Of All The Things I've Lost, I Miss My Mind The Most

Today's post was going in one direction after yet another brief encounter with the teenage butt-munches who live with me. But given what I learned this weekend about the alien entity that is my mind, I just have to give it some space.

My in-laws phoned from their summer home up north last week and told us they were coming home for a few days; they do this once a month or so, in order to pay bills and check on rental properties, make sure the house is running properly, etc. Mom-in-law said she'd love to get together on the weekend for dinner. Great! It always seems to fall on her shoulders to produce whatever meal we're eating, as she invites, and we accept. This is primarily because she is an absolutely STELLAR entertainer. It comes from years as a sorority hostess. But I digress. The other reason is because I often don't feel capable of entertaining for large groups; I'm a good cook, but I get stressed out. Well, that and she doesn't take no for an answer.

This time, I decided it was MY turn to host. I'd been feeling quite a bit better and a lot more confident. When she called, after getting home, I told her that I'd already prepared half of the meal in advance (which I had), and that they could choose what time they'd like to come. She seemed very pleased, and everything was set for 5:30pm Saturday night. We also invited my husband's adult children. This made a total of eight. I went back to work preparing things that would work in advance so that I wasn't busy cooking when they got here. I hate to be rushing around at the last minute once guests arrive. Things appeared to be going swimmingly.

I worked late into the evening on Friday. By the time I went to bed on Friday night, I had all the salads done; the fresh veggies cleaned; the dip was ready; the casserole was prepared and ready to stick in the oven. Dessert was set to go. All that really needed to be done was to put the veggies onto a platter with the dip, set the table, and marinate the meat and grill it. What could POSSIBLY go wrong?

What indeed?

Saturday started out fine. My husband and I went out and did little errands. Had our coffee and read the newspaper like we do every single Saturday at our coffee shop. I couldn't have imagined what was going to happen. And why would I? Because as nuts as I am, I thought for today, I was in control of my faculties ...

BOY WAS I WRONG.

As we started heading home, I mentioned to my husband that I felt a bit "shakey". Just "odd". He asked if I'd eaten breakfast, and while I hadn't eaten a lot, I had consumed some food. Hm. Ok, nm. Keep driving. As we pulled into the driveway, and I stepped out onto the concrete, my legs felt like rubber. Huh? Wha? Into the house I went, trying desperately to figure out what it was that was going on. It was time to start preparing things for dinner, so I headed straight for the kitchen. But my head was becoming increasingly fuzzy, my stomach was churning, my legs were rubbery. I couldn't think. I stood there in the kitchen, trying to figure out what the HELL was going on, as my husband looked on in concern. He was in the family room, I was in the kitchen, my hands holding me up between the fridge and the counter.

"You better come sit down."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I won't make it. I think I'm going to faint......."

Well, he was at my side in less than a second and had me on the sofa. I sorta collapsed in a heap, with a bowl at my side, and a towel in my hand. And there I stayed, not moving, for the next hour. My skin was cold, and soaked with sweat. My stomach was absolutely churning. And I could not get up. If I had eaten anything of substance, I'd have thought it was food poisoning, but I hadn't. What the hell was going on? I had no clue.

So my husband took over. Fortunately for me, he's as great in the kitchen as he is everywhere else. He asked questions about what needed to be done and I whispered answers. Eventually I tried standing. It sucked, but I was up. It was too late to cancel, so I figured I needed to try.

Through all this, the LRHG KNEW I was sick. She did not offer to lend a hand. This miserable, lazy, under-sized troll doll with her pretty flipped-up hair sat in a chair with a sullen expression on her face and did exactly NOTHING. It simply never fails to amaze me how someone can get to be 19 years old and have so few of the basic skills of good bloody manners. I knew by the time I was 12 that you HELPED OUT: in your own home, and others. It's part of being a family for gawd's sake.

So the doorbell rings at 5:08pm. I'm on my feet, but barely. My inlaws come in, with queries of how we're doing. I motion them away, as I'm not certain just what it is that's afflicted me! After explaining what's happened, my mother-in-law, like any normal person, offered to help finish setting the table. We got things set up. I don't like not having things completely done, but hey, it was a rather unusual situation.

