The Blood of the Covenant is Thicker Than the Water of the Womb

It has been over a year since I've updated you. I'm sorry, Bloggy Blog. I'm also sorry if anyone gave a shit to read the blog. Things haven't been great for me for a couple of years now. I'm living with my parents. I'm 31. I'm getting my life back on track. I do have an amazing boyfriend though. Scary shit, y'all.

But back to why I titled this blog this way:

Everyone always says "blood is thicker than water" as if to mean that family is more important than anything else. But this saying is all wrong. The "blood of the covenant" is likened to soldiers injuries and dying on the battlefield, not a bloodline. Which is convenient if you think about it because a know a LOT of people who can barely tolerate their families. Blood is thicker than water is the battle cry of narcissists everywhere.

It's okay to hate your family. It sucks that it's a reality. But chosen family is the family that matters.

Oklahoma City Metro Mental Illness Group

This group originally started as an exclusive page for Borderline Personality Disorder and the people affected by it. It occurred to me that by being divisive by our neurodiverse labels we do ourselves a great disservice. We can do nothing but grow by exploring our similarities AND our differences to best support each other. 

https://www.facebook.com/groups/971067239655876/

Inner-Stellar!

Hello, blog world. Long time no type. Not that anyone religiously follows this blog or anything but there has been a severe blogging deficiency on my part.

For starters, I was forced to resign from my previous job. I am now working for a mortgage company and am getting my butt kicked on a regular basis with new information but so far, I've greatly enjoyed it. The constant need to be moving and working and always a project has forced me to push aside the usual array of crazy thoughts and emotions and just... be. Those long drives at the previous job were making me a lot worse off than I ever knew. Then again, how does one expect to react to nothing but time to sit and stew in your self-loathing thoughts? So, the new job is great. Plus, no heavy lifting. Mental gymnastics, sure, but physically, I've turned into a potato.

That leads me to my second downside. My pain management doctor was raided and disbanded. I have been without consistent pain medication for several months now and for a time smoked marijuana to ease the trouble of being me. After I got my new job, I was forced to stop doing that as well because I didn't want to lose my job over something as simple as legalities. Damn backwards Oklahoma. Anyways, now we're back in the vicious cycle of doctor shopping. I have a very smart, very kind but VERY tough pain management doctor that I'd like to go see but unfortunately, he wouldn't take care of me while I was uninsured. Since insurance wasn't something that we had the luxury of adding to our budget until recently, I am stuck where I am currently. Which is miserable and... well, in pain.

My husband and I had a knock-down drag out just over a month ago and he said that he wanted to take a break. After some serious discussions and crying and efforts, we decided that neither of us was willing to give up on our relationship and our communication has gotten much better. Adding in the fact that my job has kept me so preoccupied that I have almost zero time to mope and I've become a much more pleasant person to be around. I still can't muster the energy to get past the lack of motivation, no drive to clean or cook dinner but I've made more of an effort to be available in the evenings for the children and for him. I've made an effort to have some kind of libido and not just expect him to initiate everything. I've gone to the store and done errands, become part of the budget decision making and so much more because he has been taking on the burden of my depression all by his lonesome. It was time that I stopped treating him like a crutch and more like my partner. It's been difficult and I've had a few setbacks... as you do when you are learning how to reenter society as an independent person again but overall, it's been an overwhelming success. I don't know what I did but I had let myself fall so far down the rabbit hole that I didn't even know which way was up anymore. Now, I feel like I'm climbing back up, stumbling every now and then but I have a compass and a flashlight this time. I'm not just blindly waving my hands in the air in an attempt to catch purchase but actually using the tools I was given to make my way back out. It's liberating and exhausting all in one. It is what it is though. And our relationship has never been stronger. Plus... lots and lots of sex, guys.

Lastly, there is a ton of drama surrounding my seven year old son's baseball team. The coach and his wife have handled it fantastically but there is this crazy bitch of a woman that has made all of the parents and assistant coaches/coaches sound like villains to the Mustang Baseball League Board. I don't even know if that's the actual name for it or not but whatever they are, I got a semi-scathing e-mail from one of them regarding how we were "overreacting" by calling the police (which is untrue and I had nothing to do with the true story) on this wench who actually took off with our kid's jerseys. As if that wasn't crazy enough, I found out shortly thereafter that she had told the coach and his wife that my son was still battling active cancer. Because for some reason, her little pea brain translated "he sometimes gets sick when he gets hot and this is why" to "he has cancer, I have to use this information to garner attention for myself" and ... well, it's quite possibly the absolute craziest thing I've ever beheld.

