Posts Tagged ‘Addict’

So, it’s been a minute. I know. Well, I can explain…or at least try to.

See, I’m somewhat of an artist. I have always loved abstract art and eventually started painting , I love to write poetry and even blogs apparently. Just anything expressive.

That was overly simplified as I feel like I’m rushing myself just to post something because it’s been days. Full transparency, as usual.

I realized for the 100th time in my life that chaos and mental illness HELPS me create better artwork, better writing, and better ideas.

So, I suppose there is always a silver lining. I found this hypothesis to be proven over a span of a few days where I really felt lucky enough to be out of the depths of mental Hell.

I have to admit, and this is going to sound absolutely awful and strange …but I felt.. BORED.

Now, is this the borderline in me missing living in familiar chaos?

Was my experience of normalcy ironically causing me to feel abnormal? I can’t explain, but I think you get it.

Now, I would never ever say that I would rather be depressed, anxious, paranoid, obsessive compulsive, overwrought with attention deficit issues, and/or in the depths of borderline hell.

But I will say that I felt so bland, bored , and uncreative to the point of craving some obscurity to be able to get my abstract and creative mind going.

Isn’t that strange? Actually, it’s not.

If you take a look or research some of the most well known and sought after artists, musicians, actors, etc -MANY , ( and we only know of the ones who are/we’re public about their mental struggles) , you’ll find that there is a certain beauty that comes out of a troubled mind.

Be it in lyrics, art, or what have you.

On a final note , I’ve been wondering a lot about actors and borderline personality disorder.

We are natural chameleons, as we don’t usually have a solid identity. So then, wouldn’t being borderline make us naturally gifted in acting/performing? I think upon examination of past and present actors and performers, we’d find a strong link between the illness and very memorable people such as Marilyn Monroe.

Something to think about. Something positive 🙂

Take care ,

Cor

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Sigh,

It’s one of those eye opening times for me.

You see , I had a traumatic experience back in The winter which left me with zero desire to chase, date, be with sexually ,or pine after anyone. I mean anyone. Funny how something that I was not so long ago addicted to, means absolutely squat to me now.

To the point where if we talk for half a day and the convo is just dropped, I really don’t flinch. Somehow , I stopped caring. I don’t want that anymore.

I feel no need whatsoever to get wrapped up in a ball of sadness, madness, increased symptoms , crying, raging, memories, self destroying , etc- over attaining love.

And for us, as previously stated – it is almost always unattainable. We subconsciously set ourselves up for the fight. For ultimate doom.

Being on the outside , and having many many close people in my world from day to day, suddenly there has been this incoming hurricane of destruction in the lives of so many that I once knew as themselves , forging their way through life like the rest of us. Winning some, losing some.

But I began to notice just how inexplicably blind we become by the idea of love. Of being cared for. Of having that someone , or else we are nothing. We don’t know who the he’ll to be or who we were.

It’s really strange , and I can’t say I’ve felt this way before , but my complete hatred for the idea of love as a borderline has sent me into being quite oppositional and confrontational with these people.

One the one hand, I truly KNOW the experience. But, I also know the likelihood of succeeding to fill our love bucket that has a gaping hole in the bottom.

It’s gotten me down, avoidant , into a lesser type of splitting.

More like sternness. More like – I cannot hear another word about how these criminal animals have RUINED who I know you are. The beautiful person I see outside of bpd.

I simply cannot take in the pain I know they feel and the back and fourth traumatic drama as long as these men are around.

So why, if we have any self reflection at all, and try to be as calm, happy, and cope with this illness the best we can, do we build this lie and beat the horse until it’s skeleton is crushed into dust. Why?

Is it me? Am I now an outside to the idea of finding love because it’s been several months ?

I wish for it to end. I wish to be blunt and cut off any ties as if to say, ” if you continue, I can’t be a part of it “. It’s simply so devastating to see, and it is painful. It’s brutality against oneself. And that’s not what I ever wanted for these beautiful people.

Enough of that. I think I made my point.

My own reality stared at me intensely through my cards today as if to point the finger directly at my weakness. Tell me that it’s over if I continue on my own borderline path of self destruction.

But who am I girl, who am I.

I thank you for reading. Best,

Cory.

Over time , I’ve become a stranger to myself. Every day, is a brand new life. I remember what I have to do, I remember what I own , my friends , etc – but what I don’t know is how I’m going to be, or…when I will be that way…

A year ago ,I wouldn’t have said this.

I was running 3 YouTube channels and answering every comment.

