Phoenix Fights

Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2016….


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PITY PARTY TRACK 19 – DESOLATION ROW – MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE

You can push a person too far, and right now I’m at the end of a very long, frayed rope….

Yesterday, after months of saint like patience and extraordinary self control, I finally snapped tore one the Perkies a new arsehole (in the manner of Rorschach after a particularly trying day) when, on receipt of my desperate plea for timings and information re my schema therapy treatment, she let it slip that the start date had been moved AGAIN, (4 times to date) and my formal written diagnosis of my condition would not be sent out until everyone involved had completed their questionnaire sessions.

‘How do their answers have any bearing on your analysing and sending out mine?’ I asked in reasonable, if slightly strangled tones, moments before I flipped.

‘Well..um…I’m not sure, but I’m calling you back just to say…well…you know…we understand it must be soooo stressful…’

‘Actually I don’t think you do.  Because I’ve almost ran out of money and may not be in situ by the time you, sorry, they get their arse in gear and finalise a date.’ ‘Oh no’ she replied in those oh so familiar sickly sweet tones, ‘that must be sooo awful….’

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BOOM.

‘You know what?  I don’t think you’re getting it.  I’ve had to put my flat on the market, I’m down to my last grand, I’ve just had 2 bills that will amount to, oh say around £10K that need paying this year, and I don’t have a fucking job!’

‘Right.  Oh.  I’m so sorry to….’

‘Sorry but I don’t want to hear it.  I don’t want your standardised scripted call back that you make “so they feel acknowledged and listened to” because it’s bullshit.  It’s like you’ve recorded the same droning faux sympathetic message and play it down the receiver to all of us, and it’s just not good enough.  This is beyond a joke.  I’ve been waiting nearly a year for treatment since his nibs charmingly informing me that I was BPD and I’ve had to deal with the fall out of that all on my own (sorry Aunty C) whilst you lot diddle around, putting us through hours and hours of the same stupid fucking questions, intermittently treating us to your best ‘oh dear’ faces in lieu of real empathy, and move the goal posts again, again and again….’

‘Oh, well I….’

‘….and in the meantime we all sit in limbo, either hanging onto our place in society for grim death or mouldering away at home waiting for SOME TANGIBLE SUPPORT….’

‘…yes, I….’

‘..so the very LEAST you owe me is a formal written diagnosis so that at the very likely chance that I’ll be somewhere else by the time you get your act together I’ll have something to present to a medical professional in a new borough, where hopefully they might take it and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!!’

‘I’m so sorry but…’

‘Look I know it’s not you, but for God’s sake if you don’t know when it’s going to happen, be HONEST because every time you move the dates, I promise you, it’s like a kick to the stomach to someone like me, and y’know what?  Not everyone is as outspoken as me, and let’s face it, the last thing you want is a suicide on your hands?  Just saying!’

I don’t remember who hung up, but I do know that afterwards my hands were trembling with rage, but felt curiously released and revitalised. Aunty C (my counsellor) laughed when I told her.

‘Good for you!  It’s great to that passion back! You are better off not relying on them, move forward, don’t hang around for them or you’ll be there forever!’

That was yesterday.

Today brought me back down to earth with a thunk.

Another service bill because they ‘under estimated’ last year’s. This is like some kind of conspiracy. How am I going to sell this place and afford somewhere near my friends now? I don’t know whether to explode again or sink into a sludgy puddle of lethargic, defeatist despair.

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I swear if I counted Dr Manhattan amongst my close friends, i would happily volunteer to be ‘ink blotted’ right now, then I wouldn’t have to deal with all this shit anymore.

I wouldn’t even notice his fine physique, Billy C jawline or his huge blue willy wafting gently in night air.

Nope. Just splat me dude, then fuck off back to tinkering around on Mars, ta muchly.

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I honestly don’t know what’s going to come down on me next, but at this rate, I’ll be homeless.  I guess that’s when I’ll find out who my real friends are.

Look out for me sweeping up on my very own desolation row. I’ll be the one that ends up running riot with that broom in the direction of my local mental health facility.

Pray for me.

Namaste x

https://sistasertraline.wordpress.com/2014/04/29/holy-moses/

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FAMILIARITY BLEEDS CONTEMPT

A few days ago, I was told, albeit in a jocular manner, that I must like loathing myself because I do it so much.

My immediate reaction was anger and irritation, but I’m HSP, and as I knew it came from a good person who was only trying to make me smile, I didn’t respond in a too negative way.

But it played on my mind all day, not because it was a stupid thing to say, but because I can’t really explain why we depressives/BPD types do the things we do to ourselves time and time again, so the reality is that I am more angry at myself than anyone else.

