Those Who Fight Monsters

Those who fight monsters inevitably change. Because of all that I feel and have done, I’ve lost my innocence, and sometimes a tiny piece of my humanity with it. If I want to survive, sometimes I begin to adopt some of the same characteristics as the monster I fight but whatever it takes I will never allow this monster to win. My monster is Borderline Personality Disorder. It’s changed me to my very core on so many different levels and in so many different ways. It’s made me delight in rage and violence that I never knew I was capable of. Like a malignant tumor, this BPD grows inside of me. Not with the cells of cancer, but with the cells of the unknown, the emptiness, the rage, the worthlessness and the most soul searing emotional and psychological pain that a human being could possibly endure. In equating it to physical pain, some professionals compare it to having third degree burns over ninety percent of ones body.

I try and keep the monster tendencies locked in a cage, deep inside. The monster only comes out for self preservation and only then. I can no more contain it when it becomes ready to burst forth any more than a runaway train. I just hang on for dear life and pray that I’m the only casualty. It is not for the perverse pleasure that the monster feels when it harms others. In fact, the monsterous tendencies cause more damage to the Borderline than the Non Borderline could ever fathom. Guilt, isolation, depression, PTSD. There is a cost for visiting violence on others when it is the antithesis of your very nature. I am not a monster, the disorder is. The cost inflicted upon the ones we love the most and hold deepest inside of our hearts is far greater than anything I could ever imagine in my worst nightmares. That is why I try to stand against those BPD impulses lurking inside with every ounce of fight I have within my soul. It is so difficult and lonely when I have no support network to speak of. I spend all of my days and many, many sleepless nights trying to deal with this ferocious monster alone. In my own heart. In my own mind.

I don’t always succeed but I do give every fiber of my being within myself to keep the evilness inside of me caged. That is what BPD is to me…pure unadulterated evil. Evil that I never asked for, or deserved, but was given at the age most toddlers are learning to love, trust others and to believe in themselves.

While trying to minimalize the damage I do with my venomous words and unfettered rage, I am eviscerated psychologically and emotionally a bit more each time I am unable to contain it. Being left exhausted and numb for days on end from the savage battle that I have just waged inside.

I witness things in my nightmares that any sane human is not programmed to see and ever be normal again. Alas, I try to never burden a single soul with the horrific recollections of them. I bury them deep, deep down inside so the ones I love the most (my spouse, my family, my children) who are on the front lines of this disorder whether they want to be or not, never really know the scope and depth of the psychological pain I never asked for or wanted but carry around like Atlas, with the constant weight of the world on my shoulders.

For those I love, I will always run head first toward the Borderline monster and fight it with savagery of a woman possessed.

Just to walk a very thin tightrope on the opposite side of what society deems normal is a delicate and brutal dance that I spin to in tune to music that no one else hears, because it plays only in my head.

“And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche-

I will always fight for what I truly fear. The battle for my sanity. I will always stand between my loved ones and this cruel disorder to the best of my abilities through which the Borderline monster wants to hurt, damage and create chaos with it’s horrible words and behavior against my closest allies. The ones who love me no matter what. Believe it or not, I acknowledge the thing that the vast majority are too soft, too weak or too cowardly to even address. The stigma of mental illness and the toll it takes on those who not only rage a daily battle with it and suffer from it, but also deal with the judgments, cruel words and hurtful comments, complete disdain and/or utter contempt and doubt that there is anything wrong with one at all. “It’s all for attention.” “It’s all in your head (of course it’s all in my head because I wage a daily exhausting war to keep it contained as much as humanly possible to minimize the fallout to the very ones who speak those exact words to me)”. These are the same people who would NEVER ever be able to wrap their condescending, small, judgmental minds around what a day in the life of anyone who has the misfortune to suffer from mental illness, which one has no control over, is like.

To my fellow sufferers of ANY and ALL types of psychological disorders, we are the beautiful ones though. The ones that battle mind numbing psychological pain that more times than not manifests itself into mind numbing physical pain who still find enough beauty in this world to smile at a stranger or offer a kind word to those that we can inherently feel may need them.