As time wore on, I felt better. Dinner came out of the oven and off the grill; salads came out of the fridge, veggies onto the coffee table for snacking. My father-in-law enjoyed sampling three different kinds of scotch (our guilty pleasure). By the time we actually sat to eat, I was feeling nearly normal.

By 9:30, my father-in-law had kicked my behind at cribbage, and by 11:30 the kitchen was clean. I knew, then, what it was that had gone on. And I was stunned at it's ferocity.

My mind, for whatever reason, had decided that it simply couldn't handle the idea of me hosting a dinner party for my in-laws. I've had a bit of trouble with my father-in-law since I told them about me having BPD and being bipolar, but things had gotten better. At least I thought they had. But my brain had other thoughts. IT did not think things were any better, and decided that it was simply going to shut my body down in an effort to curtail this entire dinner party. And BOY, did it ever! With precision-like timing, my mind engineered a collapse, piece-by-piece, until I was simply a mumbling, helpless sack of bones lying in the corner of sofa. Toss in a bit of self-loathing for good measure, and the disintegration was complete.

I'm not sure why I eventually recognized what was going on. I just did. One of those "board to the side of the head" things. I sure as hell hope it doesn't happen again, or at the very least, I figure it out soon enough to medicate myself back onto my feet.

Some Things You Just Have To Repeat Verbatim

This morning as I enter the kitchen:

The LRHG
"Bo, the dog threw up again."

"Oh."
Me, being the fatal, hopeless optimist:
"Did you clean it up?"

The LRHG
"No, she ate it."

Me, banging my head agains the wall:
"WHY DIDN'T YOU STOP HER?"

The LRHG
(I kid you not)
"You told me not to get between her and her food."

I have nothing to add.

I Know What You Did Last Night

I had a long and productive (maybe) discussion with my son yesterday; we talked about many of the things that had been sitting between us, unresolved, and mostly unspoken.

One of the things that we had to work through was my meltdown last week when he learned that his mother is a self-injurer. In retrospect, I'm not entirely certain I should have told him. He's the only one of my children who knows. When I did it, I was nearly out of control with grief and frustration, and was doing it to try to show him where my frustration was leading me. Unfortunately, he took it to mean I was trying to lay the blame on his shoulders. I actually realized this on my own several days after I showed him the scars and fresh cuts, but since I wasn't home when the realization hit, I forgot about it. Well, him being him, he brought it up himself. This is why I believe there is hope for the child.

So, yesterday he approached me as I was putting laundry away and very softly and politely pointed out to me that he didn't think it was fair of me to blame him for my cutting. I immediately stopped what I was doing, motioned him over to the bed and sat down. We talked for an hour or so, bringing out all of what had been going on in the past couple weeks, and those things in particular that were driving me to distraction. And how he was absolutely correct, he was not to blame for me taking a blade to myself. I'm grateful he's wise enough to see that on his own.

He seemed to be paying close enough attention that I might see some difference in their behaviour, but I'm not holding my breath. I explained what they need to change in order to lessen my stress level, what the LRG needs to do in order to start pulling her weight around here. And while he recognizes that she, too, has some sort of mental illness, he was a bit dismayed when I told him that my shrink figures she's also got Borderline Personalty Disorder; I explained what that's going to mean for him in the long run.

Then I busted him on the sex.

He looked like he was going to deny it at first, or at the very least, not admit it. But you know, I've raised three sons, and I'm no idiot. So I pointed out that for the past 18 years I've had to fight tooth and nail to get him to lock the front door when he's here by himself. Sometimes we even had to harass him to lock it when he went out. It drove us positively NUTS. But now, suddenly, every time my husband and I leave the house, we come home to a locked door.

Every
Single
Time.

Now WHY, pray tell, would that be?

There's only one reason why a teenage boy and a teenage girl need to lock the door every time the parents leave. That's because they're going to engage in the carnal desires so common to their species ...

