to say what was on my mind. Being harmful to another in person is something I feel I can never do no matter what the circumstance.
But, fucking technology has made me able to voice what secretly wishes to remain dormant. In some ways it makes me more honest, but in a seriously shitty way.
So, anyways, the cliff note version is that I said some things that I will continue to regret for the entirety of my life. Regardless of the outcome of this situation…whether a happy or sad ending… the words that I uttered will haunt my every step. I mean, yes, I was torn apart with a body covered head to toe with contusions. But, that should never give me the right to so intimately attack someone else. Personal insults to that degree should always be off-limits for me, for in almost all instances they are not truly what I feel or believe, but solely what I know will mentally fuck up the other person. It’s a moment of pure passion of the most destructive kind that leads me to make these impulsive decisions. But, we all know that impulsivity and capriciousness are too of my most unbearable characteristics.
This has changed who I am as a person forever. I’m no longer an innocent in this game of life. I’m guilty of the same crimes as those who I cast glances of scorn upon in passing. I am unworthy of the friends that I am lucky to have held on to. For anyone willing to stoop to anothers level of torment is just as guilty in the end. And I have to live with this. Luckily, I have surrounded myself with people who possess a seemingly endless reservoir of compassion and understanding. Dealing with me is a full time job, it never gets easier, and the more involved one becomes the more they are subject to the full extent of my disorder. I like to pretend that I’m worth it. But, now I’m even starting to doubt that.
All I can say is that I’m beyond grateful for the chances I’ve been granted. For the opportunities to prove my worth time and time again, for the steadfastness in the barrage of arrows and ammunition, for the hand to hold and shoulder to lean on when the throes of depression sweep over me. For everything I’ve ever thought but never said, for every kind word and comforting embrace, for every mix tape and every drink bought, and for just being there every time I needed to know that someone out there cared.
I realize my good fortune. That even when I think that life has nothing to offer me, I still have a support system of friends who are indispensable. I’ve been blessed. My ex-girlfriend, my wolf pack, and my crop of three in my hometown… all have provided me with more than I could ever say.
And I apologize in advance for the many mishaps that are to come.
I end this entry hoping to have laid a demon or four to rest. Each night as I enter the realm of restless sleep I hope that heartache and I have said our final goodbyes. But, in the morn when my heavy eyes reluctantly peel open, lightly crusted from the fitful cycles of tortured dreaming the night brings— the feeling of emptiness immediately rushes back careening into the pit of my stomach and reminding me that this pain shall never leave.