Triggered Rhythm and Rhyme

Sing with me, sing for the year

Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears

Sing with me, just for today

Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away.

- Eminem "Sing for Today'

Eminem shouting in my ears, clouds are passing my window and today is just another day for me and the universe. People who know me, the ones who see my bubble, charm, and the cheeky grin. They would never guess that some moments all I want to do is pack away my thoughts and chose not to feel. So I'll plug in my headphones and let the beat of somebody else's pain take me away.


Music is the language my soul speaks and not everyone speaks the same language. Thats okay with me. I don't need to play the picture of me you have in your head. I just need to keep breathing. An in and out steady rhythm of this is who I am, check the rational against the irrational.

I'm addicted to music and I might be overdosing. I can't play music and write anymore. These beats you read, come out all on their own. Shaking and scared they won't be seen, they won't be heard, or worse they'll be misunderstood. Writing is a terrifying high. I've been stuck with an IV of pure sound and every time the music plays it starts gift wrapping my thoughts into nice little parcels for some other time. Music takes it away. Writing gives it a home.

So I suggest, when looking for ways to function in the real world. When thoughts become overwhelming, demanding, never ending creatures. Stop for a moment. Take just one moment, one song and listen. Just listen to the words or the beat, the melody and let it wash over you. As it takes it away. As it grounds you into somebody else's dream.

You are not alone in universe,

when you let the universe sing to you.

As for me? I've been triggered. The real world has been putting me on high alert. Friday had a morning spent manic, an afternoon spent on edge, a flatmate too pretty for my tears and an evening spinning and sinking. Tears lurk around every corner. Saturday I took a few steps back and felt slight tugs on my strings but mostly tuned out the world. Sunday morning not slept, rocking out in my bed room. Listing to other peoples emotions.

Love me anyway?

Like I love you?

Refunds and Yelling

I just want to scream into the wind. Into the vast empty places of this world and be heard. It feels bitter and ironic that I'm listing to Sway With Me as I write this. Music is my white noise, my drug of choice. An if attention seeking is yours then who am I to judge you?

My past is spotted with dark dots of deeds that I've done wrong. That I knew better but wanted to do anyway. I lacked such value and belief in what I was of worth I did degrading things to hurt me, to grant me the attention I so deeply desired but didn't feel like I was getting. Little girl lost is running, running free, running angry. I must say it's not that surprising to find pity alive and well this early in the morning.

Part of me was taken away such a long time ago and I'm so angry. I'm so angry that something damaged me so much, that my chemicals and experiences broke me this much. I wonder how long it started to feed on the little girl in me until it was all that I am. A dark and broken puppet laying on the floor screaming for somebody to see me, to love me, to pick me, to chose me. I am almost choking on self pity.

How do you fix lazy? How do fix a lack of joy? How do you fix the pieces of a broken jar that's been scattered all over the world? BPD makes me doubt myself in so many ways. All of my diagnosis make me doubt. They undermine who I am to a certain degree. Everything that I believe to be my reality, or me, becomes fuzzy.

I know all that I need to do to 'fix myself', I have been given all off the tools, I have to some degree been given all the time I need, I've been given Team K and I've been given a family that might not always understand but try to love me anyway and I've been given friend who bless them see pass the crazy. Or at least embrace the crazy.

Yet I don't want to. I don't want to cross the bridge. I don't want to jump off the ledge of despair to find myself floating in happiness. I don't want and I don't need and I don't see the point. This is how I was made. These are the pieces I was given. Let me make my own puzzle, or let me through the pieces away and be a blank picture. Don't make me change and don't ask me to be better and don't pretend that I don't know how to fix this.

I just don't have the will, or the desire or the strength. All those pieces got lost and I was left with doubt, rage, laziness and a slew of other things that make wellness look unappealing. Who would I be then? What would I be then? Other then a shell of what once was. What might have been. This crazy fiery brilliance that engulfs me. I just want it all in. Picture if you will this curvy angry young woman marching up to the pearly gates and demanding a refund. Screaming at God and asking him what he's playing at. What did he want me to do? An if I'm made in his image, was he ever this crazy too?

Wales. Prairies. Seasides in winter. Forest in fall. Rain in summer.

Love me anyway? Love me when I don't want love at all...

Dear World - I hold my own key.

Turn on the light?

