BPD, Depression, Mental health

185 days of not …

All I can say is that I am trying, I am fighting, and after 185 days of not being on this space I am still here; I’m still alone; I’m still trying not to drown in this endless, dark pool of rejection, and further rejection and even more rejection.

Life is shit, and I can’t see past the u-bend.

I have somewhere new to live; I’m in a secure environment; I have a stable income in the form of the “dole” and boy with my background does that feel shameful. Yeah, I know I am not capable of work at this stage. But with psychologist, psychiatrist, GP counsellor and a social worker deeming me unfit for work until further notice … well, I just feel like less and less of a person as each week goes by.

I’m told to use online support groups. I tried that. Firstly, through Facebook but Facebook support groups for people suffering mental illness run by people suffering mental illness just seems to result in understandable stress related implosions, further rejections and subsequent shutdowns. There are other online forums, and I have looked and read and tried but … there’s this huge wall that just seems too high to get over.

The diagnosis of BPD was one thing. I was told I would be ok. I could be helped. It could be treated.

I believed for a while.

The C-PTSD – which is apparently the bigger problem for me – well, all I hear from both professionals and peers is “incurable”, “like cancer, no cure just treat the symptoms to get into remission”, “you’ll be lucky to ever hold down a proper job. Make a long-term goal of 7-15 hours a fortnight.” This long-term goal is prefaced with “… limitations and support from an appropriate disability services provider.”

So how do I feel about all this? They don’t ask you that the professionals.

I feel like I have gone from happy, confident, successful, quirky person capable of working in any environment, for any industry and being good at what I do to a lie, a thing, an illness, a disability, useless, hopeless, a bludger … just not even a person. Certainly not capable, likeable, definitely unlovable EVER. I question myself regularly, I dare not make the smallest decision, I can no longer handle the simplest of choices in case they’re wrong because I myself am inherently wrong.

This is what it was like with my second husband. He would always tell me I was wrong; my thoughts were wrong, my clothes were wrong, my voice was wrong, my beliefs were wrong. I was wrong and bad and dumb and useless and nothing and now I am here again and wondering he actually was a psychologically abusive p*k or am I really everything he said I was? Was he right? Geez, how am I supposed to know!!!

So even though I am better off than thousands of people (and yes I feel deep guilt about this too), I am not happy. The darkness has been swallowing me over the last few months. But this time around I realise that people do care for me, so although I really do not want to be here, I will stay because for some stupid, f*d up reason me remaining trapped in this is important to others and they are important to me.

I promised I would stay and I swore I would try to get better.

I’m keeping my word.

I even requested medication because I realised that there was no way on earth that I could make it without it. Yup. The chick who is deeply wary of meds and the side effects they have on me got back and tried, and tried until I found an anti-depressant that helps. Well, it takes the edge off and assists with sleeping, but I have to work really hard still to do enough to get through each day.

It has killed exercise. I had got myself up to walking between 7 and 15 kilometres a day and started feeling good. Activity is vital, my head and my doctor remind me that. But I have doubled in size, and I puff like a locomotive and struggle to walk around the corner. My legs are swollen and hot, I lack energy, I’m tired and entirely lacking in motivation.

I had to go to the red cross to buy clothes as I couldn’t fit into anything I owned.

I wanted to be fit to go for walks with my son when he visits. How can I do that now? I feel like such a disappointment.

So now I am a fat, depressed, incurable and permanently alone unlovable, useless mess of a person taking up valuable space on the planet.

Living off of taxpayers money no less.

I don’t feel great, but I will keep on doing this. Staying alive is apparently my job now.

Therapy has finally started, and it is not what I thought it would be. It’s twisting roads that span the chasm of time force me to haul out feelings of rejection and abandonment I swear I have not felt and no, I will not feel. I don’t want to remember stuff. I don’t want to explore more stuff.

I’m told I’m resisting. That it is there. And that until I deal with it, I won’t get better.

Get better eh?

After the last 185 days that is increasingly difficult to believe in. I don’t know how. And whining about it makes me feel selfish, guilty, shameful and worse.

And I look in the mirror and understand why society rejects me.

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