This irritates the living shit out of me, by the way. I was raised as a strict Catholice. He was raised as a Catholic, and while I wasn't so naive as to think he was going to be celibate until he married, I really didn't think he was going to be doing it every time I left the damned house (read: under my nose).

So, I just asked: "You ARE having sex, right?"

Silence.

Then, "Ya."

In all honesty, I'm surprised I'm not more upset. And I guess it's a testament to my relationship with him that he told me. To the naysayers in my life who said he would never admit it to me, neener neener neener, although that doesn't feel all that good either. I worked very hard with all three of my boys to make sure that they would feel comfortable talking about anything, so that if they NEEDED to ask something, they could. And if *I* needed to know, like now, I would.

"Are you being safe?"

"Yes."

"You know condoms are not 100% reliable?"

"Yes."

"You know if you get her pregnant, you'll be tied to her for life?"

"Yes."

What he doesn't know is that I'm going to march her down to the free clinic as soon as I figure out where it is and get her on the pill.

I've done what I can. In less than two months my child will be gone. Two months ago, if I had discovered they were having sex, I'd have kicked his ass out. But I'm making the decision to keep him here because he's mine, and he's wonderful and I don't want to waste what little time I have left with him on any more useless fighting. I suspect there will be enough other crap to deal with anyway.

She Wanted To Know......

1. If you had to set your own work schedule; 8 hours per day; 5 days per week. Which days and hours would you choose?

9-5, Wednesday through Sunday; that way, I could shop on Monday and Tuesday when no one is around.

2. What Reality Show would you be on and why?

Definitely Hell's Kitchen. Gordon Ramsey makes me hot. That dirty British mouth, and he never skips a beat! You fuckin' plonkah.....

3. What is the last book you read?

The Big Bamboo, by Tim Dorsey.

4. There are many songs that bring us back to a certain memory. What song(s) do you HATE to hear for that very reason?

Edelweiss. Reminds me of the shitty relationship I had with my father. Gorgeous song.

5. If you could go back in time to be any place in world history, what time would you choose and what country/place?

I think I'd want to go back to when slaves were being freed and be part of the underground railroad to Canada.

6. Do you know more than one language? Which one(s)?

I know English, and a smattering of French.

7. What is your favorite blog? Please link it. One only.

http://absentmindedhousewife.blogspot.com/

8. What is your favorite web site?

Google.

9. Your house is on fire, the people and pets you love are safe and you can grab one other "thing", what are you taking?

My jewelry box with the "non-costume" jewelry.

10. You have $100 to spend in the next hour. How are you spending it? (Saving it or giving it away not permitted.)

Straight to Norstrom, womens' clothing. AMEN. Yes, one should pay hommage.

Failure, Or: De Ja Vu All Over Again

Things haven't been going so well for me. When the tough times stretch into long periods, it becomes more and more difficult for me to see clearly, and deal with frustrations the way 'normal' people do. As tension rises, I gather it inside me. Tornadoes rage, and little storms erupt. But eventually something will set me off, and I self-destruct.

I've done it again, and for an hour it felt good. It always does~for that hour.

There's a decision-making process involved, I guess. I hit a point of no-return and somewhere inside my head, I know it's going to happen and there's not a force on earth that's going to stop me. The crisis, the decision, the act. Why? Because as sick as it is, it gives me relief, for that hour; the relief I can't seem to find anywhere else. I'm focused, diligent. The door is locked, everything is laid out. The pain feels exquisite. Yes, exquisite~for a while. The tension that's been driving me wild dissipates~for a while. The defining phrase in my life could be, "for a while".

And then the shame sets in. Inevitably, my husband will have come and checked the door at some point, and walked away. He doesn't knock, or ask to come in. He just knows. He never questions or asks why. But then again, he doesn't need to. I ask the questions myself, and I can't answer them.

And as good as it feels when I do it, the shame is just as bad.

Failure is as failure does. It would appear I'm going to feel like shit, one way or another.