The current political climate in this country and on a much greater scale this whole world holds very little near and dear, that is except the almighty dollar and ones personal smartphones, iPads, PC’s and other technologies that lessen the interaction and the necessary skills it takes to navigate this life in the midst of one another. This age of technology and vitriol is robbing mankind of its humanity just as BPD tries to rob me of mine. It is there, that we the ones that suffer the burden of mental illness, in the time of our darkest hours, feel every bit of our humanity, because our pain at least let’s us know we are still able to feel anything at all in the times that we must totally mentally disconnect to keep us sane. The pain. It lets us know we are still alive.

Submission is the popular mantra of the times. I will NEVER submit to my illness or the stigma attached to it.

Warriors are decried, denigrated, and cast as morally inferior in the world today. Warriors come from many walks of life, genders, faiths and occupations, but let’s not forget us, the warriors of illnesses. Physical and mental. The ones who fight through the fear, trauma, pain, exhaustion and for some, ridicule. These warriors fight monsters too. Theirs may not be made of flesh and blood but are nonetheless just as real.

We know how childish, how asinine, and how cowardly the mindset of most of society is today. They would rather look the other way and pretend such ugly things do not exist rather than speak of something which my be unpleasant to their “delicate” sensibilities as the most vulnerable suffer alone. Today I realize that it is a duty, my duty, our duty as the warriors that some are and that many of us will have to become, because we must, in order to bring out into the light what society would prefer to keep in the dark. We must stand up and change the mindset of how people view mental illness. We must start uncomfortable conversations.

As a person who personally suffers from severe social anxiety as well as BPD and PTSD, something of this nature is much easier said than done, but the spark to light the fire of understanding and acceptance MUST be lit. If I can start one difficult conversation, one open dialogue that needs to be opened because I “raised my voice” for one beautiful and freeing moment and brought this normally taboo subject out into the bright glaring light, then for someone whose illness is characterized by self worthlessness, today in my own eyes, I became worthy of being a warrior for my cause. If only for that moment, perhaps, I was even a voice for another who suffers the same battle, who is still working on finding their own voice and needs someone to speak up for them as well. I am not “recovered” nor will I ever be because there is no cure for my kind of crazy. I am no hero for speaking up. I will be battling this monster for as long as I live but I realized just this day that until I viewed it and treated it as something visceral and tangible that my fight would be so much more difficult.

I DO know this…..There ARE things in this life worth fighting for.

Faith, love, liberty, family, friends and standing up for those who are too afraid, weak or ashamed to stand alone as I have been for so very long.

I woke up changed yet again by this disorder but this time I’m fighting back.

There are some of us that believe that fighting what others disagree with, turn a blind eye to, or battle the physical and/or psychologically real monsters in our midst are honorable, noble, and just….and are willing to pay the price for that deeply held belief. Why? For us, today I discovered that there is no choice.

I have to speak out and hold on as tightly as I can to these beliefs, the reason being is that today is NOT a good day. I feel like I am being sucked deeper and deeper into the bottomless abyss. That being said I will continue the good fight against this “THING” that has destroyed my whole life AND practically everyone and everything I’ve ever loved. I may go down, but MY “monsters” know I will go down fighting until the sweet, bitter end.


Trigger. Not Just The Lone Rangers Horse

Well I knew that it was going to happen sooner rather than later. I just didn’t know when. Living with Borderline Personality Disorder, one is ALWAYS waiting for the other shoe to drop. Right on our fucking heads. The good times are amazing, the bad times I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy (well maybe that bitch that fucked my husband six weeks before we were married), I wish that shit squared on that whore. Along with Ebola, SARS, Malaria, Meningitis, Equine Encephalitis, Mad Cow Disease, Chronic Wasting Disease, Swine Flu, Bubonic Plague, HPV, HIV, Chlamydia, Gonorrhea, Syphilis, UTI, Renal Failure, blindness, deafness, muteness, Leprosy, Legionnaires Disease and the absolute worst case of dysentery there ever was. I pray for this vile creature to come down with EVERY single one of them EVERY night. I’m already going to hell for my own shitty past so at this point praying for someone like this slut to suffer so greatly will not impact my immortal soul any more than it’s already impacted. Go big or go home is my motto.