Now, a lot of this post is fueled by severe sleep deprivation, which I owe to my dear old friend "pain" and I am just barely keeping my eyes open with a Clockwork Orange type set up... but I did want all of the world, well, not ALL of the world, but the part of the world that is interested in my life and my whereabouts and whoseabouts and whatsabouts to know that I am still alive. I'm fighting and struggling and hating Borderline Personality Disorder and sometimes I REALLY wish I could just quit my job and become a full-time sleep study participant but ... those times when I'm not and my kids are loving on me and my husband is smiling at me and I'm not feeling like there is something missing... they are more than worth the effort to stay out of that stupid bed and live.

Don't go gently into that good night, folks.
Except for sleep. That shouldn't be violent.

It's the Most Irrational Time of the Year

I've been hit with a big dose of irrationality and crankiness today. It started this afternoon when my husband informed me that he hadn't bought my Christmas present yet. Considering that last year and this year he has managed to miss Mother's Day, my birthday and last Christmas... it settled in my heart the wrong way. I know that everyone is reading this now and thinking to themselves, "Really, you selfish cuntbag? Since when did that become what the holidays were about? Material things are nothing in the grand scheme of things." And you would be right. But even so, sometimes a girl (especially one with my condition) needs those stupid materials to feel like she is cared about. Throughout the year, I sacrifice a lot so that my husband and kids can have what they need (and want, most of the time.) I look longingly at the book section and gorgeous clearance dresses as I walk through to grab diapers and laundry detergent and hold off because I know that my birthday is coming, or Mother's Day is or Christmas and my family will go all out for me. So when that day comes and everyone else is opening up their gifts, the light on their faces shining brilliantly and I am sitting on the couch empty-handed, like a schmuck, it makes me feel like I am not even a part of my family. I'm just a bystander that is there to make everyone else happy. My wants and needs be damned.

I don't blame my children for this, they are seven, two and one and are not responsible for the happiness of their mother. Quite the opposite as a matter of fact. But when I had my first son, I went through a stage of mourning, knowing that as a single mother I wouldn't have that male figure in his life to urge him to make me a Mother's Day card or draw me a picture or pick me a flower... you know, teach him how to be a gentlemen and how to melt a woman's heart. Now that my husband is here and has taken over that role, I kind of expected him to direct our children to do these things. I expect it because I do that for him, so that he knows that we care for him and on his special days... we've gone out of our way to do something to make him feel like he is more special than we do the other 364 days of the year. (Or 362 if you count Father's Day and his birthday.) So occasionally, I want to be on the receiving end of this ordeal.

But that isn't all... the other major disappointment and frustration is that I hear in between the lines of what everyone says to me. Something trivial and meaningless to someone else is heard as a massive insult to me. Prime example is about tonight: I forgot one ingredient to make the Christmas Eve cookies. Brown sugar. It's nothing important but as everyone on the planet knows, stores are all closed on Christmas Eve so everyone can spend time with their families. I did find a few that were open until like 10 p.m. or even one that is open all night but they are further away from our house. Twenty minutes or so. I really wanted to make this special cookie for my husband... his grandmother has the recipe for the best damn oatmeal cookie this side of heaven. But again, stupid brown sugar. So I found a few stores that were open, meaning we could make a plethora of the divine treats. But my husband said, "I just want this to be easy. I want it to be about our family today and tomorrow and nothing else." Which sounds admirable to the normal human being. To me, it suggests that I DON'T want it to be about our family... that I am being a selfish, raging bitch. And the thing is, he is probably right. And all that makes me want to do, is put a gun in my mouth and pull the fucking trigger. I won't because ironically, I am terrified of guns and death. Instead, I will sit here, trying to mend my heart and fix my mind. That isn't how this works though. Borderline Personality Disorder isn't about rationality and everyone else's feelings... it's about what I want. And I fucking hate it to the umpth degree.

Just once, I want to be able to sidle through a fucking holiday without the stress and the emotional terrorism getting to me. I just want to enjoy wrapping my kid's presents and watching Almost Famous with my husband and making cookies and fudge with the ingredients we DO have. But that isn't how it works in Rachel's mind. Instead, I'm going to sit here, typing out my insanity until I feel like maybe I can survive another hour or two without committing suicide or self-mutilating. I'll try to convince the underdeveloped part of my emotional brain that brown sugar isn't the end all, be all of my existence. And I will try to convince myself that maybe I am worth more than gum on the bottom of someone's shoe. It probably won't work because the childlike emotional part of my brain is much more loud and convincing than the adult, rational part... but maybe, just maybe, by tomorrow morning when my children are opening their presents and my husband is opening his and I am sitting there eating cookies because that is all that I have going for me at the moment... I will feel a little bit better.

