Witty, neurotic/psychotic,
20-something from Chicago conquering mental illness one vodka induced blackout and one blog at a time.
1. A distant friendship that you can always count on
2. The perfect occasionless greeting card
3. Sharing (1 spoon) a large martini glass filled with 2 scoops of Vanilla ice cream drizzled in caramel sauce and garnished with Pirouettes
4. A simple trip to the grocery story with Mom
5. Bacci walking on my back as I type this
It’s hard. I have never had to divulge my BPD to a significant other. I told ExAss I struggled with bouts of depression and panic attacks. I was ashamed but it wasnt BPD. BPD is intricate and not as “well known” as other mental illnesses. It requires an explanation. The explanation entails shame. ExAss and I were together when I was diagnosed. Our relationship falling apart due to my “love” for self-deprecation, self-sabotage, fear of abandonment, and the list goes on were the reasons why I asked for help. I don’t think I would have dug as deep as I did if it was solely for bettering myself, sad but true.
I don’t want to tell him. I don’t know how to tell him. I do know that I have to tell him. I can’t go on letting a “huge” part of me and “us” be unknown because unfortunately BPD affects everyone close to me. The closer the person the harder the hit.
He has seen signs and brought them to my attention. “Why are you trying to pick a fight?” “When will you ever believe that I am not going anywhere anytime soon?” “Why must you put yourself down” “Cant you just be?”
Those questions all have one answer… BPD.
I have no choice but to attempt to explain in the least “feel sorry for me” approach about my dear friend, BPD. I backed myself into a corner by telling him I write about a specific topic on Tuesdays here on my blog. I told him I would rather not talk about it over the phone. The topic is planned to be discussed tonight.
Perhaps subconsciously I know. I know a relationship with someone not knowing of the issues I face is impossible.
I know what I fear the most. I fear the inevitable. The feelings of shame, worthlessness, despair, and fear of abandonment following the days after my secret leaves my lips. He will never be able to tell me “It’s okay” and “I am not going anywhere” enough.
I hope he forgets.
Filed under: a boi named frappe, afterhours therapy, mental health by K
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I am a little late, alright more than a little late but thats my MO.
Bacci is Chihuhahha with traces of German Short Haired Pointer, Daschund, and Beagle.
Nobody guessed 100% correctly. I decided to turn to Random.org entering Blaez and Heather who guessed 2 out of the 3, Daschund and Beagle. Heather came out the winner! Congrats. Email me @ wannaberealitysupersatar(at)gmail(dot)com with your addy.
Bacci says “thanks for playing!”
Can I have some Ativan with those ashes?
I along with every other “no meat on Friday” Catholic went to church to receive ashes today. It’s a good thing I let my sister research the time mass was being held, as she led us to the mass in Espanol.
I am going to say something that isnt very politically correct. Does this shock you? You must be a new reader.
Spanish people reproduce faster than other races. The church was full of crying, nose dripping, yelling children.
Yuck. Hence why I needed some Ativan with my ashes.
What am I sacrificing this lenten season?
I was contemplating giving up booze like Melissa but then thought back at the one time I gave up booze for lent and failed lasting 30 odd days as a miserable bitch.
No thanks.
I then thought about giving up caffeine but yet again I went down that road in years past. It was a sacrifice alright but I think I lost a couple of friends. I need my lattes.
No thanks.
Joy over @ Big Time Fancy gave me the brilliant idea of giving up my “celibacy” and you know what I plan on it. I plan on doing that very soon. Just thinking of it makes me want to rip off my pants. Whoa now.
Ya, not much of a sacrifice.
I’m giving up my usage of 4-letter words. One may not think of this as a sacrifice but for me it is. My vocabulary centers upon words which my younger sisters respond to in “awwwwww!!!”
/end talk about religion because I feel like a hypocrite
1. The ease of Frappe
2. Finding “cute” shoes on sale
3. Bacci bringing me a toy to signal its playtime
4. Spending time with my ever evolving 14 year old sister
5. Tomato and cheese paninis
1. Obama
2. Obama’s wifey
3. KING cake
4. Cubs tickets! Score.
5. The Mom/Daughter date Frappe is planning for him, me and my Mom.
Frappe getting lost and arriving to my house 3o minutes late -5 points
Frappe ringing my doorbell upon his arrival rather than honking his horn +5 points
Frappe giving me 2 meaningful sweet greeting cards +5 points
Frappe writing sweet sentiments in the above said cards +5 points
Frappe giving me a Greek prayer bead bracelet -5 points
It’s the thought that counts right? +5 points
Frappe not complaining that I changed our original plans of Muvico and Bogarts to a double date of drinking with my bestie J and her significant other +5 points
Frappe helping me put on my jacket a total of 4 times during the evening +5 points
Frappe ordering “patron on ice” for us when TI was playing +5 points
Frappe ordering my J and I “blue motherfuckers” at a wine bar because we asked him to +5 points
Frappe asking the waitress to bring me a small bowl of the pie crumbs that adorned my Key Lime Martini because I told him how much I loved them +5 points
Frappe meeting and enduring a 20 minute conversation with my step dad +5 points
Frappe tucking an intoxicated K into bed +5 points
K waking up to an adorable text message from Frappe +5 points
K’s conversation the next morning with J in regards to how J believes Frappe is an amazing guy and how obvious it is that adores the bajesus out of me +3242343 points for Frappe
Oh dear blog readers, Frappe is a keeper.
Yet another book off of my growing book shelf dedicated to mental illness, “Get Me Out of Here: My Recovery from Borderline Personality Disorder” by Rachel Reiland.
What an amazing book. The book world has few well written memoirs on mental illness and even fewer on Borderline Personality Disorder.
Rachel’s account battling BPD is both shocking and inspiring. She recounts of her journey over 4 years. Her journey involves loved ones, hospitalizations, two steps forward and ten steps back. Rachel writes without holding back and an honesty that is rare in today’s society. Her darkest moments are divulged, as well as deep lessons and experiences.
This book was an inspiration to my life and writing. Unlike many books about BPD, Rachel shows that recovery and BPD can by synonymous.
Pinch me. I hope this is a nightmare.
This bestest is marrying the devil with horns. I of course found out from my brother but the news was confirmed when I spoke to the “groom to be” himself over the weekend.
I am not going to lie. I couldn’t stop laughing in his face.
Since my last blog post about the happy couple has been arrested “again” for the same “accusation”. She has also violently whacked out when my brother was over there. He witnessed the crazy.
It’s my guess they will marry at the court house by the Justice of Peace, there will be a reception at the VFW that she works for (open bar/well drinks and beer), and then back to the court house for the grooms bond hearing.
Why?
I cannot wait for my brothers Best Man speech.
