I sit here finishing my 6th (?) diet coke and black cherry rum cocktail… I feel raw but numb.  Unappreciated but undeserving.  Silent but loud.

The constant contradictions can be overwhelming especially after one too many drinks, but I cant help but feel like the victim.  I am giving things my all, or what I believe is my all and not receiving enough to fill the void.  I give my services and gifts but never my wholehearted intimate feelings.  I fill the void and empty love.  A love that is true but empty.

One day things will work themselves out but for now its a constant battle between myself and the emptiness.

I’ve wandered back into the world of SSRIs. It’s a fact that I do not like admitting. I thought I could do it alone. I thought I was “cured”. Instead I am back in the never-ending game of finding a med to balance me out and a therapist to hear me out.

I have grown a lot emotionally over the last 2 years, but its difficult to admit I haven’t grown enough. My self-awareness can only take me so far. Putting Armani in tears not once but twice in 24 hours was the last straw. My need to self-sabotage, black and white thinking, wild mood swings, and self-hate were attacking me at full force.

I have vowed to make this round of treatment different. I refuse to settle for less than 100% and not give 100% back. I have never unveiled my true self, feelings, or past to even those I have went to for help. It’s different. I am completely uncensored in hope for an answer and treatment plan. I want to uncover the source of my never-ending state of turmoil.

I have struggled to deal with my own issues without medical assistance for the last 1.5 years due to losing my job and lack of medical insurance coverage. I was beyond elated to make a psychiatrist appointment using my new medical insurance coverage. Honestly, elated is an understatement

I randomly chose a psychiatrist that was located close to my work. A new psychiatrist for a new start. I didn’t particularly have anything against my previous psych but I did settle for feeling less than I should have and was not always honest with him.

I wanted and needed a fresh new beginning…

The appointment went well. Tears were shed. I do not deny I am an emotional trainwreck. I felt comfortable speaking to her but couldn’t help but feel as if she thought I was lying, holding back, or exagerating. This was probably more my self-doubt than anything else. I didn’t mention past diagnoses. She didnt diagnose me. I was okay with that. I didn’t ask. I didn’t need an answer. At least at that moment.

We stumbled through my list of previous prescriptions dating back to 1998. The decision was made that I would try Zoloft, an SSRI that I hadn’t tried in the past and continue taking Ativan. In all honesty, I scoffed at the Zoloft and was unsure if I would follow through with my promise to try it.

I ended the session by proactively asking for a reputable therapist who wouldn’t give in to my tricky manipulation as the last therapist I saw did.

After much swaying to take the Zoloft or not I decided my new approach to becoming well would only work if I went in with an open mind and was honest. I am not new to the SSRI scene. I have taken Effexor, Prozac, Paxil, and Lexapro in the past. My body is not tolerable at the beginning of the prescribed regimen. Knowing this I decided to begin the medication on a Friday and by Sunday morning I felt like death. I was struck with extreme anxiety, fatigue, and a throbbing headache. The headache faded by Monday morning but the anxiety and fatigue continued throughout the week. I emailed my doctor asking for a longer acting benzo as the 1 mg Ativan I was taking twice daily was not cutting it. She prescribed Klonopin .50 mg which I began taking that Wednesday.

I felt more focused, patient, under control, and outgoing by the end of the 1st week of the beginning dose but the anxiety was still strong, racing thoughts, and splitting were still evident.

I increased the dose this past Friday. I am feeling just as anxious and as fatigued as I did when beginning my 1st dose. Although, now my sex drive is lacking and I spend the majority of the day nauseated.

I fully intend to give Zoloft a fair chance but my promise to accept nothing but 100% in this course of treatment is my intention.

I began my new job today.  Actually, I am currently “working”.  It is worse than I thought.  It hardens me, breaks me down, and has me question my self-worth.  Can you imagine that?  Perhaps I didnt have any self-worth to begin with and just an exuberant amount of pride.  Considering…

I’m not a stripper.  I’m not selling my vag. I’m not stealing deodorant and body wash from Walgreens to sell at the flea market.

I’m simply working an entry level office assistant position making approximately $25 (if…lets hope) more a week than I did collecting unemployment.  The kicker?  I don’t even receive medical benefits and I am working for a healtchare agency.  HEALTHCARE.

Do I sound pretentious?  Yup.  Am I judgmental?  Sure as fuck.

Let me describe the woman who is training me or attempting to train me, as she doesn’t do a very good job at it.  She is too busy receiving personal cell phone calls from her Pink Motorola that blares an unknown Rhianna ring-tone.

