All of the lights...

I'm not a novice to auditory hallucinations anymore, they're commonplace, but despite that they're difficult to explain.  They're elusive and hard to memorize, making recall very difficult.

But something new has crept up on me.  Visual hallucinations that are part delusion and lead to major paranoia.  Lately I see my thoughts in lights, like a table lamp or a florescent ceiling light.  Each word pours out of the light they radiate.  Which leads me to believe that anyone paying attention can see my thoughts.

So nothing feels secret anymore.  I vacillate between being paranoid about it, to being totally annoyed when someone asks how I am.  Can't they see it?  All of it, floating out of the beams of light?  So in... light... of this I've come to prefer darkness, or dimly lit places, where I don't feel so exposed and vulnerable, making going out, or even having people over a real hassle.

-E

Being Boderline

Most would say I'm in recovery from Borderline Personality Disorder.  I went through 3 rounds of DBT skills group (a year and a half's worth), went to DBT therapy twice a week for two years, and now I attend a weekly DBT process group and therapy once a week.

But sometimes I still feel pretty Borderline. 

Like when I'm upset and I have the urge to do catastrophic damage to all of my personal relationships.  Or when I'm distressed and I want to act impulsively by cutting myself, bruising up my arms and legs, or perhaps picking up a syringe full of whatever i can get my hands on.  But all these options are off the table now, as they would do catastrophic damage to my relationship, and I know that they only provide temporary relief from distress, and much more pain further down the road.  

And now that I'm off work for a while and staying home, the intense fear of being alone and co-occurring sense of boredom and emptiness consumes me.  When M comes home I'm elated, and automatically feel shunned when she wants to retreat for a 20 minute bath.  I feel like I'm being abandoned over and over again, and every time it hurts.  So I have to get better at self-soothing.


What is self-soothing?  Sometimes it's as simple as a cup of tea and some Netflix, sometimes it means swaddling myself in our down comforter and hiding from the world for a little bit.  Then I have to deal with that pesky fear of abandonment. Sometimes I can validate and encourage myself, gripping the pink elephant my therapist gave me to remind me that she's not going anywhere, but sometimes I have to call her for reassurance that I'm not being left, and that these feelings will pass.


The most difficult part is learning to regulate my emotions.  I swing, in a manic frenzy, from anxiety to happiness to depression to anger at the drop of a hat.  So I've had to learn to ride those waves, and bring myself back to the center, to my wise mind, where I can still feel, but deal with those emotions properly.  Without hurting myself.  I'm still working on the unstable sense of self piece.  I often feel like I don't have a sense of myself, or my eating disorder takes over and I become a self that I loathe, that I don't want to be stuck in.  On those days it's a struggle to eat, and a struggle to want to stay alive.


So some days, yes, I'm in recovery, and other days, it's more complicated than that.

But most of the time things are good.  I recognize that there will be ups and downs in my life, but ultimately I've built a life worth living that I enjoy.  I still hate doing the dishes, but M manages to flawlessly pick up where I left off when it comes to holding down the household.  I love M's company, and recognize that this time off of work has given me the gift of spending so much more time with her.  I smile more than I sulk now, and I get the gift of having someone I completely adore in my life to make things so much better for me. I call my therapist less, and very rarely in crisis.  I have a stable home and a steady source of income.  I feel like a productive member of society.  This is where the recovery is, and this is what gets me up in the morning.


-E

Gargoyles

It's a good thing that San Francisco architects weren't into gargoyles, because if they were up there, I'm pretty sure they'd be talking to me.  I look up to see buildings crumbling around me, like I'm in the middle of an earthquake that I just can't feel.  I know the wind is blowing, for reals, I hear real people commenting on it, and the wind chills me to the bone.  What I'm not so sure about are the snapping branches, or twisting tree trunks, the impending doom.  My sanity radar says something's off.

-E

Lock-down

Yesterday my brain put me on lock-down.  It was supposed to be a normal Saturday.  M and I would have coffee at 9:30 at the Peet's downtown.  At 5 to 10 we would part ways- she'd go to her Al-Anon meeting and I'm hop on BART to the city to catch my NA meeting.  Then I'd have lunch with my sponsor, come home, goof around with M, watch her work on projects, and to wrap it up, dinner plans in this city with a friend.