So I Don't Have To Think

Meme-ology

(...which I stole from Absentminded Housewife and she got it from someone else.)

GRUB-OLOGY
What is your salad dressing of choice?
Southwest Ranch
What is your favorite fast food restaurant?
I don't like fast food in general. If I have to, Fatburger.
What is your favorite sit down restaurant?
Mario's (Steak and continental cuisine).
What size tip do you leave at a restaurant?
20% or more.
What is your favorite dish to order in a Chinese restaurant?
Yellow curries, with pork or chicken.
What are your pizza toppings of choice?
Meat. Add more meat.
What do you like to put on your toast?
Butter and jam, preferrably home-made.
What is your favorite type of gum?
I don't chew gum.

TECH-OLOGY
Number of contacts in your cell phone?
About 20.
Number of contacts in your email address book?
Maybe 25, most of which I never email.
What is your wallpaper on your computer?
A prairie hill scene.
What is your screensaver on your computer?
A black screen with a scrolling "do not touch this computer" line.
Are there naked pictures saved on your computer?
Umma ....
How many land line phones do you have in your house?
Four.
How many televisions are in your house?
Four. Each bedroom has one, and the family room. That way, no one is fighting about what to watch.
What kitchen appliance do you use the least?
A lovely Cuisinart Food Processor given to us by our Real Estate Agent that we've used exactly one time. Shame.
What is the format of the radio station you listen to the most?
Hip Hop/Contemporary/Rock.
How many sex toys do you own that require batteries?
All but one? 3. My husband only requires batteries on weeknights.

BI-OLOGY
What do you consider to be your best physical attribute?
My eyes.
Are you right handed or left handed?
Right
Do you like your smile?
Yes.
Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
Tonsils, Adenoids, Cyst.
Would you like to?
Yup, two moles and cellulite!
Do you prefer to read when you go to the bathroom?
Yes, there are tons of magazines in each of the three.
Which of the five senses do you think is keenest?
Smell or taste: it's a toss-up.
When was the last time you had a cavity?
About a year.
What is the heaviest item you lift regularly?
Mood.
Have you ever been knocked unconscious?
Only medically.

MISC-OLOGY
If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
Hell no!
If you could change your first name, what would you change it to?
I would leave it.
How do you express your artistic side?
Writing.
What color do you think you look best in?
Black and rust.
How long do you think you could last in a medium security prison?
Do I get conjugal visits?
Have you ever swallowed a non-food item by mistake?
"Accidently?" Sure.
If we weren’t bound by society’s conventions, do you have a relative you would make a pass at?
Ugh.
How often do you go to church?
Frequently.
Have you ever saved someone’s life?
Yes: I was a lifeguard for years.
Has someone ever saved yours?
Yes.

DARE-OLOGY

Would you walk naked for a half mile down a public street for $100,000?
Yes, but I'd walk damned fast.
Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100?
Sure.
Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000?
Yes, but I'd want to be unconscious.
Would you never blog again for $50,000?
Yup, I'd go back to pen, paper, and doing it privately.
Would you pose naked in a magazine for $250,000?
Only if there was a paper bag over my head.
Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1000?
Ohhh, ring of fire, I don't think so.
Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for $1,000,000?
I couldn't kill; but then if someone hurt my husband or my child, all bets are off.
Would you shave your head and get your entire body waxed for $5,000?
You bet.
Would you give up watching television for a year for $25,000?
This would be the tough one.

An Explanation

I want to try to explain a few things in response to a comment left for my previous post:

At this point, the Little Red Headed Girl may be a catalyst, but she's only the catalyst THIS time. It's not the first time I've been this ill. She just doesn't give me any room to work on recovery.

This response is a struggle. My mind won't form rational thoughts without a real fight, but damn, I'm trying. You see, BPD skewes my thought processes. If it didn't, she wouldn't BE in my house.

I'll give you a couple of examples.

