Letters of Pathetic. Maybe.

No Sleep. None. 

I want to sleep. Can I sleep? 

Can I be the stupid fat girl that doesn't sleep, doesn't get better, doesn't know if she can get better or if she can  sleep? I don't want to know why I can only sleep during the day - I just know that I can only sleep during the day. I want to see the Boo so bad. I want to see you so bad. I want to wake up and not need a scary amount of carbs to make me go. Not my he wants babies you know? He really really want babies. Little things make him happy. 

Me. I want carbs, sleep and kisses. Stupid trashy t.v shows cause I can't sleep make me want this. Well not the carbs or the sleep. I wanted those anyway. 

I might post this in my blog at some point. Maybe. Oh look I'm posting it. Look at K as she falls apart in a weak moment once again. The killer will be if I can stay awake long enough to turn this around and give it a happy end. 

Who knows? I have no idea why I bother. I was going to stay awake and just make my self shower and listen to music and go but thats a lot of going. I'm a flake. I'm a trashy bad flake who won't sleep. Doesn't sleep till she's so dizzy the world just wants to go away . I'm so fucking tired of being so wrapped up and lost in my own shit and self deprecation. 

Yet what else do I got? Bah. I'm sorry. I have no idea what will happen today. I'd call but it's still to early. With kids getting to school and people going to work and class. You are welcome to steal bottles from the house and take the Boo to lunch. 

I am so sorry that I'm this person. 

Maybe I'll sleep. Maybe I'll find a way to stay awake. Maybe the next moment won't be this. It's all about holding out for the next moments.  

Love me anyway. Maybe? 

I sort feel this song is like big me talking to little me.  Someday's Maybe. Right? 

Cost for Okay.

Sketch out from here to there, for him for her. My thoughts laid bare. Truth is hard. It hurts with it's sting and bite. Once uttered it can not been unsaid. Truth doesn't lay flat. It attacks. Ripping down walls, hedging the bets. I can be won with truth. I understand honesty anything less and I get lost in the camouflage.

Yet, when everything was happening in December and January my mother chose to keep the cause of what was happening to me unknown to everyone but the family and a few close friends. At the time it was her decision to make and I know it would not have been an easy one. I was not ready then to have the weight of everyones gaze and possible judgement on me. I found it unbearable that my family had to know.

In truth I still find it unbearable. Part of me wants to change my name, cover myself in someone else art, and run. Run far away from who I am and what I've done. So when my mother made the choice to tell people I had Aspirated Pneumonia and she almost lost me three times. I made the same choice. Until I wanted to break the silence and the stigma attached to BPD and make my map (blog).

Your story, your truth. Share it wisely.

Reputation is often all one really has. Everything else can be taken and I know as I admit to what I tried to do I blacken mine. As I speak the twisted truth a little more of the image I have spent years creating gets a little bit darker.

How do you trust the young woman who wants to die. Who had no respect for the laws of God and fate that she desperately tried to end her story, her life on December 27th 2009. I wish I could say that living was the best thing that ever happened to me and have myself believe that. My thoughts are not as often rainbow colored as one might guess.

It's scary standing up and saying hey I'm crazy and here is the crazy. Every day I battle with the demons. I hit breaking and then keep going. I have to leave a map behind for others. No matter what happens. I might not want to be here. I might try to rip myself to pieces more often then I'll admit too.

But for now, I'm still fighting. It's just an ordinary day and I might win, I might even lose. I've been battered, but I'll never bruise. So way-hey-hey, it's just an ordinary day and at the end of the day, you've still got to say it's all right. It's okay.

See that girl on the street, what keeps her from dying

Let the say what they want, she won't stop trying

She might stumble, if they push her 'round

She might fall, but she'll never lie down

Thank you. For standing in your own ways with me. Don't stop loving me anyway?

Freak out about the Reach out.

Today I started my campaign to change the world. It started with a page Facebook | Borderline. I started a discussion, shared what was on my mind and got a few comments that inspired me to journal. So I thought I'd finish with a blog. 

When I first started Borderline I wanted two things. One, to turn my journey into a map for others to follow. Secondly, I wanted it to be an anonymous portrait of a lost girl making her own map. That was a month ago. I slowly started sharing it. First on a unfortunately inactive forum and then to a few people who promised not to judge and now I've started a page and invited people on my friend list who I thought might be interested. 

I do worry that the further I get from my anonymous world the harder it will be to lay bare and expose this part of me. Don't lose me to a label. I know how hard it is to look past the stigma, the media's portrait of crazy. 

My name is Katrine and this is my ongoing story of how I kick Borderline Personality Disorder's ass.  Ignore the stigma, let go off the outdated data and join me as I rewrite what it means to be Borderline. ♥

I wont pretend that this is easy. Looking at someone else crazy and weak moments is highly awkward. There are so many times I open Blogger in draft with so much to say and my fingers veto. I'm still learning how to do this. Thank you for learning with me. 