Obviously I’ve triggered. No matter what I trigger over this horrific part of my life ALWAYS gets thrown in for good measure by myself.

I’m not sure if my trigger was the upcoming holidays, having two extra “guests” in our 800 square foot condo, or if it was the fact that my husband was exhausted from work, in a shitty mood and said some (in my opinion) awful shit that Daddy Dearest used to say to me. I completely fucking lost it though. Every single time, I think I’m making progress, that giant shoe drops and shows me who’s boss…..and my boss is BPD.


The Sheeple Apocalypse

As I was channel surfing through what seemed like an obscene amount of cable TV channels (I’m a reader, TV blows), I could not help but notice the horrific number of IQ lowering reality shows. In my opinion, the absolute worst of the worst celebrates some slut who’s only original claim to fame was fucking a semi-celebrity’s wannabe singers brother and videotaping it for posterity and having…….wait for it……her money and fame hungry whore of a mother leak it to the press for publicity. Eeeeeeewwwww much?!? No wonder your husband had his dick chopped off and started wearing your panties, Kris.
As stomach churning as this is, it’s not even the thing that makes the vomit creep up to the tip top of the back of my throat. The thing that makes the vomit come so perilously close to projectiling like pea soup as my head spins ALL 360 degrees around atop my shoulders is that enough mindless, soulless, impressionable minions and brainwashed keyboard soldiers have bought into this shit to keep this family of fancy gutter sluts on television for 15 seasons. Yes, you read that correctly. Now excuse me while I go eat a Tide Pod, smoke some fucking potpourri, snort some bath salt and wait for the Sheeple Apocalypse.

Keep Your Day Job Singing For Tweens, Biebs

Justin Bieber is lashing out at Laura Ingraham after the Fox News host mocked slain rapper Nipsey Hussle on her show.
— Read on

Politically speaking, Justin Bieber couldn’t find his asshole with a flashlight. Nobody gives a shit what you or Mrs. John Legend think, Biebs!!

Everyone is ENTITLED to their own opinion, that’s why crybaby’s such as yourself are given airtime. Someone please tell me when did our once great, proud nation turn into a bunch of poontangs?? I agree what Laura said to some could be viewed as inappropriate or insensitive, but the song Fuck, Donald Trump isn’t?? It’s also a fucking OPINION!! Jesus Christ!! If I got fired, kicked off of WP or whatever for voicing my opinions, I’d be an extremely fired mother fucker.

Dear All Crybaby’s,

Go find a “safe space” together. Cry it out, talk it out or circle jerk one another for all I give a shit but please for the love of all that’s good and right, shut the fuck up!!!!

April 7, 1972: The Day Awesome Was Born

Obviously if you read my posts, you know that I’ve had a distressed, depressed past couple of days. I don’t know if it just worked out that way because of my BPD, or because since I turned forty I tend to get a bit melancholy around my birthday and I knew mine was imminent. Today is the big day and I’ve wrestled with how I should be feeling all morning.

Perhaps it’s because I never achieved the success I dreamed of when I was younger, or the fact my littles have grown into bigs that have had littles themselves, or any number of vain, vapid things….I have finally decided that this year I choose to be grateful. Although I’m not rich and/or famous, I have a rather large blended family that loves me for me despite my craziness. My littles have grown into amazing bigs that are already and also in the near future making a difference in this world. I have four happy, healthy, gorgeous grandsons and another sweet little on the way that are my heart and soul. My husband is not perfect and sometimes I feel like he doesn’t treat me like I should be treated but guess what?? The same thing could be said for me. He fucked up early in our relationship. So did I, perhaps not in the same way but equally as seriously. When it comes right down to it, he puts up with me and my tumultuous, unpredictable illness like a pro, he works his ass off to make sure that I don’t have to because the Borderline Personality Disorder makes that damn near impossible. All in all I’d have to say I’m truly very blessed in all of the ways that matter. Today was a good day to be born forty seven years ago♥️


Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. We’re not fond of rules and we have no respect for the status quo. You can quote us, disagree with us, glorify or vilify us. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore us, because we change things. We push the human race forward, while some may see us as the crazy ones, we see genius. The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do!!!