And there I go again, beating myself up, only proving her point.

ARRGGHH!

Can I stress that this is in no way a dig at my friend or a ‘pity me’ article?  I more than anyone want to understand why this keeps on happening and rectify it, but I do know that self destructive behaviour is a classic BDP trait.

So I tried to think a bit more about why I lapse back into self defeating behaviours when i know so much more than the average Joe about mental health and the techniques, habits and care taking that can prevent them taking hold.

‘Reinventing Your Life’ by Jeffrey E Young calls these behaviours ‘life traps’ or ‘schemas’ and I bought it about a month ago as I will (hopefully) be having 2 years of schema therapy come Autumn.

Have I read it yet?

No.  That would be far, far too enabling and rational, innit?  Well I got as far as the second chapter entitled ‘Which Lifetraps Do You Have?’ and stopped because didn’t want to ‘spoil’ my new book by writing on it.

Jaysus, I sound like an 8 year old schoolgirl not wanting to crease her new exercise book…lame excuse really…

But what I do understand is that schemas are cultivated during childhood and are down to flawed parenting, repeat and repeat throughout our lives, are comfortable and familiar and when challenged, will fight for survival.

And maybe that’s why we keep on repeating and repeating our self hating shit.

It’s easy.  We know the routine.  We know what to expect when we do it.  We know what the outcome will be.  We know that there are no surprises lurking around the corner.   And we know that no matter how hard we fight, these fuckers tend to win and overcome our good intentions around 90-99.9% of the time.

So we trudge on down that same old path, stubbing our toes on the same old rocks, scratching our faces on the same thorny undergrowth, besieged by the savage mosquito like words of our traitorous subconscious that sting and sting again, and press on staggering and bleeding, rather than take the road lest travelled.

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Because whilst that other route might look bright, lush and inviting after you get past the scary bit, and is probably safer that the lonely old wilderness that we choose time and time again, we ‘know’ from experience that whatever can go wrong, does go wrong, so we don’t trust that it leads to a pretty little copse full of colourful butterflies, fragrant flowers and chattering birds, as we ‘know’ that just around that corner that fricking scarecrow/bat thing from ‘Jeepers Creepers’ is lying in wait for us, just dying to swoop down and claw our peepers out, so fuck that for a game of soldiers.

Why everyone else however, manages to trot down it and come out the other end totally unscathed is a mystery.

So how to defeat these damned schema things?  Dunno yet.  And whilst I’m sure that actually reading the book in full and doing the exercises (instead of using it as a coaster) might help, I’ll only really know by doing the therapy with other BDP sufferers, which I’m actually looking forward to.

Because being on your own makes it even easier to lapse, because no one is there to chivvy you along when you mope, yank the duvet off your reluctant carcass of a morning and shove you towards the bathroom, drag you to the cinema, or circle jobs in the local paper in order to get you out into society again.  Cats are all very well, but they can’t do that shit. And if they could I doubt they’d bother. They have too much on what with the eating, fighting, jumping on my belly, chewing my hair covering it with fishy spittle, and trashing my furniture, so having sessions with and support from people who not only get it, but live it will probably be revelation.

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I do get it though.  Some people must find out shit very frustrating, and even Aunty C chides me for ‘moping’ sometimes, but she’s my therapist/mum so she’s allowed.

What would be absolutely unbearable however would be to live with someone who didn’t understand, and was in my face, saying stupid shit and nagging me half to death.  After all familiarity breeds contempt doncha know, and the thought of a malign being sharing my home when I’m at my worst is enough to make me booby trap all my doors with razor wire, so I am actually thankful that I live alone.

Well me and the cats.

AND the good parent, the bad parent, the child and all the gibbering mind monkeys.

Better the devils you know eh? 🙂

Hey ho, roll on September…

Namaste x

http://www.justsomelyrics.com/748403/susan-cadogan-hurt-so-good-lyrics.html

http://www.schematherapy.com/id202.htm

 

 

 

 


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COME OUT, COME OUT, WHOEVER YOU ARE….

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I’ve made a decision.

I’m going to come off my medication.

Well I’m going to try anyway, and will have to do it gradually but the intention is to be meds free ASAP and see how I get on from there.

I know it’s a risk and I know that I may have to do a swift about turn and get back on it if the whole thing backfires and I turn into a panic stricken, aggressive, super anxious, destructive, paranoid wreck, but I’m pretty sure that the reason I’m so stunted and not moving on any time soon with anything is because I’m so stoned on Sertraline.

