Abstract Expressionism, Minus the Abstract...

     It's a little after two a.m. and I have just now been up for twelve hours today. I am exhausted, and yet, cannot even begin to dream about sleeping. So instead, I sit here, staring at the mess that is my desk, my room, my life, and I think...

     I think about the past...how much I hated high school, or school altogether, at least from fifth grade on; living with my parents, and sitting in the hallway, crouched against a door-frame, hidden in the shadows, listening to the yelling, waiting till it escalated to the point where I felt I had to put myself at risk to save her - and it always did; the relationships I once had, some good, some bad, some still missed; 

     I think about the present...how the hell did I get here, and where is *here* exactly?; debating on whether or not to take more meds, or just go to bed; wondering why it's so hard to be *me* and realizing it's because I have no idea who that is; curious as to the meaning of my dreams recently - being outed to my mom and/or father, and sometimes outing myself, but always with a negative (which is to be expected) outcome;

     And then my mind wanders to the future...a scary place filled with darkness, with questions, with doubt and fear; most of all, filled with no hope; a void filled with emptiness, filled with the lacking of something, if that seems at all possible to anyone but myself; suicide seems to always be my first thought when regarding the future, and not always because I want to die, but because it seems inevitable; 

     Next to me, on a random sheet of paper here on my desk, I have written the word "silhouette". I was probably trying to figure out how to spell it when I wrote it there, but at this moment, it is very attractive. The word, resonating in my mind, and its meaning seeming fitting for the night.

     This, as with all other posts recently, has been a huge downer. I wish I could say that I promise sunnier posts in the near future, but as we all know, nothing is for certain, and I don't make promises I can't keep.

-CFS

Repressing vs. Expressing

     I'm an artist...at my core, it's who I am. I have this need to create, to express, to feel, and the only way I know how to do that, the only way I know how to accomplish all of that is through art. 

     I'm also an addict...at my core, it's who I am. My drugs of choice are alcohol and prescription pain killers. It haunts me every waking hour, and doesn't rest when I sleep, or rather, when it allows me to sleep. At times it lies quiet, hiding in the recesses of my mind, giving me a false sense of security...of triumph. At other times, it's all I can hear, all I can feel, all I can't ignore. 

     I accomplished a little over two weeks of being completely clean recently. Then the physical pain resurfaced one day, and me, not thinking, took a couple pills, which led to a three day binge. Why is it when one thing goes wrong, ten other things do as well? Along with the physical pain I was in, a bunch of past insecurities resurfaced and then my support system I like to call my friends, up and vanished on me...not maliciously, they all just have lives. 

     During that time, I painted, I drew, I wrote...more than I have in over a month. It was exhilarating...till I came down. Which brings me here...

     My fear is...I don't know that I can be one without the other. More importantly, I'm afraid that I can't be the artist I so desperately need to be, without being the addict I so desperately wish to defeat. 

     It will sound so stereotypical when I say it, and knowing that doesn't make it any less pathetic, but my artist is better when I give in to my addict. It's free-er to express what it needs to express, and finds ways of doing so that I don't seem able to do otherwise. My paintings take on a whole new life when my brain is unable to get in the way of itself. It's as though I can see things I couldn't before...express my deepest feelings that I would otherwise be afraid to allow to surface. 

     It's a bit scary to think that there's a part of me...aside from the addiction, that wants it to stick around for the sake of my art. Could my artist and addict be in cohorts with one another? A scary prospect indeed...

Brain Vomit

     There are times when I feel as though I have no identity. It is a very odd, uncomfortable position, as it then leads me down a slippery slope of questions without answers. 

     I'm not sure what it means. Who am I? Who is this person that exists, and walks through this life, that can seem just as unreal at times? 

     I think it's just one of those days...or weeks, more likely. Now is not a good time for this to be happening, but then again, when would be a good time? Yeah...exactly. I've been doing everything I can to protect the days I have under my belt (currently on day 15 as of today), but moods like this are a serious threat. Knowing that, however, will hopefully give me a bit more strength in fighting it.