There's no way I'd ever consider leaving my husband. He's loving, kind, giving and gentle. We "get" each other. Our sense of humour complements each other's. The most banal of comments can send us into laughter while people around us look at us as if we're nuts (ya, ya). It makes no sense to them, but it makes sense to us, and for whatever reason, it's positively hysterical. On top of that, I've developed the ability to "hook" my husband into saying the goofiest things; as soon as they leave his mouth, his eyes close and his head falls to his chest ~ and I collapse in laughter. And each time, he says the same thing: "You'd think you'd get TIRED of doing this to me!" Hell no, this is entertainment. Then he tackles me.

But when I get like I am now, things change; my thoughts run the gamut from isolating myself within the house, to isolating myself elsewhere, for some pre- determined period of time, to actually leaving permanently. Why? This part is important: because I feel as if he deserves so much better. In my head, he didn't sign on for this. He deserves someone happy and healthy and NORMAL. To me, leaving would be better than "forcing" him to stay married to someone who could conceivably be ill forever. Besides, if I leave first, he can't leave ME.

My husband's thoughts are different, though. Because I work so hard at not taking my frustrations out on him, and do work at recovery, he accepts the bad with the good in the very Zen-like way that works so well for him. In his mind, the benefits far outweigh the unfavourable. He likens it to any other illness, and vows to stand beside me. Ending the marriage would be unthinkable. And when I'm thinking rationally, I feel exactly the same way. I adore him.

Another example concerns my fear of abandonment and is another key issue with Borderlines.

Last summer, my son went with his girlfriend and her family, and another family, on a day trip to Catalina Island. They used the other family's boat, promising to be back in town by 4pm. My son was to keep in touch by cell phone at key points throughout the day, as my fears of injury/death are very real to me, even though others may find them silly.

I got one phone call from my son at the appointed time. After that, I didn't hear from him again. As the hours ticked by, my panic rose. I called his phone, and there was no answer. Time and time again I called, leaving message after message. I called his girlfriend's house, trying to find her mother, who hadn't gone on the trip. There was no one anywhere, and I had no idea where to turn. I didn't know the name of the people he had gone with (a one-time mistake I never made again). My husband, in an effort to help me, began making calls, trying to find out if there had been bad weather, or accidents out on the water where they had been. He went so far as to call the coast guard, but they couldn't help since we didn't know the name of the people, or the boat they'd been on, or the exact location where they'd departed from. It didn't take too long before hysteria set in. And it wasn't contrived in any way: I was convinced that he was dead, either at someone else's hands, or in a boating accident. Nothing anyone could say would change that. There was no reason that I could think of that he would simply ignore my request to stay in touch unless there was something wrong.

Six hours after the last time I was supposed to hear from him, he called. Turns out that the cell phone towers wouldn't work in close proximity to the equipment for the sailboats. And on the way back, the family insisted on going scuba diving; then they ran into rough weather, making the trip take three times as long as it should have. And through all of this, he was trying to call.

Abandonment: the biggest curse I face with BPD.

If I toss this wretched LRHG out in the manner that she truly, truly deserves, I believe I'll lose my son. YOUR mind can rationalize his anger, then acceptance, and finally, forgiveness. And even as I write it, MINE cannot. He'll simply stop loving me, leave home, and eventually write me out of his life.

You see, the way it works for "us" is, when you're out of our sight, you cease to exist, in some ways. We need constant reinforcement that you love us, or some other tangible proof of your existence. When I moved here, I brought my eldest son's shoes, and my middle son's jersey. Yes, I have pictures. I needed something else. I needed that "proof" that they still existed.

So my choice is ... the very real risk of losing my son, or two more months of hell. It's really not as cut and dried as it seems.

Now What?

What do you do when there's nothing left to do? When the fatigue of fighting sets in on your shoulders with a weight you no longer feel you can carry? What happens when the battle raging in your mind is just too tiresome to continue, and besides, you're just not getting anywhere, anyway? It just goes 'round and 'round and 'round...

The obvious is not an option, nor is it an option I seek. But I'm tired and I'm losing the will to fight the illness that's creeping in. I hate that there are more bad days than good and I hear the cry from the plaintive child within: "I don't understand!"

