Borderline

I can't figure out what my life is supposed to look like.  I'm not very social, in fact, socializing gives me anxiety attacks.  I want to go to parties on the weekends, do interesting things; know the latest trends in art and music; understand just enough about politics to have an intellectual conversation about it, but how do I do these things when I can't even keep in touch with my own family?  I hear phrases such as "you only live once" and wonder what that means to me.  Everywhere I go I want to be somewhere else and every solution I think I discover turns into something I must recover from.   I am desperately, inconsolably, delusionally and, most of all, erratically, uncomfortable.

Three days ago I made a joke at work, today I am still tormented by the idea that it wasn't funny; that it was, rather, inhuman or stupid or selfish on some level.  It was none of these things of course but that is the cruel labyrinth that is my mind.  I've been wondering a lot why people like me stay alive when we clearly have as much productivity as a banana slug, although even banana slugs are fun to look at.  I'm just a 31 year old woman consumed by fear and, apparently, Borderline Personality.  The latest diagnosis, well, actually, the latest re-diagnosis.

"a condition in which people have long-term patterns of unstable or turbulent emotions, such as feelings about themselves and others. These inner experiences often cause them to take impulsive actions and have chaotic relationships . . . People with BPD are often uncertain about their identity. As a result, their interests and values may change rapidly.  People with BPD also tend to see things in terms of extremes, such as either all good or all bad. Their views of other people may change quickly. A person who is looked up to one day may be looked down on the next day. These suddenly shifting feelings often lead to intense and unstable relationships."

I get it, the term fucked-up just isn't professional sounding enough.  Oh well.  It's true though, I mean it fits me perfectly.  Everything feels like forever, each emotion, good and bad, feels like the most intense and the heaviest of any emotion I've ever experienced, I can't hold on to a single friendship.  and I hate myself, with every element that constitutes my existence, I despise who I am.  There is no one dumber or more pathetic then me; that's right, I am God's spinning Disappointment.  The Christian Right would probably shit themselves.  Unfortunately I only give autographs on Leap Year.  It's all a bunch of self-deprecating bullshit but it's there whether I wish to write it off as self-deprecating bullshit or not.

Luckily, Hunter refuses to go anywhere, no matter how many times I've tried to push him away, same with my mom.  Sometimes I wonder what I would do without their accountability.  I wonder if anything else would keep me alive.  I hate where I stand in all my relationships; all the people I've pushed away; friends I've lost; loved ones who have given up on me.  I sometimes want to go on Facebook and write:

"Don't hate me, I know I don't talk to any of you, it's not that I don't want to, but I may say the wrong thing and leave you to realize that my personality and my mere existence is completely worthless, so consider this a loving favor.  Trust me, you'll thank me in the long run.  Just stick around, give me a little more time, and one day I'll be able to cross over and join your side.  I'll post, with smiley faces and exclamation points 'I TOO AM FABULOUSLY NORMAL, SOCIALLY GROUNDED AND READY TO COMMENT AND TAG AND LIKE AND POKE LIKE THE REST OF YOU!!!!' "   

As if Bipolar disorder doesn't suck enough.  I've tried every medication under the sun, spiritual programs, changing my diet, exercising regularly, moving out of the state, changing jobs, changing therapist, I've even tried completely ignoring both diagnosis all together, but I never seem to change and this thought process continues to stay stagnant.  It's a lonely feeling really.  Sometimes I wish I had cancer because then at least I could openly talk about the problem with people and in the end I could just die with dignity and make room for people in this world whose mere presence won't pollute the air.  I can't just go up to my friends and say "ya I have bipolar and borderline personality and I seriously think I might slit my wrists in the bathroom tonight, do you have any good home remedies for personality disorders?  Or at least some good advice on how to clean up a bloodstained bathtub, my boyfriend is going to need it?"

I'm sorry, being pathetic was never on my list of goals when I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I wanted to be a singer and a writer but now I would just settle for being happy.  Is any of this even good enough; my writing, my sadness, the immense lack of purpose in my hopelessness.  I search for an end, maybe a beginning, the foundation or the base that all this dark, painful insanity seems to stem from, like dividing the hairs of the beast just to reach the skin.  When it grows from all angles, in all directions, like a thousand layers of sharp thorns, finding the root is never as easy as it seems.  A personality disorder is the thick, hidden root beneath a thousand layers of sharp thorns.  I can not part it as easily as I would like to so I ask for patience within myself that I may one day no longer be buried beneath the sharp layers of anxiety attacks, past wars waged against myself, and the callow time bombs I have to call my emotions.  That maybe one day I'll just be me, in proper form, simple, flowing, talking and listening, laughing and crying, sinuously perceptive, grounded, neutralistically hopeful, decidedly, undividedly me.

Here's what I know- I have a new basset hound puppy, a mother that loves me and a boyfriend who would do absolutely anything for me.  I can say very little for interesting stories, eventful evenings and nights out with close friends, but I am not going to die today.  So I guess that's a start.

Diva-Dai-Ahn-My-Asshole . . . Or Something

I would just like to say that people who change their names because they become yoga instructors can suck my ovaries.  What the hell is that?  Eastern religion teaches us to accept the world around us and to grow in and understand our place in society, yet I watch all these western, white American girls change their identity, abandon their lives to live in pseudo communes and then post all their enlightened experiences on Facebook for the super-unatural world to like, dislike or (woohoo) comment on.  It seriously takes everything in me not to punch them hard in their quasi peaceful cyber faces.  Isn't the purpose of yoga to connect with the world around you, not separate yourself from it? 

Yet: I found God through Downward Dog, now call me Flying Dolphin?

What a better way to dishonor your family than to say, "sorry mom and dad, I know you gave me this great name, but now I'm too spiritual for it because I teach yoga and meditation so I'm moving on to bigger and better names.  Except, oops, by the way, you won't ever be able to pronounce it!  Love you guys.  Oh, and one more thing, can you get me that new $120 yoga mat for Christmas, I spent all my money on teacher training and generic, new age tattoos."