I was working , without any personal life issues melting into my professional life. That’s not the case these days. I contemplate hospitalization and suicide more than ever.

1-2 years ago I was doing private readings all weekend.

I pretty much knew my routine , knew a lot.

I didn’t realize how stable I was, until now. And I thought I had it bad then. Is this my fate? My fault? The lack of psychiatric care?

I’m unrecognizable. I’ve lost all sense of self. I change sometimes from minute to minute. My addictions , obsessions , compulsions and disorders mould one massive ghost hanging over me, releasing parts of itself at random.

I have to deal. I have to survive what’s thrown at me. All the whole remaining a friendly face to the world. Remembering who I am to them.

Right now, I don’t trust anyone. I don’t even trust my own feelings. My behaviour since being brutally attacked and bullied and abused over the last few years has done something permanent to me.

Especially since November 17′. I’ve spiralled frequently.

I take dangerous amounts of downers without a second thought. I drift through the day floating on empty and going through the motions of the life I vaguely remember my plan for.

Sometimes I click in. Ahh, there I am. I’m funny , I’m creative and have brilliant plans for the future. If I could take a video of those moments and watch them days later , it would be like watching a distant twin speaking another language.

I worry often that I’m suffering from more than my 5 diagnosis.

I worry that 8 medications is criminal. I worry about worrying.

I apparently binge eat now. I just… don’t care. Days like this I dissociate and enjoy not feeling like this is my life.

I don’t know what else to do to make it. But every morning I wake up, and I take on the fucking challenge.

Cor

BPD is so emotionally exhausting. Our bodies cycle through extremes all the time.

After last nights childhood trigger , breakdown, and coping , I got 7 hours of sleep yet feel so blah.

However ,I’m finding that when I’m depleted of my usual ADHD hyper super productive yet constantly challenging mornings, I am less likely to react , and more likely to be wiser, less moody, etc.

I am determined to overcome this incredibly draining illness. I have faith. Always. 💪🏻💖

” This Too Shall Pass”

” No feeling is final ”

Words to live by.

Cory

This was sent to me late last night by an angel of a friend across the world. Validation, and comfort in one picture. 😇🌟🌙🙏

 I crush it up, I take it in

I disappear, to deep within

I sway and fall into the abyss

Always wanting more, always needing this,

My feelings fade, my mind stands still

The warmth of the sun,

Stuffed into a pill

My heart might stop,

I may breathe no more,

It’s the risk that I take,

To escape my war

At times it feels like a crowded house. Intense emotions swirling about;a chaotic tornado.

I swallow pink pills to calm the storm and smooth out the wrinkles;bring the flames down to a smouldering ash.

They bring me clarity and serenity – the kind you feel when you are sitting on a rock , looking out at thrashing waves , with an umbrella in tow , sheltering you from the rain.

I become an outsider to the war, unaffected and grateful to be outside the lines. As the pill wears off , I edge closer and closer ,until I am thrown back into the battle. There is no other way to stay on the sidelines.

At other times , often coinciding with the war  , lives  a vast and empty space . A deep black hole that echoes words that I can’t make sense of.

An aching in my chest that screams like a baby who needs to be fed. A longing , a yearning. I need something.

b

The only way I have filled this void for the past year is by stuffing pain meds and cigarettes into my mouth. Endlessly , never being satisfied. When I used to drink , it was the same feeling. Always needing more. Wanting to quiet the beast. I could no longer handle hangovers and regret , so I turned to a more stealthy drug- morphine- discreetly carried in small pockets of my purse.

I have never felt alright just being still ;alone with myself. Chemicals have always let me escape these feelings. A frantic, repeated attempt to thwart my inner war.

Working with an an addictions counsellor has only reminded me of the damage I’m doing to my body- how dangerous this is to my health. My nose , my lungs , and mind. I disappoint her each time we talk. I wish I could lie , and say I stopped. I’ve never been one to lie.People don’t realise the downside to being honest all of the time.

And of course , there is the possibility of overdose. It’s amazing that I haven’t taken one pill too many yet. My own tolerance amazes me. It just grows and adjusts.

For such a small woman , it’s astounding and frightening all at once. I can swallow a handful and continue on with my day – only if I’m lucky, I’ll have satiated the thirst.

How do I learn to not reach for these chemical pasifiers?

Getting high and numb is now my priority , and it will be the death of me if I do not change. BPD is winning every time I light up or crush up.

I’m scared to stop, for stopping means having to stare my empty or war filled inner world in its horrifying ugly face.

Nothing frightens me more than being without any crutches to carry my shattered self through each day

MI.