     Sorry this wasn't the most well-written or thought out of posts. Under the circumstances, I have been finding it a bit difficult to concentrate on anything for too long. Hopefully it will pass soon, but I just needed to write a bit to at least get some of it out of my head. 

-CFS

A Moment to Consider

Perhaps it's not 

as FATE intended

Perhaps it's not FATE at all

Perhaps FATE has nothing

to do with it

But then who do we blame for the

times that we fall...

-CFS

The Calm of a Moment

I have taken a moment to consider the following:

• Perhaps not everything happens for a reason
• Perhaps everything happens to serve a greater, ultimate reason
• Perhaps some things happen for an immediate reason, and others for the greater reason

I am not sure where I stand, exactly. But wherever it is, has brought me to these questions:

• Do we fall so that we may learn to pick ourselves up again?
• Do we fall so that we may see something from a new, different perspective?
• Do we fall simply because we were not looking at where we were going?

Again, I am not sure where I stand, exactly. I don't know that there are answers to these questions, or even if there are, if any one answer could be more correct than another. Sometimes, I think, it's just the need to ask. 

In some, "not so heavy" news, I have added some links and updated my profile on here. I've been meaning to do it for awhile now, but the motivation to do so did not strike until 1a.m. last night. Enjoy!

-CFS

Absence creates distance

I have decided that it is time to create a life worth living. Though I am not completely sure as to what that means just yet, I know that things will have to change, and that I will have to be willing to allow things to change, for it to happen.

There is so much to do and learn, to give and experience in this life, and I have spent far too long wasting time and opportunities that were just given to me. My depression, my borderline, my anxiety, and so on, have stolen my life from me, the real me, and claimed it for their own.

That is not okay.

And while I know that those things will always be there, that they will always be a part of me, it is high time I take back the control over my life, and actually start living.

When I go back to read this, it all sounds so very cliche - as though, perhaps I should be writing a self-help book that promises the ultimate "get fixed quick" solution. However, I am not trying to say that I know *the* way, or that I have even some of the answers, much less all of them. No, I am just acknowledging the fact that I have reached a moment in my life - a crossing of the tides, if you will - and that perhaps it's time I took a moment to look at what this other way may have to offer.

I will admit to this epiphany coming at a very conveniant time, as I am currently into my second week of being clean and sober. It is amazing how clear the world can seem when you are not struggling to see through the dense fog that is so cleverly and craftly created by the beast that is addiction. It is not unusual for addicts to have a period of revelation shortly after coming off their drug of choice, and while I am very aware of that, and the reality that this is that time for me, I am nonetheless enjoying the clarity. However, I must remain honest with myself, as that is the point of this whole blog, because as nice as it would be to be able to say that this is the last time I will ever have to count days, I *know* how many times I have been in this exact place before, and how easy it is to forget, and fall, yet again.

But for now, I am here - I am back, and it's a nice place to be. I think I want to stay.

-CFS

Racing the Silence

     It's been a shit day. Nothing in particular has happened; nothing necessarily bad, or good. It was a muggy, grey and dreary day, and while the rain would normally lift my spirits, the weight of the air it hung in seemed only to bear down on me even more so. 

     When I came here to write my mind was racing, and pulling the thoughts apart long enough to categorize them seemed impossible. However, now here I sit, with the screen in front of me and the cursor blinking at a frustrated pace as I struggle to find the words that once flooded my brain. 

     I had a moment earlier...one of those moments where I know in the deepest part of my being, the truth. I know, because the words find their way past all the barriers I've built, and proceed from my lips with exasperated energy, forcing me to admit: "I can't do this anymore." Those words can mean very different things at different times, but they contain one constant universal truth: something needs to change.  At times it means I have come to terms with ending it all because the energy and will it takes to continue on is far beyond my means and capacity. Other times I have come to a place where I am willing to consider the avenues of mood stabilizing meds, or even hospitalization. Sometimes I can't tell which place I'm in when I utter those words, and they only become clear once I'm to the edge, or looking back on them. 

     There is an uncomfortable vibration deep within my body; within my bones. It's unsettling and hurts at times, and keeps me on edge even when the rest of the world is still, like now. I'm going to try and sleep now. 

-CFS

With Nothing to Say

     I have Borderline Personality Disorder. 