It's late, or early depending on the way you watch the clock. I don't want to write this. I don't want to be here. I'm compelling myself to write my own blog. The shaft of the proverbial gun is at the base of my neck, triggered and begging me to write. The gun is shaking and I can feel the cold shaft burn in anticipation. The unspoke agreement is that I will dig deep. That I will splatter myself over this stark and empty screen. Fill the world with my screams, my spin, the consent rush of hit or miss. 

World? These days everything is blurry. I can't make my self breath so I lay here unmoving, unfeeling, lost in my own snow storm and propaganda. I should finish the paper work. I could go for a walk. I could check out a new book. I could clean the house. I could make my room my own. I could email everyone I know here until someone agrees to go for coffee. I should. I could. I won't. 

It's scary that they put the only copy of the key to success, to healing, in the lost brain. It feels wrong that I alone can walk this road, can go from here to better. I don't want to get better. I don't want to have to change. I don't want to relearn how to see the world. How I see myself. I've come so far to be told I'm doing it wrong. Can't we fast forward to the end? 

Hues of Gold, Fuzzy Right and Wrongs.

I'm not discounting the support, the doctors, the medication, the family, the friends, the weather. However when it comes to fixing what lays within. That is left in your hands. It is left in my hands. My shaky, scarred and splattered hands that shake at the thought. 

I've stalled out if you're wondering on CBT. I've stalled out on pulling together the pieces. I'm stalling world. The screaming in my head is getting louder. Write. Write till your fingers bleed. Write till the crowd notices you're not singing you're screaming. Write till you reach the end. Write till your image becomes freeze framed on someone else's computer screen. Write. Write. Write even if your wrong. Write even if it leads to you come undone. Just write. 

Dear World, I beg of you. Let's put the pens away. I want to play with swords tonight. Cut me with you vicious wit. Leave me skinned and laying on the examining table. Uncover my bones carved with Write, stained with sin. I started this blog to talk about the road I'm walking. The road I daily deny that I'm on. I said I wanted a resource for people with BPD. If by chance someone stumbles across this blog, or this entry - questioning or looking for answers. 

Take this home with you. What better way for the girl who's just unwell to show the world of BPD then take you behind the scenes? I am kept safe by the air chilling my skin. The music leaking in to the room. The burning of my keyboard as I write. 

Even in all this. Mindfulness follows me around like a faithful pup.  

Love me anyway? 

Set me free. 

Thankful

I am thankful; for Monday nights, rain storms, game nights with Eric the great storyteller that make both me and my character cry, coming home to the lights on and finding my flatmate puttering around the kitchen, friendships that are made over 5 years off shared stories, music, laughter and beautiful awkward moments, phone calls with people who've been apart of shaping your life and make brownies worth keeping, having roller blades on the way, her platonic wife Miss Thea and her silly cats. <3 


I am thankful for Fox's kitchen, Friday night game, coffee dates, Sunday gaming, DM's, critical hits  and every other month dinner dates with lovely women, 


I'm thankful for skype and my mother who will be soon going off to dance and then move back to the UK. I'm thankful for snail mail, ice lollies, chalk boards, best friends, web cams, rings that mean forever, old school friends, PGL, the climbing wall, the broken parts, the view from my window, the adventures I've had. I'm thankful for Team Katrine, the big bad's', trains, lip gloss, chai tea, falls that teach you to get up, spinning, 995 per minute, the repeat button, play list, people who show you who you don't want to be, old friends finding new love. 


I'm thankful for Star's monsters, adoption, the missing monkey,  pop tarts, grated cheese, The Rumi pocket book, hugs, cold feet, formatting, Edmonton, ETS and DATS, poetry, digital words full of art, possibilities, perfectly popped popcorn, her little cousin(s), Sam I Am and I LOVE YOU YOU LOVE ME WE LOVE EACH OTHER, my aunt who helped me find my feet in Ottawa, my family who love me across oceans, my sisters, my brothers. Old teachers, new mentors, older wiser friends, science, experiencing loss - so I can know what experiencing 'having' is like. I am thankful for the other side of the coin, walking between the blades and under the stars. I'm thankful for you understood. 


Most of all I'm thankful for everyone who, Loves me anyway. <3  

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I wrote that last night after I couldn't make sleep come, after game, after the walk in the rain. I wrote this to hold on even just for the briefest moment that piece of tangible emotions. It is so easy to be unfeeling. To easy some days. Hopefully I will keep this list safe and wash away the layers of grime away from my heart.

- Love you anyway.