I love my tribe of misfits to the moon and stars!

My Christmas Present Is A Pain In The Ass

My husband decided that at 45 and 46 respectively, that we should get healthy in the new year so he bought us both Fitbit watches. I totally appreciate the sweet gesture and concern for our health as we have small grandbabies that we need to be around for to watch them grow up.

That being said my problem with my gift is twofold. For starters I can’t even get the mother fucker paired with my iPhone or my Internet to save my life. I tried for three hours last night and I’m going on 3 hours this morning. WHAT IN THE FUCK?!?! I bet my twelve year old niece could have it set up in like five seconds flat.

My second problem with my very much appreciated gift is that who wants some artificial intelligence telling them to get up off their fat ass and walk, move, etc?!?! At least if a person tells you that, you can tell them STFU!!

So I’m going to smile gratefully at my husband for his thoughtfulness, wear this little judgmental fuck on my wrist and dare that bitch to tell me I haven’t moved in six hours straight!! As long as the Fitbit and I know who’s boss we’ll get along just fine!!

Merry Christmas Y’all💕💕

Army Ranger dog named Maiko died in Afghanistan saving US Soldiers

Army Ranger dog named Maiko died in Afghanistan saving US soldiers | TheHill
— Read on

This post is for the bitch that blasted Sully from the Slate.

Read this and please educate your ass before you opine and spread your ignorance about humanity’s best friends.

Leave Sully Alone, You Heartless Bitch

George H.W. Bush’s service dog ‘Sully’ isn’t a Democrat or Republican — It’s doggone crazy to attack him

Explore the Fox News apps that are right for you at

Fur babies are more loyal, loving, and genuine than most people are. Any dumb bitch that thinks otherwise has no soul and probably doesn’t own a pet because it would sense her evil and bite her a new asshole. What an idiot and heartless snowflake. Nothing is sacred anymore and it pisses me off more than I could EVER verbalize, even with my enormous repertoire of swear words.

7 Things To Lookout For Before Following A Blog

7 Things To Lookout For Before Following A Blog

7 Things To Lookout For Before Following A Blog
— Read on

Great post! I am following waaaaaaay to many blogs just because they followed me first. I appreciate and am grateful to each and every follower, the thing is, I may not necessarily be interested in certain blog topics. It is nothing personal at all as I’m sure that even if I don’t agree with another bloggers views it does not mean that said blogger is not a lovely person. Following too many people is problematic in regards to the fact that the blogs that I do follow closely because I LOVE their content get lost somewhere in the rest. Thank you again to my precious followers for reading about my crazy, topsy turvy life AND for putting up with my excessive profanity, because well that’s just how I roll.

TTFN my pretties💕💕

I’ll Cut A Bitch

I went to the doctors office this morning at an ungodly hour, 7am is about the time I’ve only been asleep for approximately 2.5 hours most nights because of the tossing, turning and writhing in pain from Fibromyalgia. After an entire pot of coffee AND a shower with one leg stuck out of the shower door (due to my knee surgery four weeks ago), I was only half awake and pissed off because of how I had to shower led to me having an inch of water on my entire bathroom floor, which I immediately slipped on and busted me new voluptuous ass (I’ve gained 20 pounds in two months due to my koo koo meds). I’ve never been so happy to have the increased volume of junk in my trunk. I finally made it to the doctor ten minutes late for my appointment because I took the elevator and missed my floor. Twice. By this time I was fucking fuming and sweating like a hooker at a tent revival because of my fury and an inopportune time for a hot flash. The receptionist was about to tell me I’d need to reschedule because I was by then more than ten minutes late to my appointment. She took one look at my disheveled hair, fire engine red, sweaty face and the wild look in my eyes and decided against it (she has no idea how close she came to bearing the full brunt of my rage).