This is something I have known, and been labeled as, for at least 11 years now. Being labeled as having BPD is unlike many other mental diagnoses, for the simple fact that once you are labeled as such, you are then also given the label of being unable to be helped. It's a sad fact, but it's just that...a fact. 

Many doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists, as well as other trained mental health professionals refuse to even work with Borderlines. For some it is because working with someone that is Borderline can be very exhausting; for others it's because they have little or no knowledge or experience in working with those patients. Then there are those that don't even believe that Borderline Personality Disorder is an existing, or real condition. It is usually these doctors, or professionals, that don't believe in Fibromyalgia and/or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. 

In my own personal search for answers, I have gone through many mental health care professionals, some better than others, but none, ultimately, being of much real help. Living as someone with BPD can be exhausting and grueling, and at times it almost can feel like a death sentence. There are times when I don't think I will ever be able to live a "normal" life, and that everything I am doing is in vain. (Today, in particular, has been one of those days.)

It's not that I have no goals in life, or that there are not things that I want to accomplish; no, it's that I don't have the ability to function well enough, or long enough, to see those goals and dreams come to fruition. I can be on track and running strong, when all of a sudden the skies darken, and I'm blinded by the darkness of my own mind. And though there are variances within those times, it can take days, weeks, and, lately, even months to fully come out of those periods of chaos and turmoil. Even once I'm out, there's an adjustment period that follows, as things don't always fall right back into their place all neat and nice. 

     I have Borderline Personality Disorder - and every day is a struggle to make it to the next.

-CFS

It's the Questions That Guide Us

     There are times when I look at my life and wonder - how the hell did I get here? The easy answer is: I got here by way of the paths I have chosen to walk thus far. However, that response leaves me feeling, perhaps a bit unsettled, as all it does is create more doorways from which more questions are revealed, that I may never find the answers to either. 

     After my initial post here, I began thinking even more about all of the questions in life that I may never be able to answer. Then, after a full day of nearly driving myself mad wondering and searching for invisible trails that would lead to ultimate truths, I realized that if I spend all of my time worrying that I'll never find the answers, then I surely will not. 

     It's like a self-fulfilling prophecy - if I say I can't, then I can't.

     On the other hand, if I spend that time searching myself and my life for the answers through experience and personal growth, then at least if I don't find them I will surely still have learned something along the way - even if it's just finding a better and more productive way of spending my time.

-CFS

The Beginning

When I began this blog I asked myself one simple, or perhaps not so simple, question:

     What do I want this blog to be?

I think, for me, right now, it needs to be a place of complete honesty; a place where I can not only be honest with others, but, and perhaps more importantly, be honest with myself as well. Though it's meant to be a place where I can hide behind the anonymity of a computer screen and the vast sea that is the world wide web, I want to make sure that it stays true to the facts, and true to myself. I want people to be able to read the words I write here, and see themselves reflected among them. People need to know that they are not alone, though it can definitely feel like it at times, and that includes me. I don't want this blog to become some powerful message for all that is positive, but instead, for it be a message, powerful or not, of being true to ourselves, and to the fact that sometimes - life just sucks.

-CFS

Entry 1

     In the past ninety days I have tried to kill myself...twice. I find myself struggling with how to start the next sentence - either with "luckily" or "unfortunately," so perhaps I'll just use both. Luckily and unfortunately, as well as obviously, neither attempt was a success. I am sure there are many reasons for that, with some being more apparent than others, but even the most obvious of reasons keep me up at night thinking about all the "what if's". 

     What if I had just taken five more pills; what if I had just gone back to sleep; what if I could have pushed just a little harder for just a little longer; what if I hadn't told anyone; what if I hadn't made myself throw it all up; what if it had worked?

     It's the questions that keep me up at night. It's the questions that I can't answer, but want to so badly. I don't know if I will ever be able to answer them, but then again, I figure that's kind of the point. Not being able to know or understand everything, because it's the questions that keep us interested, that give us meaning and importance - in life, and death.

     I don't know where this all leaves me, or where, exactly, I'm headed, but I do know that the path I am on, and have been for so long now, is currently facing south.

-CFS