On This Day in My History

On this day, in our family's history, my son Korben won second place in the science fair as a first grader. I was concerned that he wouldn't even place because the board looked pretty rough. However, as it turns out... they were appreciative of the fact that my son did most of the work. I helped with some things here and there and even left a "Note from my Mother" on there but he did almost all of the research and did all of the drawings and etches needed to make the point.

Second place... Wow. My baby is a natural.

Trigger Happy: I Shot the Sheriff (And if the Deputy Moves I'll Shoot Him Too!)

So, today I discovered yet another fun-filled trigger for one of my rages. Sometimes, the triggers are trivial and unexpected that I almost don't catch that that is even what it is. And most of the time, it takes some real detective work for them because at the time of your episode, you feel completely justified in your reaction. From your head down to your toes. Chew on that, Meghan Trainor. So, to help along a few of my fellow BPD-ers (new verbiage and all!) I figured I'd give a few examples of random triggers that were almost overlooked.

1) My husband asking, "What do you need such-and-such for?" when I give him a grocery list.

This actually happened today and it was completely unexpected. The reaction was swift and brutal. He asked the question and I immediately screeched out, "NEVER FUCKING MIND!" and stormed off in the opposite direction. He, of course, followed me, asking what he did and when I was finally able to stave off the fury swirling around in my brain I figured out the answer.

Unfortunately, most of my childhood was spent trying to justify actions, thoughts, emotions and of course, purchases/needs/wants. "What/why do you need it for/feel that way?" was a constant precursor to the word, "No." Granted the no for materialistic things was a lot less invalidating then the constant, "You don't have a right to feel that way," it stuck with me as just another reason why I was a burden. Hearing it from my husband, a man that I trust completely and who is the biggest support in my life, makes it all the more painful and triggering. I don't think I would have the same reaction to a friend asking. With him though, I feel that he is questioning the validity of my wants and needs, which in turn makes me question my own emotions. Vicious cycle.

2) My husband not answering the phone in an "upbeat enough" way.

After some consideration, this one isn't really that surprising to me. I wouldn't have thought about it beforehand if my husband hadn't been such the BPD caregiver trooper that he is (still has a ways to go, like I do though) and brought up my reactions when I call him.

This one is an easy one to ponder on. I still struggle with trying to convince my father that I am interesting enough to listen to on the phone. I've actually tried time and again to call him to tell him about my struggles with BPD (and now bipolar disorder) and I am often ignored. I can't count how many times I've been in the middle of a sentence, stopped and asked, "Dad?" to see if he was listening and received no response for a good ten seconds. Then suddenly, like he's popped out of a trance, he goes, "Huh?" That is possibly the most invalidating thing that I have experienced from my own father. I want to believe that he cares for me but when I look at the difference between when I talk to him and our mother, it's night and day. My mother, while sometimes sharing different opinions than I am, actually cares to listen and will give me advice when I need it or will pick up on when I just need to vent. She is quite literally the best friend in the world... even though our past has been less than stellar.

Keep an eye out for your triggers, fellow BPD-ers. You would be surprised how helpful it is to tack down what some of your issues revolve around so that you can work them out either in therapy or with your partner or even in your own journal to write down how you are feeling and why. This disorder is a doozy and you have to be proactive about your involvement with your own treatment.

Rachel in the Sky with Diamonds... Out of One of Those Ring Vending Machines

I always end up starting these things out with, "One thing I can't stand about blah-blah-blah is..." and then I go on a tangent of about ten different things. This time I am going to try my best to stay focused on one issue and explain it to the best of my abilities.

I have been raped and was also molested during my childhood and every once in a great while, a flashback of emotions will hit me like a ton of bricks. It is so hard to put it into words but the best way I can think of to describe it is that it feels like I have done something to be ashamed of. That I am tainted and guilty and it makes my stomach twist into a knot. I suddenly have the urge to be covered from head to toe, definitely no shorts but pants on and the only thing that has been known to make me feel better with one of these episodes is when my husband holds onto me. It helps prevent that feeling that your body can get when it wants to explode off in ten million directions. 

I wish I knew what caused this sensation and I wonder if at any point during my treatment if I will be able to prevent the situations that trigger them so that I don't have to feel this way, ever again. It is a truly helpless feeling. Devoid of any hope. And it is not in any way helpful to my enlightenment of the disorder I was born with. 

If anyone that reads this blog (the four of you, ha!) have any idea of what this could be, I would be very grateful to get some reading material on it. Something to at least help the future occurrences, as I know that it will happen and I will hate it and I will again wish that someone or something could be there to help me figure out what in the hell is wrong with me.