There were times in the past when things got bad that I'd "slip away" from reality. It was a retreat from the everyday onslaught that allowed some respite, if only for a while. I feel it now, that slide, and I fight it. It doesn't seem fair to my family to be Missing In Action, although the "me" they get doesn't seem much good either.

I'm fighting that urge now: each day, each night, trying to stay *here* in some way, when it would be so much easier to just let go and disappear, just for a while. Sleep no longer brings the rest I need, but it does give me welcome relief from the daytime nightmares I live with these days.

I guess I'll take it.

The More It Changes, The More It Stays The Same

I've just come back from yet another fabulous meeting with the venerable Dr. B.

His suggestion for my situation with the little red-headed chick is to let it go til the end of summer, as it will play itself out naturally when both she and my son leave for college. He doesn't seem to see how positively nauseous this makes me.

In a worst-case scenario, he says they'll marry, but that it's the child's choice and there's little I can do about it. This is simply the beginning chapter of his life. I'm supposed to recognize that he's bright enough to make his own choices based on what he needs/wants. It's a good thing I'M bright enough to recognize that therapists aren't actually supposed to make you FEEL BETTER.

Then he told me to start taking back my house; move out of my bedroom, where I've been living for the past seven months and simply take back my house. "Sit in the kitchen and have tea." It's not going to happen. Why? Because if I do, I'll have to talk to her, and the emotions she produces aren't healthy for anyone, least of all me. I'm pushed to destructive behaviours in an effort to cope, and while I know that I'm ultimately responsible for my own behaviour, there comes a point where desire takes over from rationality, and ... well, a mess is made.

My son is away right now, on a brief holiday to visit his father. While he's gone, she's put me in his role, giving me orders as her chauffeur. We were expected to cut short a day trip of our own so we could pick her up from work; turns out she didn't need it; however the message she left telling us this was on our HOME answering machine. What good did that do? We were 60 miles away, and she knew that in advance! Later that evening, she went out again, then called at 1:30a.m. for me to come "down the hill" to pick her up because her friend's car was acting up and she wasn't sure it would make it up to the top with her. The following day she said she needed a ride to and from the movies with her friend because the car was still not working. Today I'm expected to pick her up and take her to work. When I explained all this to the shrinkage, he said, not for the first time, that she's as borderline as I am!

There are so many variables involved: her treatment of me, her treatment of my son; our lack of privacy, and the impact on my marriage. While I know my husband will stand behind any decision I make, I'm simply too frayed around the edges to make the decisions. Letting her stay will undoubtedly upset him, and he'll tell me, in his very gentle manner, but mostly, I'll just see more disappointment and stress in his face. That's what I see mostly these days: repeated disappointment and stress.

What I need right now is someone who will guide me, and hold me accountable for my actions ~ and in doing so, help me gain much-needed strength. I need that so desperately: some sort of boundary for my behaviour, to help me feel safe, secure, and loved. Instead, I live in a madhouse of four people, and I'm completely alone, left to my own devices. I am powerless. While I recognize that this is MY demon, and that he does love me, I'm fighting (and failing) the thought processes of a Borderline Personality Disorder, considering all manner of destructive patterns, gradually retreating into myself. Playing with razor blades and remembering the warmth of blood, the sting of pain and rush of endorphins, fleeting but powerful; driving, just driving, fast and furious; and finally, wanting to simply let go and allow the rage to erupt at whomever happens to be within range at the time.

What's stopping me? Very little. Less and less each day, actually. It's a downhill slide into illness, comfortable in it's familiarity. In more lucid moments, there's a sickening realization that I've developed a twisted intimacy with my lunacy. One would think that recognition would breed avoidance. Alas, mental illness doesn't work that way.

The shrink says, "Stop". Oh the joy if it were so easy!

Technical Difficulties

My mother always told me that if you don't have something nice to say about someone, don't say anything at all.

In keeping with her instructions, I haven't posted in several days, as I'm pissed as hell and not terribly healthy. Besides that, I've come up with a rather creative list of four-letter-words. None of them are kind.

I'll get back to you.