But something went wrong yesterday.  I made it to our coffee date (well, it was a half-hot chocolate date because I gave up coffee for Lent) but as 10 o'clock approached I started to get nervous.  The voices ramped up, the shadows behind me seemed real, and I was pretty sure crevices would open in the earth in front of me and swallow me whole.

So I told M I'd wait at Peet's for her to finish; that I couldn't make it to my meeting today.  I had books, I had my journal, I would be fine.  But I wasn't fine.  2 minutes after M left I freaked the fuck out and went to the car to hide.  For an hour I huddled in the passenger seat hoping nothing horrible would happen.  Which of course, nothing did.  M got back, we ran a couple of errands, and went out to lunch.  I thought maybe I had come out the other side and lived to tell the tale.

When we got home I was exhausted; paranoia, hallucinations, delusions, they all take it out of me like nothing else.  And like a 5 year old I needed M to lay with me in bed until I fell asleep, to keep the Harpies at bay.  When I woke up I was terrified immediately.  Sometimes sleep is the only safe place and I hate the shock of waking up.  I had 3 hours until I needed to make it out of the house for dinner.  So I tried to pull myself together.  I self-soothed like crazy- drank iced tea, watched my gymnast-girl-TV-drama series, and asked for reassurance and hugs at every twist and turn in my brain.  

When dinner time came, I couldn't fathom leaving the house.  Shadows outside were lurking, the Harpies were convincing me that the world was coming to an end and it were best if I stayed inside, and I just WANTED to be comfortable for even a minute.  But along with all of that was the reality that I wouldn't be making it out of the house that night, and on top of it all I had to call my friend and tell her I was too afraid to leave my apartment to come over for dinner.  I felt like a horrible person and like a failure, but I just couldn't get myself outside.

There's no quick and clean way to end this story. M and I made dinner, which I survived without event (and it was delicious) and then I made the simple decision to take my socks into the bedroom to put them with the laundry.  And it all fell apart again.  Fear flooded in and I threw myself onto the bed in the darkness to hide (it's better when it's dark inside, because it makes it that much lighter outside where things tend to lurk).  I didn't want to ruin a perfectly nice evening, and M wanted to take a bath, so the question was posed "what was I going to do?"  What seemed like a perfectly logical answer was to crawl under the covers on the bedroom.  I figured that if M was going to be somewhere comfortable and soothing then that's what I should be doing too.  But she coaxed me out of the bedroom, and there was where I ended up, swaddled in a blanket and plopped in front of the computer with my girl-gymnast-drama and a blog post to write.

-E

Are you okay?

I'm tired of being asked if I'm okay, because you know what?  The answer is usually "no, I'm not fucking okay", but that's not an answer anyone who asks the question is prepared to deal with.   


Sometimes M asks the question; best case scenario, as she will accept the answer of no, I'm not ok.  But any details of what, where, who, how or why tend to bring on overwhelm and she reminds me that she's not my therapist.


Sometimes my mother asks the question; worst case scenario, because I am forced into a lie about how I'm totally fine, in order to maintain some semblance of normalcy in the household, and to keep her from smothering me by trying to "fix" it.


And then there are all the times in between.  Like at work, when they ask me if I'm ok, they don't really have time for the answer and all they really want to know is "are you going to have a seizure and pass out causing a smack to the head on the concrete floor".  They don't know about all the crazy, and I can't imagine if they did.  There are friends who pose the question, and I just can't break it to them that things are fucking tough right now and no, I'm not okay, and yes, it's true, I'm not asking for help.


But no one seems to ask when I am okay, which makes me feel like I'm transparent, like I shouldn't play poker because my face is a tell every time.


-E

The Lurker

Some days I'm pretty sure that someone's following me.  Not the Harpies, they're always following me, but someone more ominous, more threatening.  I'll admit, I look over my shoulder, a lot, just to make sure, but even when I look 

I'm not convinced that I don't see something lurking. 

