Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Anna Hempstead Branch, borderline personality disorder, BPD, finely spun, Forever Bears, freedom, hope, intricacies, love, peonies, photo journaling, photography, poetry, scriptures, Sweet Weariness, swinging
Love is the greatest gift of all.
I love to go swinging.
(For the beauty seen in something finely spun.)
Sweet Weariness
Fatigue itself may be a pleasant thing
And weariness be silken, soft and fine!
Upon my eyes its little vapors shine,
Trailing me softly like a colored wing!
Tender as when belovéd voices sing
It steals upon me and with touch divine
Lulls all my senses till each thought of mine
Is hushed to quiet, unremembering.
Oh, weariness thrice dear, so frailly spun
Of ended pleasure that still shines and glows;
Oh, weariness, thrice dear! What have I done
To earn this delicate and deep repose?
Child, thou hast worshiped at the setting sun
And looked, long, long, upon the opening rose.
~~Anna Hempstead Branch
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: BPD, child, son, Mommy, borderline personality disorder, borderline, father daughter relationship, confused, sad, dissociating, other parts of self, not alone
and a state of denial.
My first DBT Skills group was today. I felt really withdrawn and not wanting to speak about anything. I felt numb from being in a room of other women. I looked around the room with women and thought, “do I look these women,” “are we all diagnosed BORDERLINE,” “what does being borderline mean to me.”
Maybe I’ve been in denial on some level of being diagnosed borderline and there has been moments of me understanding that I am considered borderline, but then on the other hand I think there are parts of me that don’t know it. Maybe they don’t who I am.
I left the class and went outside. Confused.
The sun was shining. The air was cool.
I went to the bathroom before leaving to go home.
My Dad was upset my son called him “jokester.” I felt like I “needed” to reprimand my son verbally, but then on the other hand I believe my son honestly didn’t know “jokester” was bad. I told my son it isn’t okay to call Puppa names.
Later my son said jokester meant a big happy smile.
My Dad withdrew more of himself from my son.
I feel like I need to leave.
I feel like my son and me aren’t wanted.
This is what my Dad did before…make me leave numerous times.
“I’m getting too old,” this is what he said.
Here I am.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: balancing act, borderline personality disorder, BPD, chocolate chip cookies, DBT, dialectical behavior therapy, Facebook, Farmville, FB, first day of preschool, fucking, ground hog, improving the moment, motherhood, piece of shit, pissed, prairie, putting into words, rage, self-harm, siblings, sister, social networking, today, tomorrow, tonight, urge surfing, walnuts, writing
Today was a big day for my son. He started his first day of preschool. He looked so happy when he let me take his picture on his way into school today.
Tonight my sister called. She was upset that our family posted pictures on Facebook. Unfortunately, I heard and chose to do what I did…keep them up. End of discussion.
Why am I so pissed? I feel pissed about my sister not calling/seeing me for weeks, and the reason she decides to call is to tell us to take down pictures on FB. Uhm, where was, “hello, how are you.” The next sister made me upset by her calling my therapist, psychiatrist and case manager when she felt the need to tell them that I “plan to pay for her to watch my son,” and I am “moving.” Bullshit. When she walked out on my son and me over me being a “psychotic bitch” I decided then I would never allow her back in my life. It disgusts me that she could say something so horrible like that. I am sick of her telling everyone I am mentally ill. My psychiatrist says I am “highly functioning, non pschotic presenting individual.” I am so sick of C and M that I want to cut them out of my life.
I am so tired of being hurt over what they say and feeling like shit when I am in contact with them. I feel so fucking pissed that I want to scream. Yet, I can’t scream because it is 10:30pm at night. My son is sleeping. Yes, I feel like I can beat the shit out of something, but that is just a thought and I have never felt homicidal. What I am feeling is hurt, angered and disgusted.
So, what I chose to focus on is….
Tomorrow begins my first day in Dialectal Behavior Therapy (DBT) Skills Group. I am kind of anxious about it. I feel like I need to call my counselor tomorrow to ask her whether or not I need to bring my dbt diary card or what.
What I can do this moment is write about what I am feeling. I can play Farmville on Facebook. I can listen to soothing music. I can notice the urge to self-harm, and use my hands and thoughts for good. I can focus on wanting to be touched gently rather than treated like a piece of shit. I do deserve kindness and love. I can attain those from the loved one in my life. I don’t have to feel upset that DBT Skills is really just me using what I do all ready. Yes, I feel like my mental illness is something I deal with but it isn’t an indicator of how I value my life. I don’t know what the fuck I am saying, so I am going to stop. I promise not to polish off the tray of fucking hot chocolate chip with walnut cookies sitting on top of the stove off.