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Aunty C has been telling me this for years, and some of my friends think it’s a good thing because I’m all ‘Zen’ now (Hah!  If only they knew), but I think the final straw for me was the other night when after watching one of the saddest, most tearjerking programme that has been on TV for a long time, I was unable to shed a tear.

Even though I could feel myself practically boiling with emotion.  That can’t be right, can it?

Also last year I was told by a yoga teacher that all my chakras were blocked, and I’d never be able to get them active until I’m free of personality altering medication, and I’m starting to believe that she was right.

I am going to be a good, responsible Sista, go see Dr B, get some advice and do it under supervision, but I am going to do it, as I’m never going to be able to touch base with my true self whilst it’s being watered down like this.

Wait a minute, though?  If I’m not on sertraline anymore, how can I be Sista Sertraline?  This one pseudonym/identity has been the only surety in my life for the last 18 months or so, and it’s quite scary to think that I might have to give it up.

Who the fuck am I anyway?!

Well.

I guess we’re about to find out.

Be afraid.  Be very afraid…

 

https://sistasertraline.wordpress.com/2014/06/21/these-are-the-days-of-the-endless-summer-3-mylastsummer/


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Daily prompt: Just Another Day – TROUBLE MAN (BPD BLUES)

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“Our days our organized around numerous small actions we repeat over and over. What’s your favorite daily ritual?”

Like many people that are unstable/out of work/downright idle, I don’t really have a routine, but from my darkest days when I only drag my butt out of bed to pee, to my extremely rare 24 hour highs, and everything in between, three things must happen:

  • I need to take care of my cats
  • I NEED tea.
  • I need to take my medication.

So rather than write some longwinded dirge about why this is the case and bore everyone on here who’s heard it all before, I decided to bastardise one of my favourite songs by the late, great Marvin Gaye.

Apologies in advance to his family and estate.

Sorry Marvin.  I love you…

TROUBLE MAN (BPD BLUES)

I come up hard baby, but things weren’t cool
But I survived sugar, playin’ by the rules
I come up hard baby, said I was fine
But I was troubled sugar, movin’ down the line
I come up hard but that’s okay
‘Cause trouble men, I sure made them pay
I come up hard, baby

I’ve been real ill, baby, but I keep movin’, even when I’m down
I fall apart, but I’m still around
There’s only three things that’s for sure
Catshit, meds and cuppas
This I know baby, this I know sugar
But ain’t gon let it sweat me babe

Got me singin’, yeah, yeah, ooh
Come up hard, baby, I had to fight
Tried to fit in with all my might
I come up hard, fall apart, drank too much gin
Then start all over next day again
I come up hard but that’s the way
‘Cause trouble man it is here to stay, hey, hey

I seen dark places and I’ve been some faces
Made no real connections, had no direction
What people say, it ain’t okay, it bothered me, so
Now I say “Just fuck ’em”, I’ll make my own luck man
Don’t care ’bout no haters, I say “I’ll see ya laters”
It’s time I just try to be my own ‘Me’ now

I come up hard, baby, time to be real, baby
Heal my troubled mind, keeping up the fight
I fall apart, and I get down
There’s only three things for sure
Catshit, meds and cuppas oh
This I know, baby, this I’ve known, baby
Hey gotta pick this shit up baby, ooh

All right, baby, ooh
Some days it’s hard, some days it’s cool
I can’t make it, baby, playin’ by the rules
I’ve come up hard, baby, now it’s tea time
I add milk and sugar, hey, and take my Sertraline, oh, oh, ooohhh…

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/just-another-day/

http://www.metrolyrics.com/trouble-man-lyrics-marvin-gaye.html

 

 


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FORGIVE (WITH) ME!

 

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Today I planned to meet up with a couple of people whom I believe screwed me over, and naturally I was apprehensive about the encounter.

Why, you might wonder, was I meeting them in the first place?

I was meeting them because I have this habit of permanently falling out with friends over intentional or unintentional infractions of the friendship and consequently don’t have many left, so I have to learn how to handle people better and forgive and accept their failings as they probably accept mine.

I’m not very good at forgiveness, you see.

‘You have to be mindful of who you let see your ‘child’!’ my counsellor Aunty C urges, ‘some friends can be trusted to this end, but you can’t be super close to everyone!  You have to protect yourself whilst figuring people out!’

She’s right. I’m not much for casual friends.  And If I meet a ‘kindred spirit’ I tend to spill my guts, show my vulnerability and then when they can’t resist the temptation of fucking me over and/or letting me down, I furiously see them off with my (metaphorical) sawn off shotgun complete with a 20 ft flame thrower attachment.  And they, understandably, run.  Never to be seen again.