I finally settled in an uncomfortable waiting room chair to wait forty five minutes for my surgeon NOT to see me….he had his PA take out my stitches and tell me to go one floor up for physical therapy. Now in addition to my physical ailments, I’m a raving nut job….you just don’t spring this kind of shit on me at the last minute, but since I was already there, I agreed. It wasn’t until after I was laying on the physical therapy table that I had my WTF was I thinking moment….I’m lying on a table waiting for someone to come torture me sans pain meds, because due to the opioid epidemic my surgeon only sends his patients home with fifteen Lortab 5’s after MAJOR knee surgery. What kind of fuckery is this?!? I have fibro, fool, and 5 days after surgery you are telling me to take a fucking Tylenol?!? How about if I sever your penis and shove it straight up your ass and YOU take a god damn Tylenol?!?

By the time the PT made it too my room another 25 minutes later, I had enough. She opened her mouth to question me or chastise me or what the fuck ever, to which my response was,”Not today, Satan. Not today,” as I stalked (as well as someone with a bum knee can stalk) out. My BP was 146/95 when I first arrived an hour and a half prior, no telling what it was when I left, I had to have been a prime candidate for a fucking stroke.

I have now been home for three hours and my mood was finally simmering down until I opened the medicine cabinet to glare at the Tylenol. If I took enough Tylenol to even put a dent in my chronic pain, I’d die from liver failure in short order. So not giving a second thought to my bleeding stomach ulcer, I took 4 Maximum Strength Goody’s headache powders and prayed to the powers that be that 1) that many Goody’s at least takes the edge off of my pain and 2) I don’t die from internal bleeding because I’m taking such desperate measures.

It’s a good thing I have no idea where the state DEA’s office is because today….

Caffeine, Chaos and Cuss Words

I had forgotten that 7:00am was really a time of day! Sweet baby Jesus, with his Einstein developmental, this shit sucks!! I’ve already had three large mugs of high octane coffee and my eyes are still at half mast. I haven’t had a decent nights sleep since my knee surgery four weeks ago. Of course as soon as I got home from the hospital, the knee pain sent me into a full on fibro flare which set off my PTSD and anxiety disorder. I’ve been a hot fucking mess. So now this dipshit, young, hotshot surgeon wants to do my four week post-op on his schedule…..doesn’t he know I don’t do mornings?!? Not even for a million dollars. I think because I get so very little fulfilling, uninterrupted sleep that it’s value goes up immensely as to make it priceless to me. I know koo koo bird (that’s me) has some sketchy shit to do today, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what it is. Oh hell, it’s probably for the best if it was sketchy anyway.

I’ve started a menopausal, ketogenic diet because a rather unfortunate side effect from the koo koo meds is piling on the weight. It was my orthopedists office that pointed out, that I’ve gained twenty pounds in two months. Yes, go ahead and fuck with me about unwanted pounds at 7:30 in the morning, that’s a great idea. I briefly thought about murder but realized horizontal prison stripes would only accentuate my already expanding waistline. These bitches have me twisted, I only LOOK calm and harmless, at this ungodly hour of the day, I’m just as liable to shove my foot so far up someone’s ass, that they’ll need to have to have a tonsillectomy to remove it, as to smile and say, “Bless your heart,” which in the south means fuck you, just polite like. I’m sure I’ll have something else to rant about after my visit so TTFN💕

If You Could See What I Feel: A Glimpse Inside of My Life With Fibromyalgia

If you could see what I feel, you would see:

That I’m tired of pretending this will go away

I’m tired of pretending day after day

I’m tired of pretending that nothing is wrong

I’m tired of pretending I’m strong

If you could see what I feel…

You would see red, for the searing pain that encompasses my body minute-by-minute, hour-by-hour and day-by-day.

You would see me struggle every morning to get out of bed because I am more tired than I was when I went to bed the night before. That everything I do is an effort because I feel as if I have a perpetual case of the flu only it never… goes… away.

You would see the green of envy I have that I can’t keep up with active toddlers the way a grandmother should.

You would see that one day with a toddler causes weeks of muscle spasms and doctor visits just to get back to where I was before that one day.

You would see my heart break when I snap at someone because I just can’t take anymore, I have nothing left to give and yet someone wants more.

You would see that I see the look on your face when I can’t be what you want me to be at a particular moment.