Let me throw some educated guesses out there.

She is a 20-something mother.  I’m guessing single mother.  I do not see a ring but I do see a small picture of a child who looks about 6 years old hanging on the bulletin board above her desk.   She scrunches her hair in the morning probably with a 2010 version of Aqua Net immediately after washing it with VO5 - ala wet Poodle.  She stuffs herself in clothes that are both too small and appropriate for a 16 year old getting ready to hang out at the mall.  She mentioned she has court tomorrow and I am guessing its for a domestic violence case or child support.

Lets talk about the lack of…

I share an office with a woman who hasn’t tried to welcome me what-so-ever.  I kept a warm smile, commented on the temperature, etc.  I received NOTHING in return.  There is no interoffice email.  There is no electronic time clock, its pen to paper!  I kind of feel like how I think the outsourced help in India feel.

It’s that bad.

Perhaps this little ol’ attitude of mine is why I do not have the job of my dreams.

Let me step off my pink glittery soapbox because it is approaching 5 pm and everyone is hustling to get out of here.  This worries me.

someone could tell me how I should be feeling right now.

I’m not sure how I feel right now… I landed myself a shitty ass office assistant position where I will be making LESS than I do on unemployment. I know, its a job.

I felt when I actually got a JOB I would feel excited and I’m not. Nope. A tiny bit? Nada.

I’m sitting here at my 5 year old sister’s dance class where she is warming up to “Poker Face” and I can’t smile or laugh. I feel numb.

Side Note: I want to smack the chit chatty suburban mothers talking catty about others, the neighborhood drink specials, and 1st grade field trips. It really is THAT bad.

Well, I’m off to try and disect my feelings or lack of them.

that gets me to post these days, and I am using “these days” loosely; I haven’t blogged in months!  I was quite disturbed when I saw the date of my last post.  Why?  Blogging for me is a way to keep myself sane.  Perhaps this is why I am one emotional fucked up girl these days.  Then again… I doubt it.

It’s my friend DEPRESSION sinking its ugly teeth into my life and BPD cheering him on.

These last few days have been rough.  I am pretty sure the month of January has always been a rough month for me.  All of the rush rush of the holiday season is over and my mind gets back to thinking and over-thinking and analyzing and over-analyzing.

HELLO!  I am happiest when I am busy, thus my mind doesn’t have time to turn evil and backlash at me.

Obviously… blogging is a form of catharsis for me.  I need to hear myself out and read what I write in order to believe it.

Well… was this post a recap of this girls life?  nah… Was it much substance?  nah…  I am not one to just jump the gun and start trusting people with the inside of my mind and life.  Stick around for a bit and I promise I will be coming around here more frequently.  I am just getting my feet wet.  You cant put out on the first date, and trust me this sure and well could be a first date. My last post was dated back in NOVEMBER of 2009!

You probably will not understand.  As I cannot even put my thoughts and feelings into words.

Here we go again.  I must stop.  I know this. 

I’m wallowing in three letters, BPD.  I’m going too far again. 

I’ve been acting out lately, wallowing in my personality disorder, taking things too far again. I push the limits because I can.  I take another drink because I can.  I act out looking for approval.  I become a mess at any given moment, even though I really don’t have to be.  I know I have the control but I choose not to use it.That’s just the way I am. Maybe I can change it. I look at myself and ridicule.  I then laugh in that high, sarcastic, crazy way. 

Remaining stagnant is something I cannot be content with.  I attempt to relish in the good that God brings my way.  I then give in.  I crave disruption.  I crave self-deprecation. 

prescribed pills can kill.

I believe its one of the many lessons in life that is finally sinking in.

Unfortunately, for many this realization is too little too late and lifes are ended unexpectedly. 

Prescription drugs have always been part of my life whether to treat my depression, anxiety, or allergies.  I have been popping something for as long as I can remember.

I would pop without thought.  The pill bottle displayed my name.  There was no harm being done.  I didn’t abuse the antidepressant and allergy medication that I was on at the moment.

What I did begin abusing in my late teenage years was ephedra.  I found it quite amazing that I didnt even need a prescription.  THIS HAD TO BE SAFE.  That was until I took so many after taking nyquil after a bad bad breakup.  It ended in a blackout and me passing out head first on a bowling alley.

Ephedra became illegal.

