The nights fly by and I remember when my days seemed to hold more meaning. More possibilities, color, experiences and life.
There were shades of belief in so many more things and wake, work, struggle wasn’t my routine.
Even on the outskirts I was part of an oddly colorful community, though we were mostly adorned in black. I never knew I’d do most of my living then and that everything I thought was ahead of me was only a wish.

It’s not a mood change…it’s cognitive betrayal.

Each time I start digging around articles to give me some perspective outside of my own head about BPD, it’s shocking to me that anything over 4 or 5 cycles a year is considered Rapid Cycling BPD. I sometimes have more cycles than that in one day! I’m exhausted just dealing with my myself at the end of my day, not just oh let me sit on the couch for a moment to relax tired… But don’t even fucking talk to me, let me sit here and blink exhausted.

I also hate the term “mood change.” My mood didn’t change…my fucking brain decided it wanted to stop remembering things, mix up words, lose pieces of time and feel so agitated or suicidal it’s all I can do not to blow my head off at times, or take a handful of the pills that are supposed to help keep me level, just to make it all stop. It’s racing so fast and hard inside my head that it feels loud all the time, it’s days of not sleeping, it’s taking in too much because at that moment, I’m manic and capable. It’s isolating myself so no one has to deal with me like this because even I don’t want to deal with me like this. That’s not a mood. That’s a fucking cognitive betrayal. It’s me on one side and whatever is going on upstairs on the other and we are constantly battling. I feel so angry at all the places in my life this disease I can’t even see has affected. It’s a huge factor in my decision to not be a mother, part of why I’m still not “married” and why I had a total meltdown when I was trying to work and go to school full time years ago. It doesn’t care what my goals are, nor how hard I work toward them. It eats my brain however and whenever it wants. It’s maddening and embarrassing. It’s frustrating and debilitating. It’s not a fucking mood change…

The Girl Least Likely To…

What exactly do you do when you’ve had the therapy, taken and continue to take the meds, do all the self care you can, apply the coping skills and it still doesn’t prevent these down cycles mixed with cognitive issues from taking you down? My brain is fucking Swiss cheese and I would probably forget to go to the bathroom lately if it weren’t for my colon issues. The holes in my thought processes are worsening… I can remember pieces but not the full picture, words are on the tip of my tongue and do not come to me, my ability to multitask has decreased and my working memory is shot. I can’t get my sentences out and get immensely irritated when people don’t give me a moment to figure out what I’m trying to say. Sounds, light, temperature, the feeling of certain things on my skin make me want to scream. I feel assaulted by normal, ordinary things. I get around this at work by always writing things down and in my daily life by keeping several lists in my iPhone to remind me of this or that. My attention span, focus and ability to concentrate are shot. I don’t feel like “me” unless I’m alone with my thoughts or working on projects in my home. I can’t normally interact with people as of late unless I’m playing a role, such as who I am at work, or how a customer is supposed to act and I find myself withdrawing. Hermiting. My anxiety is at a level it hasn’t been in years and it seems I’m eating my Klonopin like TicTacs.

I’ve had vivid, disturbing dreams for years…I now find myself having vivid, disturbing thoughts and urges I have to shake from my brain and they leave me thinking “where the fuck did that even come from?!” My agitation level is as such that the sound of someone’s fingernails tapping against anything makes me want to lunge and I’ve never, ever been a violent person.

I work 2 jobs, live alone, pay all my bills, make all my own decisions, and am a fairly intelligent, well spoken, creative woman….and I can’t make any of this stop. I rapid cycle almost constantly but this is different. This feels like my brain is sick and becoming sicker… This feels like me digging my nails into what sanity I have and hanging on for dear life…but falling anyway into somewhere I haven’t been in years.

I’m educated enough in my disease to understand that many things going on in my life would drive anyone mad, or into a clinical depression, especially someone with BPD. That logic doesn’t help me however. I feel like I should be able to make this all stop so I can just remain a functional human being, capable of menial shit like going to the grocery store or watching a movie with a friend without it seeming and/or being so daunting and exhausting.

No one in my life knows it’s this bad. No one. It helps nothing when they do and I don’t think anyone could handle the truth anyway, without treating me like I was mentally retarded instead of mentally ill. You can only increase a persons medications so much when they’re employed and I certainly cannot add a medication fog on top of what ever the fuck is happening to my brain right now. A hospital stay really does nothing for some other than over medicate them for a few days, make them feel like they’re surrounded by crazy people (because well…) when they just want to be at home, feel shamed by being there in the first place while sitting in some stupid group therapy circle that helps no one who functions above a High School level and put you so far behind on your bills that you face eviction and cut off notices. Yeah. What a wonderful thing to come home to.

There’s nothing. Not one single fucking thing I can do that I haven’t already done or am not currently doing to help maintain any better. The circumstances surrounding this depressive episode are far from over and haven’t even gotten to their worst. I’m so. Incredibly. Exhausted. With life.

Constant agitation
My thoughts slow
My thoughts speed up
They fire on their own
And I cannot get them under control.
They’re driving
And I need to run the show.
I can’t fall apart
But all these years are catching up.
Catching up catching up catching up
And I cannot fucking fall apart.

Down Cycles

I am lonely, yet I want to be left alone. I pace and pace while my mind churns, walking from room to room not ever knowing quite where to stop or what to do. I sit. I want to write but it’s as though I’m out of words and I want to hand over my brain to someone and say “here, this. This is what’s going on in here.” I’m tired. So absolutely tired.

I play a character just to get through the day, go through the motions and tell myself these down cycles pass. That it won’t last forever and I have to hang on until it clears, even if I don’t want to.

2, 4, 6, 8, 10

I tap my fingers on my knees while counting 2,4,6,8,10 repeatedly, rhythmically, quickly, my body slightly rocking from time to time. Habitually, without effort, as automatic as breathing or blinking as the mechanics of my brain churn out thought after though, layer upon layer…