What would you like me to write about this upcoming week? 

*Creative Outlets 

*Empty = Eating 

*The Girl I don't like 

*PPHP

*Medication 

*CBT the group mess

*CBT Workbooks 

*Other? 

This quest is blessed; your seeking destroys the obstacles on the way of God. Your seeking is the key to what you seek, this quest is your army and the victory of your banners. - Rumi 

My fingers are at your command. Just like I love you, anyway. ♥

Tracking and Accountability with Paint.

Empty days lead to a haunted brain. So, I go against the grain and sign up for the outpatient game. Such flounce just to say I'm trying once again to play by the systems rules. I have given in and I don't completely trust that it won't drive me completely  mad. I'm already being driven crazy by reality.

Wind and rain storm my window and yet I sit here flat and unwell. Rain offers such inclusion to the world. The other day I found myself walking back from the hospital. Rain running down my face. Soothing the burn from too many tears. The wind wrapped me in it's bitter strong cocoon. Screaming in my ear, "Hear me for you and I are real."

A junkies wake up call has never been so lovely.  

It had been two weeks since I had last seen Mccay the all mighty. I ranted, raged and used some wonderful analogies to explain where I was and how I'd been. He commented on my pressing need for help and his recommendation of a Social Worker. As someone who used to be a lesion between individuals and their social worker it's a slap in the face from reality that I currently need one. He also increased my medication and  brought up what he thought was the long wait I had for PPHP. I mumbled something along the lines of well they had called but... and left it at that.

Truthfully I want to give up, sell stock and fade away. I want this with everything I have and yet. What if somehow I can turn this story around? Half painted dreams follow me down the street and I can't help think, what if? Anyone can kill the goose when she stops laying golden eggs. It takes a stronger person to hold on and see what will happen next.

For the goose, for my trip down the rabbit hole -  I must try. 

I must try to find the tricks to keep breathing. Sell the fire so I can keep on living. Trade in the old for now. For when tomorrow comes I can learn anew. The real trick isn't selling out, but holding on. I just need to get out of the fire for awhile. Bitter, twisted, little me does wonder what it will get me. So far it's 6 weeks of PPHP starting on Tuesday.

When I first wrote this I had to stop. I could not carry on as I felt rage and fire burning up my arms. Spinning my  brain to agitation. My poor tormented head was screaming, "I hate this. I hate being trapped to a keyboard and a screen." I had planned to talk about hope. To share with you possibilities. Proof that I could dance without the pain. Instead  I was left with a bitter shell of a post. I would have left it up, to show what walking away and washing away the heat and pain can achieve, if I had thought of it soon enough.

I should stop here because I don't know if I can control the storm inside of me. The burning that attacks all reason. I didn't ask to be here. I didn't ask to be born. To live. To be made to carry on. Will nothing sooth my ragged nerves. I desperately need canvas and red paint.  I want to set fire to this place. To the never ending torment. I wan to watch it burn as I slowly get my wish and turn to ash. This is a nightmare I cannot leave.

Until I awake. Till I give into the voice bigger then mine that leads me away from the rage. He offers me a haven in His arms and when I let Him, He takes it all away.  I admit that I am scared. That fear makes me angry and agitated. That lashing out didn't get me very far but letting go of the fire didn't lose me words. Didn't lose the battle, or the passion. Most importantly, it didn't lose me. It did unlock me from the all consuming fire that had me in a death lock.

I know that I am not alone when I say, "The unknown scares me." Talking to my second favorite OT and hearing her acknowledging, heck - hearing Mccay acknowledge that it is a hard and scary place. Made it a little bit okay. 

Find all the truths you can. They will be your life boats. 

Tonight is a night I need lifeboats. I didn't have a chance to finish this /edited/ post before game night. For all the moments of aw and win and La being amazing. I was crashing and burning. I also had two thoughts I want to elaborate on in the future.  " I don't like that girl.(The girl none of the girls in Edmonton like)" and "empty = eating." 

I swear to you, my lost and dancing girl. This like all things is only for now. 

Love you, Love me - Anyway. 

Broken Puppet Strings

I want a new cave and puppet strings. Everything starts with I these days. I haven't stopped caring about you but I can only handle I. This is slow and stuttered. I won't turn the music off you see - so the words are hiding.

I'm hiding.

Everyday I look up and wonder where K's going. Slipping so slowly away. Plotting the easiest way to the finish line. Wonder what McCay's going to say.

Don't love me anyway, just take me away.

Say.

Say I have nothing left. Say it's time to say good bye.

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  

------------------------

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.