Agency

How do you give yourself agency? How do you get your side heard? And will it stop the dreams? Will speaking up give you closure?

The Big Adventure

I went on an adventure today. I was instructed to by my therapist. And you think this would be easy and fun. But honestly, it was so stressful coming up with something. I've forgotten how to have fun. I've forgotten. Time to bring back curiosity, fun, laughter...and adventure.

Tinder

Yup. I'm back online dating. Cake man is confused as to what he wants....so he pushes away, and pulls me back. And being confused myself, I need something less confusing. So, over I head to the world of online dating....again. Looking back at this blog, I did it 15 years ago. Maybe nothing has changed, and everything has changed. Swipe, swipe.

Thank you, next

When you have talked to someone daily for weeks and they go silent for three days and then get mad at you for checking in with a friend to make sure they are okay....and they have an opioid dependency, and a raging tooth infections, what do you say? Thank you, next. #toomanyredflags

I wasn't wrong to care.

Pattern

I have a pattern. That repeats and repeats. And although I've always been aware of it, I've just been able to put words to it thanks to a disturbing dream:

I help men through their darkness. I am available in any way to help them through. And when I express my needs and wants, they abandon me. I am continually letting myself be emotionally raped and left alone.

These are just the big ones. I've always been willing to help any man I feel a connection with....

First Love: Helped him with father issues and find career. When expressed a need for more of a commitment, was abandoned.

L: Helped through breakdown and establishment of marriage. Helped with career and jobs. When I expressed my love, was abandoned.

JP: Helped with breakdown of marriage. Helped maintain business through a pandemic. Helped with addiction issues. When I expressed my love, was abandoned.

Cake Man: Helping with breakdown of marriage. Helping with depression and dependancy issues. What will happen next? The pattern tells a lot. 

I dreamt last night that I spoke up to one of these men and was punished for it. I was raped and told "this is what you always wanted." I was further humiliated on tv in front of others. I was called crazy and insane.

And although Cake Man is much better at being there me for as well, so was JP. And that didn't stop the emotional rape and abandonment. I see this pattern. So, what do I do to stop it? I'm trying to trust people and not build up walls but how do you do that when the pattern is so clear?

Mood shifts

For 13 years, I was diagnosed as Bipolar II Rapid Cycling characterized by mood shifts that would happen quite often and quite quickly. But, the medication I was given, never really did do the trick. And that's because I was misdiagnosed. Borderline personality disorder can mimic Bipolar. The difference, Bipolar is a chemical imbalance n your brain where as borderline is a learned behaviour in genetically highly sensitive people to respond to the trauma in their past. It's learned coping mechanisms needed as a child that no longer serve the grown individual. Borderlines have quick mood shifts and incredibly intense emotions. So intense, that often physical pain is more bearable that the emotions themselves. Borderlines go from 0 to 100 in an instant. Drugs can treat the depression, but we will always have bug emotions. The key is to learn to tolerate and regulate them so you don't drown.

Today was one of those days for me...I was fucking all over the damn place. I didn't sleep well, so my vulnerabilities were high. I went from super excited and happy in the morning, to sad and lonely, to grieving and sobbing, and back to somewhere neutral. All in the span of 12 hours. And it's exhausting. Think about feeling all your most intense emotions - the good and the bad - all in one day. And the smallest trigger today set me off. I did my best to tolerate, I did my best to distract, I did my best to soothe. But I can't help but wonder, who the hell would want to be around this? And, as Cake Man was one of my triggers, is the relationship worth it? I don't have any answers tonight. Just a hope for a good night's sleep.

Dying

**Warning, this post discusses suicidal ideations that may be triggering for some individuals. If you are experiencing thoughts of taking your life, please reach out to you local crisis line or take yourself to emergency. In BC, you can dial 211.**

My favourite bartender is dying. He has been dying for awhile now. Battling a tumour he calls "Karen," he is waging an extreme battle for his life. After his first round of chemo, Karen, "that fucking bitch" had a baby. And just this week they've discovered she's set up camp in his lungs as well. He currently has chemo so aggressive that he is hospitalized, followed by bone and stem cell transplants, followed by an all day surgery performed by 4 surgeons, followed by more chemo. And he's got a 50% chance. The toss of a coin.

And yet he's fighting the good fight. He's approaching it with humour and grace. And I wonder what I would do in his situation.

Often, in the dark, I have wished for a terminal illness. Easier than suicide, no questions would arise about my mental health, no one would have to deal with the after effects of suicide. I would just go into the night. I would not fight the good fight. I would just go. And I look at Corey with a bit of jealousy and shame. Here is a man, battling, fighting, waging war to stay here, to stay alive. And maybe there is a lesson for me in that. Maybe life isn't easy, but it's worth the fight.

Fight the good fight Corey.

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=qpLQv5xL9Dc&list=LM

Birthdays

**Warning, this post discusses suicide which may be triggering for some. If you are feeling suicidal, please call your local crisis line or take yourself to the nearest emergency room.**

Birthdays have always been really big in my world. As a perpetually single girl, it really is the one occasion that celebrates me. Some of my best memories come from my birthdays. My 19th with my dad dying but my friends still took me drinking at the sub, my 29th is Paris alone but soaking in the greatest of the city, my 35th at Darcy's where the entire world showed up to celebrate with me, and my 40th, low key with family and friends but lovely none the less. My birthday is always a little bittersweet, the high of it followed by grief. My Dad died 2 days after my 19th birthday. In fact, the last words he ever said to me were "Happy Birthday" just hours before he died. I have a birthday card from him where you could tell it took all his energy to sign it.

