Where to begin writing for this blog again? So much has happened.
From new jobs to being let go, to diabetes roller coasters to diabetes successes. From old schools to new schools and old (beloved) houses to new (not so beloved) houses and just about everything in between…
Though I promise to share it all, I’ll start by divulging about me. Me personally. Because, actually, I think it’s about time I do that again.
I have begun a treatment plan for my BPD. A year of intensive treatment.
It came at almost the exact right time. “Almost exactly” because it came right after I had a nervous breakdown.
You read that right. I’ve mentioned it once or twice before I believe.
I had a fucking nervous breakdown. I won’t go into all the nitty gritty details – one never knows who reads these things – but I will say that I was past the edge. Not standing precariously by it.
It all just got to me and I finally buckled under the pressure. My mental illness literally went mental. I’m on the mend now, pills and therapy are my go to for the moment. And I won’t lie to you when I say that as happy I am to be on the mend, I feel shame that I even need it. It’s just that way I guess. Maybe especially because I am a parent and parents are not supposed to be this fragile.
My life now consists of going to therapy twice a week and taking anti-anxiety pills daily. If I start to act out aggressively in any way I usually get asked by any one of my lovely housemates if I have taken my pills today. That f’ing sucks.
But, in their defence, I do need my pills to keep my emotions stable. I really really do.
The great thing about this therapy is that it actually has a real hope of helping me. Giving me control over the stability of my emotions and helping me to understand myself better.
In a year, if successful, I should be as close to “cured” as they get (understanding of course that one is never actually cured but one can manage it without episodes for the rest of their lives if helped properly).
Man would that be nice. Especially as I have read the comment threads of children of mother’s with BPD who are now adults. Most of them have dis honed their mother’s.
My God. I can’t ever let that be my story.
So, for my children, for my hub, and certainly for me…
I go forth into this new world of therapy and self help. It ain’t easy. Actually – it’s really fucking hard.
Wish me luck.