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