My early twenties were rough.  I was always on the go and the girl who would party Thursday and Saturday not stopping.  It wore on me. I was at a height of self-sabotage. I felt like I needed to meet everyones expectations of me.  I was tempted with cocaine and on occasion I used it.  I used it to conform.  I used it to please.

Luckily for me it did not become an addiction…

I then realized taking 180mg of Prozac daily would send me into a slightly manic fit.  Energy galore.  I eventually stopped after reading up on the internet.

I had a bout with Vicodin ES after my wisdom teeth were pulled when I was 23.  I was prescribed 30 Vicodin ES with one refill.  I finished that bottle and called the dentist for more.  I quickly became fond of taking 2 Vicodin with 2 shots of Vodka.  This went on for about 3 months with the end resulting in passing out behind the wheel and creating $2,000 of damage to my car.  Thankfully… no one was hurt and I was the only person involved.  I must note that the Vicodin I had consumed was legal and prescribed by the same dentist.

I had to stop.  It was hard.  I did. I remember the shakes and nausea I experienced.  I couldnt imagine the detox of someone who was on it for much longer than I.  My depression engulfed me and my anxiety worsened.  Obviously… as I no longer had a crutch.

I had my 1st panic attack when I was 23.  The abusive relationship I was in triggered them all.  I was suffering from on average 1 a day.  It was crippling.  I began seeing a new psychiatrist who prescrived Ativan 1mg 3-4 times a day as needed.  Yes… on a monthly basis I held a bottle of 120 - 1mg pills of Ativan in my hand.  Enough to kill 3 people…

I rarely took the little white pills correctly.  I had many occasions where I would simply blackout from taking too many.

The scary thing is I saw nothing wrong with this then… I was numb.  I was safe.  I thought.

A summer day in 2003 put me over the edge.  I felt backed into a corner.  The only thing I had in my control was the many bottles of pills I had.  I knew what would open their eyes.  This was my thinking then…  After a concoction of Prozac, Ativan, Tyelenol 3, and Tylenol PMs I was in the ER drinking charcoal and having a lengthy visit to the 5th floor (crazy floor) to prove that I wasnt trying to kill myself but trying to make my Mom listen being manipulative.

It could have been an accidental suicide.  I lived.

For different reasons, I began seeing a new psychiatrist who weaned me off of the Ativan.  It was rough.  I never and still do feel unsafe without having a few on hand.  Losing my Ativan subscription was like losing a good friend.  I was left devastated and without the strength to live.

Thank goodness for therapy…

This past winter was rough for me between losing my job, best friend, and being stolen from.  I was a wreck.  Depression at its worst.  What pulled me out?  Tramadol.  I was popping 5-7 Tramadol a day for about 2 weeks.  I wouldnt sleep because I couldnt.  I felt the only way I could go on living was with the assistance of the Tramadol.

Then something clicked… I knew I was strong enough to let go of my need to abuse prescription drugs to live.  I knew there were consequences with the worst being death.  I did not want to die.

I still struggle today.  On occasion I will pop an Ativan but I will NOT abuse them.  If I am in pain I will pop a few Tramadol but I will NOT abuse them and I will notify SOMEONE of what I had taken, in case something happens.

It’s rough and unfortunately each new death of a celebrity ODing on RX meds is opening my eyes wider and wider.

I dont know where to begin.  I feel triumphant but also vulnerable.

Armani and I got into our first argument last night which stemmed from my past inability to cut ties with men of the past.  In past relationships I have always felt the need to have ties with an ex because I felt I was putting too much on the table if I didn’t.  

For the first time in my life I do not feel that way.  I have faith in us.  I feel no need for validation from other men of my beauty, humor, or intelligence.  I give myself the validation and Armani confirms it.  I do not fear abandonment *as much* as I have in the past. 

I made a decision to change my cell phone number.  Why?  I needed to let go of the past.  I needed to feel renewed.  I no longer need to be held up by strings of the past.

I feel liberated.  The past is where it belongs.

A direct message I received on Twitter

U seem grounded & reasonably happy lately, nice 2 c that, stay that way, no negativity.

The message made me think, am I happy? Am I grounded?

I’m not exactly happy and I am not exactly miserable. I am accepting some of the things occurring in my life rather than throwing punches or simply giving in. I’m taking the negatives and turning them into positives. I am taking the positives and running with them.

I have always been on a rollercoaster due to the Borderline traits that have controlled me. I feel as if I am off that rollercoaster for the time being. I am grounded.

So, I don’t have a simplistic answer to the questions, “Am I happy?” but do know this follower is right, I am grounded.

Are you happy? Are you grounded?