You would see the frustration on my face just as I see the frustration (or impatience) on yours because in the middle of a sentence I’ve been blasted with fibro fog. I’m robbed of the word I need to complete my sentence and as I stumble in what seems to be a cavernous black hole searching for the word “toaster” to finally have it come out as “tomato.”

You would see the hidden blush of embarrassment since I really do know the difference between a toaster and a tomato; it’s merely another one of those little idiosyncrasies that I have to deal with on a daily basis. I can’t explain it, I don’t understand it, and it just comes as one of the many mysteries that seizes control of my mind and body.

You wouldn’t keep asking me to eat dinner at 7:00 because I’ve told you 20 times if I don’t eat by 5:00 my medicine doesn’t work. It’s not because it’s what I prefer; it’s what I have to do if I have any chance of sleeping. So instead of five hours of sleep, I barely get two only to start the day over again feeling worse than before.

You wouldn’t ask me to sit for hours (cars, theatre, movies, etc.), and when I say it’s difficult for me to sit (again for the 20th time), you wouldn’t say, “If you’d rather not.” It’s not about what I would rather do; it’s never about what I… would… rather… do! It’s about what I can do that will cause the least amount of pain. It’s hard to enjoy a car ride when all I can think of is “please God let this be over soon” before I scream and they see how much I’m in pain.

You wouldn’t say things like, “gee you look good, you must be feeling better today” or “really, you don’t look sick” or “you always seem to have so much energy!” That’s simply because you don’t see me go home and fall on the couch for the remainder of the day or sometimes days to recover from my so-called “energy.”

You wouldn’t ask me what’s wrong every time we have a holiday and we have loads of kids and people and it’s big and loud and the noise level is “at an 11.” You would see that my entire body feels as if it’s about to explode with each scream, or fight or cry… because that’s what I want to do, scream, or fight, or cry and have someone tell me it’ll be OK. Have someone wipe my tears, stroke my head and say, “It’s OK, honey, why don’t you rest for awhile?”

If you could see what I feel you would see the cacophony of emotions, pains, fears and tears that encompass my body 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

You would see that I don’t want you to feel sorry for me or in most cases even treat me differently; you would see that I long for you to understand. That there are times when I don’t have a choice, I’m not choosing to be “lazy,” I’m not choosing to not support you or be with you – you would see that I have nothing left to give.

You would see my sadness because I do understand that a chronic condition doesn’t just affect me, it affects all those around me.

If you could see what I feel you would see that I am tired of pretending…

You would see… that I am simply tired.

Rotten to the Core

Splitting. If you have BPD, you know EXACTLY what I’m talking about. If you do not have BPD, imagine having a Category 5 hurricane leaving a path of destruction in every cell, nerve ending and emotion in your entire body. Imagine being a walking hand grenade with the pin pulled waiting with gut churning dread because you know what’s coming and there’s not a damn thing you can do to delay, restrain or stop the explosion or at times implosion.

I suppose that’s why the suicide rate among Borderline Personality Disorder sufferers is so much higher than many other mental disorders. It doesn’t mean as a whole we are weak. Sometimes the pain of it all just becomes too much to bear. During these triggers nothingness seems like a small piece of Heaven. I pray for the lost souls who felt this was their only option for just peace and relief from the never ending struggle that is our cross to bear. For some it might have been their only option. God rest their souls and if you are a merciful God like they say…..please, please give these lost souls the peace they never had here on earth.

Today I split. Ive been feeling it coming for a couple of days, I’ve been fighting it for those same couple of days. I’m disgusted with myself because I was starting to get a handle on my angry triggers. This was a grief trigger. As some of you know my husbands ex-wife who is also the mother of his two youngest children (20 and 15), who also over the years and after a handful of skirmishes became a dear friend to me passed away unexpectedly. She had no brain activity upon arrival at the hospital and was technically pronounced dead on Tuesday morning, because she was an organ donor she was kept on life support the entire week to keep her viable. Watching her children, her husband and even my husband shatter into a million pieces broke the fragile grasp I had on my own emotions.