I don't usually backtrack, or take 3 unnecessary buses.  Usually.  But sometimes it's hard not to act on the delusions.  It's difficult to convince myself that these things aren't real; i.e. I've never actually found someone following me, I've never been caught or hurt by said follower, but it still feels real. 

These days I try to work under the pressure, and it's ridiculous.  I stand at the Customer Service Booth looking back every 5 seconds, seeing shadows fluttering just out of view.  If people ask I tell them I'm keeping an eye on my cashiers, in lieu of having eyes in the back of my head.  Being delusional would be a lot better if I really did have eyes in the back of my head...

-E

Sewer Harpies

There are about five voices in my head, but if you ask me, they’re not in my head at all.  They’re as real as you or me, they flank me on all sides, and they are LOUD.  And believe it or not, they are all women.  I call them the sewer harpies, sometimes the peanut gallery, but usually just the Harpies.  One speaks in a low hiss, one is ghetto fabulous, one as sweet as Cool Whip, one is loud and angry, and the last sounds like me at 15.

I try not to name them, though sometimes I am dying to, to give them a life and validate how real they are.  They want names, but they are not nice about asking.  The Harpies are not nice about anything.  I don’t get inspirational messages, or warnings that the aliens are coming, but words that are more believable than either of those options.

The Harpies tell me that I’m worthless, that I should end it all, that someone will die if I don’t eat my bagel in exactly 45 bites.  It’s a lot of pressure when I listen, and it’s hard not to.

I manage to survive the Harpies, work around them; tell them to mind their own business.  Headphones help, telling them to go away doesn’t.  Ignoring them is a wise idea, talking back to them, unfortunately, is not.

Lately the meds haven’t been helping, and I live with raging Harpies every day.  My compulsions are few, despite the encouragement, but my confidence is low.

-E

Totes Normal

When people ask how I am, that’s what I want to say: totes normal.  It’s not a reply that answers the question.  What they want to know is “how is your day going?” or “is anything notable happening in your life right now?”  So this reply is obviously insufficient, but it’s what I long to say.  The truth is, the answer to that question is too complicated even for me to explain.

Here’s the problem; I’m mentally ill.  Not a little depressed or slightly anxious, but totes cray-cray.  I’m not even suffering from dual diagnosis, but some sort of full-on multi diagnosis that is as dynamic as the freaking ecosystem.  The list?  Borderline Personality Disorder, Panic Disorder, Chronic Depression, Eating Disorder- Not Otherwise Specified, Epilepsy, Opiate Dependence, and Schizoaffective Disorder. 

Yes, totally crazy, and utterly mentally ill.  But living with it, and hopelessly in love with a girl that manages to live through it with me.

Some people know the details of my life, some don’t.  Let me take a breath to speak to what happened to me two years ago, or maybe more accurately what I did to myself in the wake of totally losing my mind.  I was working as the manager of a grocery store, finishing up a dual-degree masters program, and managing a nine-year (and somewhat imperfect) marriage with grace and dignity.  Then the Epilepsy hit, I cracked under all the pressure, and totally lost my mind.  I stopped eating and lost 75 pounds in three months, fell back into the depths of heroin addiction that I had left behind with my teenage years, and anxiety and depression consumed me.  The Borderline in me resurfaced, and then the psychotic break came.  Within six months I lost my job, my savings, my wife, my housing, and all semblance or normalcy that I had built in the nine years since I left home at 18.  I was a disabled wreck.

To my credit, I refused to give up.  Over the next year I spent weeks at a time in the hospital, freaked out a therapist or two, and finally found my saving grace: Dialectical Behavioral Therapy.  If you don’t know what it is, look it up.  It’s life changing, and in most cases, life saving.  I pulled myself together, whilst living on disability in a tiny but clean SRO, and I started to date again.

Which is when I met her, the girl that I fell in love with, who inspires me and encourages me, who didn’t know what she was getting in to, but has stuck through it like a champ.  She reminds me to take my meds, helps me with my therapy homework, and is always available for reality testing and talking down the voices chattering behind me.  And we even fit in the normal stuff like dinner with friends and trips to the grocery store.


But then we started to feel isolated, like we were hiding the truth of our mostly crazy but pretty normal life.  So we started this blog.

-E