Crazy

When I started this blog, the purpose was to watch my process through recovery~~ what a joke.

I believe that somewhere, somehow, there's a higher power that's watching this, and laughing uproariously at it all, thinking that this, somehow, is the greatest joke of all~that this utter lunacy has to be simply the most hysterically stupid thing ever witnessed by man or beast.

Just for entertainment, we've developed the joys of mania added to depression; ok, mania isn't a joy. I think that the general public think of mania as a "high", but for most of us, or at least for me and those I know, it's not. It's simply one more hell separating the real YOU from your functioning mind. Agitation, anxiety, restlessness, inability to breathe, concentrate, pricking at my skin from the inside. I want to get out, but I don't know how.

I'm screaming, screaming, screaming, in my brain.

And sometimes on the outside.

My husband and I, we had this 'thing' we did, that would help me when things got this bad. He knew when I was out of control and he knew that the more structure I had in my life, the happier I was. I hate to liken it to a dog, or a child, but that's how it is. If I knew exactly where the lines were, I was ok. If I knew someone would stand up and say "NO" each and every time I said or did the wrong thing, I was happy; I felt safe and secure, and for a borderline personality patient, or a bipolar disorder patient, safety and security are what allow you to live as a useful member of society.

It doesn't much matter what the "thing" is. The fact is that on Saturday, my husband said he simply can't do it anymore. It takes too much out, and it hurts him too much and he can't do it anymore. Well, that's rather a simplistic explanation of how it all went down with so much screaming and crying and carrying on. Both of us left in tears...and me in a panic. I lost control in the most dramatic of fashion (so I understand from his accounts later),him shovelling valium into me, me insisting that it was time to leave (to where, I do not know), just that I leave. I remember that. I needed to get away. Just go. I felt panicked and trapped. My safety net was gone and now I'm walking a tightrope with nothing but thousands of feet of space between me and the black hole beneath me.....

I knew, at some point, that it would happen like this. I knew, at some point, that he would have to say, "It's enough". I wasn't ready. I'm not ready to try to fight this illness on my own with no help, no backup, and no escape plan when things go wrong.

I had safety and security and now I have none.

My husband loves me. He swears he'll stay with me for the rest of my life, and ride this out. So what? What's the point of staying with someone who's fucked up beyond all recognition? What's the point of pledging your undying love to a lunatic? WHY? What can I do for HIM? At least before, after we had done our "thing", it brought a level of normalcy to our life for a while, and I was a regular, loving wife. Now I'm just crazy. I'm crazy.

I don't know what to do or where to go. I spent the weekend hoping I'd die, but I'm not afforded the luxury of helping it along because I recognize the selfishness in that, so it's just got to be this quiet thing that stays in my head. I'm desperate to hurt myself. I'll spend the next hours fighting the urge to find razor blades and bandages and alcohol and butterflies and polysporin.

I'm lost and desperate and alone.

I've been alone before. I raised my kids alone and worked alone and kept a bipolar disorder and BPD relatively under control and hidden from those around me. I've got to be able to do it again. I've got to find the strength somewhere inside to make myself do it alone.

Fuck drugs.
Fuck psychologists.
Fuck psychiatrists.
Fuck letting your guard down.

The only good thing out of this is that I learned a lesson: there's one person in life to trust. Even if she's crazy.

Bo