There is a horrific coincidence to this story…..she died in the same ICU room in the same hospital as my beloved grandmother did sixteen years ago. I never lost it in front of the friends or family but this morning I lost control…

My husband like many men is very stoic in his grief. He’s devastated and worried about his children. I’m sure he’s been hurting inside himself….they had been married for seventeen years and shared two children, of course he’s hurt. His way of dealing with grief is being left alone with his thoughts. I’m Italian and a hoverer. He asked kindly for some space to deal with this trauma and tragedy and instead of sweetly understanding like a normał person, my BPD screamed REJECTION, REJECTION, REJECTION so of course I lost my shit on him this morning and saddled him with my crazy when he is dealing with so much already. I really am a worthless, wretched human being when I think about what I put him through in a time like this. He may or may not forgive me, but I will NEVER, EVER forgive myself. Who does this shit?!?!

To my husband, I am truly and utterly ashamed of myself. I am more sorry for hurting you worse than you already were. I watched as you couldn’t eat or sleep for days and still I didn’t have enough control to stop the carnage of my words in their tracks. You will NEVER no how wretched I feel or how very sorry I am.

Having BPD is no excuse. Some people are just rotten to the core. I am one of them.

Assholes, Booze and Coffee

Not In Any Particular Order

It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, good morning friends😊

What can I say when one absolutely can not sleep at night, you have to squeeze some 💤💤’s in somewhere. Most of the time the 💊💊’s don’t even work. That is until about 7 am the next morning. That being said I get what I can when I can.

Once I get my second pot of coffee, I’m ready to start my day so hopped up and jittery I turn into a giant sarcastic asshole from caffeine overload. I was never good at happy mediums.

Now that I’ve got that off of my chest. I slowly get dressed, I’m talking if I make it out of my PJ’s for the day it’s a frigging miracle.

I’m aware that my badassery is just a legend in my own mind but that’s plenty enough for me, it’s also enough to make me an asshole. If it were a badge for the Girl Scouts it’s probably the only one I would have received and I would’ve worn that sap sucker like a queenly sash. I’d totally be wearing it to this day.

Haha! My favorite. Sarcasm and smartassery abounds today. My joints are swollen and literally locked up from my Fibro flare and my BPD and it’s friends OCD, ADHD and PTSD are off of the charts from the past 3 stress filled days.

Just wanted to throw this out there to my antagonists. Not today fuckers. Not today.

If I’m just being my normal sarcastic self you are totally safe because as many of you know in my opinion curse words are just colorful adjectives that brighten up any story.

To my friends, family and blogging family, I hope that you are having a blessed, beautiful day as I’m sipping a refreshing glass of vino, I’m going to leave y’all with how I think medicine needs to  undergo some significant changes……

50 Shades of Cray

My husband is my anchor and my FP. We have had some very volatile times in the past. Mainly over me being batshit crazy and his one time indiscretion.

I think the root of my problem is that I expect utter perfection from him, my parents, my siblings, my children and my friends (all 2.5 of them) and I on the other hand have set a much lower bar of behavior and attitudes than I expect from them. It pisses them the fuck off but the borderline in me screams IDGAF I’m special. I’m special alright…… especially a bitch, especially obnoxious, especially loud mouthed.

I don’t mean to be like this, I make my own skin crawl half of the time.

It’s so damn difficult, being constantly at war inside. Meds and therapy and psych visits are all fine and good but I’d be willing to sign up for shock therapy or a lobotomy if I knew for a fact it would cure what I have. At least I was pretty once. Now a look in the mirror and see a wild eyed, worthless, bloated (I’ve gained almost 40 pounds on my psychiatry drugs) version of my old self. I look like I ate my twin in the womb. I don’t normally put any stock into things as shallow and vain as looks, weight, gender, color, etc…..but with myself I’m the exact opposite. I’m my own worst critic and it’s silently spiraling me into nothingness. I normally use my humor to cheer myself and others up as best I can, but I’m having a shitty day during a shitty week because of this shitty disorder.

I’m not normally known for pitying myself but I’m giving myself a free pass today. It’s my party and I’ll split if I want to.

My Story: The First Violent BPD Trigger

My FP who also happens to be my beloved husband and I have not always had it easy. Between my undiagnosed BPD and crazy exes, we had our hands full.