You would think that someone in my position would do everything they could to hang onto friends wouldn’t you?

During my therapy prep session with the Perkies earlier this week https://sistasertraline.wordpress.com/2014/04/29/holy-moses/, I was asked a series of questions about whether I was (a) terrified of being left by men/family/friends, (b) whether I ever begged them to say, and (c) whether I ever used emotional blackmail on them to make them stay.

I believe my answer them was something along the lines of ‘I’d rather cut my tits off and hang them on a barbed wire fence.’

That caused a bit of pinkcheekitis I can tell you.  Bless! 😉

It was then that I started to think that I might not be BPD after all.

Then I remembered.  I did used to do those things when I was young, green and vulnerable with no confidence in myself whatsoever.  Then my mum died and, in my fury and outrage, I turned to stone.  Then when anyone messed me around or let me down (especially men), I wouldn’t cling to them.  I dumped them so hard their ears bled.  I essentially despatched them before they got chance to despatch me.  Even if they never intended to in the first place.

I was one cold bitch.  And I loved it.  I gloried in my intractability, my formidable reputation, my ability to show no fear, and my merciless resolve to never, ever forgive them for what they had done.

I felt STRONG.  I was respected.  No one dared cross me.

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And decades later, when I finally unravelled, my so called armour collapsed like a wet cardboard box, leaving little peeled prawn me quivering and trembling alone in the barren landscape of my reality wondering how the hell I was going to protect myself now.

I’m starting to realise that I had it all wrong.  As in keeping out anyone who let me down, I also kept out not only their potential goodness, but the good people who could have had a positive, supportive role in my life, because, from a love perspective, I am essentially alone now.

And without being cringy, corny or a God botherer, it’s only since I’ve been using my beads and praying that I’ve seen any kind of positive shift in my life.

When I had a rather intimidating family get together the other week, I prayed for help in getting through it, to not deliberately sabotage it by make things awkward no matter how annoying they were, to not take offence at any tactless/dumb/hurtful thing that might inadvertently be said, and to let them in, if only for that day.

And I survived it.  They thought it was a great success.  I was exhausted, but exultant and relieved it was over.

My pow wow with the Perkies?  I prayed to be patient, trusting and to remember that they were, and are, trying to help me.  It’s not their fault that they are young, lovely and normal!  And apart from one or two awkward moments it was fine.

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Today was going to be hard though.  Because those naughty Mind Monkeys were at it again, telling me that Friend 1 was the instigator and was now shitting himself because I might drop him in it with Friend 2, so perhaps I should do just that, hmm?  Serves him right hey!  And they reminded me that Friend 2 was nervous after getting a chilly reception from me last time our paths crossed, and wouldn’t it be a good laugh to keep her on tenterhooks all day by way of punishment? After all, she complicit too, so deserved to be jerked around.

It’s hard to resist those prankish primates with their mischievous, amusing, destructive ideas.  They kept tempting me with sharp, witty, faux innocent one liners to smack my friends down with, reminding me of their weaknesses and that I should punish them so that by the end of the day, they’d know that they’d been Tangoed per se.

Boom!

Actually no.  If I went down that route, no one would be speaking to anyone by lunchtime, so whilst I was sorely tempted to exact a little revenge, I asked for help in keeping calm, not being cruel, getting over what had gone before and, without putting my ‘child’ in danger to let myself be softer and to try to see the good inside them.  And, if possible, to forgive them.

And apart from one teensy weensy bitch slap (Look, it was more of a pat than a slap, OK?!) which only happened because someone decided it was a good idea to resurrect a point of contention, it went fine.  I was a bit stiff and uncomfortable at first, but by the end of the day everyone was happy, relieved and it was evident that we had finally put the entire matter behind us.

I think I’m over it.  And it might not sound like a big deal to a normal, balanced, non BPD person, but for me it really is.

Getting over shit and not holding onto anger, bitterness and the desire for revenge seems to be at the heart of my potential recovery.

Then I saw this on today’s Reader Feed.

http://forgivenesschallenge.com

Timely, no?

I don’t know what this consists of, how it’s going to work or whether it will be useful, but I’ve decided to give it a go, as God knows I need all the help I can get.

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That said, I’ve just played the first video and if I was a cartoon I’d have a huge question mark above my head right now.

You’ll know what I mean when you watch it. 🙂

Strange days indeed, as I’ve said more than once of late…

If you too have an issue with forgiveness and feel ‘stuck’ because of it, drop your weapon of choice and join me.

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Not for the wankers who’ve hurt you, but for you and your well being.

Because you’re worth it (flicks hair Cheryl stylee).

Namaste xx