BPD

Pain and confusion

Pain. There are so few moments without it. I have to work hard to both accept it, feel it and when it is too hard to bear, then I work to distract from it.

I write posts but don’t publish. Positive ones on acceptance, then a single conversation threw that out of the window for what I have worked hard to accept as not being there, was suddenly real again. When the one person I want to be relevant to and have spent months telling myself I am not important to and have worked hard to accept that I am not, tells me over the phone that I am important, that my well-being does matter, well that is just too much. It has thrown me into a mixture of sadness, happiness and confusion; a reminder of grief and loss both past and definite loss in the near future. The Grim Reaper stands at my shoulder once again, and it is not me he is going to take.

I have thousands of words in my heart right now, but few are positive, I should post but dare not, but find myself in part doing so. I am supposed to share this journey, but I worry about worrying others for I know now that there are people out there who care about me. I don’t want to hurt people.

Everything is so muddled and conflicted.

My silence has been noted. A new friend, from the other side of the world, picked up on this. She contacted me in the wee small hours to make sure I was ok. But I know that she too is struggling, so I cannot be a burden on her either. I have such a thing at the moment of being a burden. People are trying to help me, and all I feel is guilt and dismay that they are trying to do so. For I am so unworthy of help.

D2 has gone. I went full BPD when she wasn’t available.

It is so hard to get an appointment, and when I did, she was still with one patient and another waiting. She came out to apologise that there was at least an hour’s delay. I smiled and said that was ok, I understood but that I was on time constraints and needed to get back to work. This was true. I am very time poor at the moment. She suggested we cancel and meet up in a fortnight and I smilingly agreed.

But as I drove home, stressed, distressed and disappointed I berated myself. I allowed myself to be consumed with guilt. Guilt for my neediness. Guilt that I need too much help at the moment. Guilt that I was taking her precious time away from others.

There are so many people who need help. The system cannot support people with complex needs such as myself. There are too many who need help. Support for people like me with a trifecta of trauma-based disorders, well the system just cannot support it, so I withdrew myself from her books. Guilt. Being too much of a burden, when so many others can be helped. I am in the too hard basket. I will take up too much time, too many resources that just aren’t there. To tend me, others would miss out on their necessary care. These are people who are reaching out. These are people in a community. These are people who do use helplines.

I don’t. I can’t. I won’t.

I don’t belong. Not here, not anywhere. But I will stay around. Around because D1 has ramped up her support of me, she is holding on tight to make sure I make it through. But I shouldn’t be the burden of a country GP; I know that.

Meds don’t work; I have to go through this the hard way. Because part of this involves my grief at the loss of someone dear, which is a conflict for my other main support person, I have lost that support too.

I am standing on the precipice to a new life and do have a chance with a rigorous regime to keep me on track, but with what is coming I need extra support – instead, my support base has halved.

This is going to be difficult. I am going to have to be very strong. Stronger than I have ever had to be.

I will make it because I have promised, but the next few months are going to be hard.

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