One of the main reasons I fell so madly, deeply, head over heels in love with him is because he is so kind and gentle and above all genuine. He told me that he loathed men that cheated on their significant others.  I think his exact words were that they were the scum of the Earth. So having the rug yanked cruelly out from under my feet THREE weeks before our wedding fucked me up. More than I’ve ever been in my entire life, and my life has been far, far from a bed of roses to begin with.

Three weeks to the day before we were to become husband and wife, he sat me down and told me he had been having a year long affair with his co-worker. Said co-worker being the kind of whore who constantly throws herself at her latest victim in her quest to suck and or blow her way up the corporate ladder. This bitch is a predator through and through. She sensed a vulnerable moment in my then fiancé, and she pounced again and again and again.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never held my husband completely blameless. No matter what the excuse, what he did was not a mistake. It was a choice, but I digress. By the time this whore had her claws sunk firmly into my husband to be, she strung him along for months and months because she is somehow related to his boss and threatened his job if he blew her off.

Deep down I think I knew, but I didn’t want to believe my gut at the time. I was blinded by love.  Before he confessed I couldn’t even wrap my mind around the idea of him doing something so despicable and painful to me. That betrayal was the most pain I’ve ever experienced in my whole life. I lost 40 pounds, I prayed to Jesus for death to take away the mind numbing pain. Obviously Jesus had other plans for me….I’m still trying to figure out what they are. I internalized this pain for about six months and out of nowhere I lost my shit. By losing my shit I mean I grabbed the steering wheel while my husband was driving 70 miles per hour on the interstate, almost sending us careening down an embankment, threw the car in park while he was driving 5 times, and tried to jump out 3 times. After it was all over I barely remembered a thing. I was in a dark swirling fog and my mind couldn’t process anything for at least the rest of the day. My husband insisted on a psychiatrist appointment for the following day and fortunately someone had canceled and I was able to get in to see him.

The next day with my husband by my side we went to the appointment. Within 20 minutes of hearing about the horrific day prior and other behaviors I was exhibiting that were concerning my husband, I had a diagnosis. Borderline Personality Disorder. That was such a huge pill for me to swallow but it explained so very much. As it turns out, the former affair partner whore, Mary Ann and my Daddy Fucking Dearest are my main triggers….it doesn’t help that that white trash skank still works with my husband reminding him and myself of our darkest hours as man and wife or that my narcissistic, abusive father still goes out of his way to make me feel like a worthless piece of shit.

My husband and I have always had a soul deep connection and unbreakable bond and that’s what pulled us through his horrific betrayal to the other side, and I was able to forgive him and our relationship has forged an even deeper bond by getting through something so traumatic.

I can’t say I’ve forgiven Mary Ann, because I have not….I know as a Christian I should but the Borderline in me wants to drag her into the street and beat her ass until her mother has a hard time recognizing her. I’m a civil, middle aged woman with morals and manners but when it comes to this bitch my BPD makes me feel primal. I personally think that she’d have a hard time sucking her way up the corporate ladder and destroying another family’s happiness with her jaw wired shut for 6 to 8 weeks. This is my story and I’m sticking to it.

#BPD, #BorderlinePersonalityDisorder, #relationships, #marriage, #cheating, #betrayal, #theotherwoman, #whore

Groundhogs Day Too

Are you trapped in a groundhogs day lifestyle? It doesn’t have to be that way….,what kind of happy horse shit is that?? Apparently the creator of this post or meme or whatever the heck it’s called now days absolutely, positively does not have BPD😂😂

Us “beepers” (Borderliners) take a great deal of comfort in sameness. In fact we take such comfort in it that to get us to make the tiniest change in our routine it takes an act of Congress. With the political climate as it stands today that would mean a getting us to change our routine have the chances of slim to none.

I really try to do one thing that scares the unholy shit out of me every day. Sometimes it’s as small as getting in the car and driving to the Walgreens on the corner of my street for milk. Other times when I am feeling mighty or if one of my 2.5 friends or my FP is with me I might actually get out of the car and go inside. I didn’t ask for this disorder, I definitely don’t want it, but I HAVE it and there is nothing I can do about it so again, like my beloved Dory, I’ll just keep swimming❤️