So, I have always celebrated big...and grieved big each February. But last year was different. Last year, my 43rd birthday, I had just been released from the psych ward after my suicide attempt. I had been released for barely a week and it was time to celebrate. Celebrate what though? Honestly, I was pissed I was alive to celebrate. I was angry my overdose wasn't successful. I was ashamed that everyone now knew how sick I was. And I didn't want to celebrate. At least not in a big way. My stepmom took my to the Keg for Billy Miner pie. And we talked. And that was enough for me.

And now, it's that time of year again. My birthday approaches, I've spun around the sun another time. And this past year, I've grown but it's really been tough. The pandemic, the loss of friends, the isolation, the hard work of DBT, it's all quite exhausting. And even if I wanted to celebrate this year, I cannot do it in a traditional way. We are only to socialize with our households at the moment, so I have cake man (who has his kids that weekend) or my best gay buddies. And I'll definitely do dinner with them that weekend, but what to do to mark the day? A virtual gathering? Time alone? Movies? Am I up for that? To be honest, there still is a large part of me that has to fight to stay alive. Maybe it'll just be me, some sparkling wine, and something from the patisserie. I know what I'd really like, but you shouldn't wish for things that will never happen. Happy birthday Cass.

Marriage...

He says "this is all going to blow up when I fall in love with you and ask you to marry me." 

A bit of background, Cake Man is the brother of a former friend. A friend who hates me. A friend who told him to "stay away" from me when he asked for my number. So, yeah, this could get a little complicated, a little messy. But, what's between a cake and a cupcake is no one's business. That being said, we are keeping things on the down low until we figure things out. And then we might have to dive into the family drama.

But, that's not the first time he's mentioned marriage. In fact, it's the 7th. Seven times he's talked about marrying me. After telling me he'll never get married again. So what is this? Just a joke? Or, he's he thinking of a life down the road? And why does that make me want to run for the hills?

I've always liked the idea of marriage, of standing in front of your friends and family and vowing to love someone forever. I also love a pretty dress. And the time I went as an angel for Halloween, I was told I look pretty in white. But, I've never thought of myself as a bride. 

My first love swore he would never get married. And then he married the girl he met weeks after leaving me. Since then, I've thought I would be a spinster navigating in and out of lovers, but not built for marriage. I mean, there's no room in my closet for a man's wardrobe. I've actually only once visualized my wedding. Small, intimate, at my Dad's bench followed by brunch. A little glimmer of hope that was quickly extinguished. Hope that made the heartbreak worse.

So, here I am. Not really knowing what to believe and not really knowing what I want or what I'm capable of. Do I let the hope in again? Or do I put up the wall like I usually do? Just trying to stay present. I am where I am supposed to be.

The Pretty Girl?

I've never been beautiful. I was always smart. And in my mind and family, you couldn't be both. My sister was beautiful and I was smart. The smart little fat girl whose grandparents made of her for being chubby and slow...and not beautiful. I've always assigned a high importance to beauty. And it's always something I so very wanted but new I could never get.

The one time I was called beautiful - and believed it  - was from my Stepmom's boss. And it didn't come directly from him. It was a remark he made to her. He said "Meagan (my sister) is a pretty girl but Cassie is beautiful." And that's stuck with me. That one person out there thought I was beautiful. And maybe it was inner beauty, but a man thought I was beautiful.

I'm coming to terms with my looks, with having pictures taken, and even looking at my self in the mirror. I've always know I was sexy, I do sex well, but beautiful no. I don't look like those people in a magazine. Even of the fat girls, I don't photograph well, my boobs are small, there's bags under my eyes. 

But maybe I'm starting to see what others see. Cake man thinks I'm "so pretty." We'll just be talking and he'll stop and say "wow, you're so pretty." And I just sent a quick, dumb snap of me soaking up the sunshine to a man who may be interest, who may not. He said "that's such a great pic." So, I actually looked at it. And yeah, it is, I'm not half bad. And for today, that's a win.

The Good Cry?

I had a "good cry" last night. I had a lot to processes and for once I decided to sit with my emotions instead of stuffing them away. And I had a good cry and the wave passed. I used distress tolerance skills and copious amount of ice.

But here's the problem, I feel vulnerable, more raw, more open today. Like a thin skin is over my heart and at any moment it could blow. Taking me down with it in its wave. And I'm sad and oh so lonely. And it makes me never want to have a good cry again because if I started crying, I just might not stop. And I know this isn't true and I need to slowly release the pressure off my bottled emotions, but that's just how I feel tonight. Going to get my ice pack and watch the Office. 

The Attachment Item

Like a 3 year old, I have an attachment item. He's an otter, called Otter. He was given to me by some lovely ladies when I was in the hospital last year. Otter and I hang, I love him, and I even think he loves me too. Well, as much as a small, tiny, manky, stuffed otter can. For someone who has repeatedly attached to inappropriate or unattainable people, Otter is a nice change. He won't leave me.

Attachment items are new to me, and I really don't know much about them other than Otter is a comforting presence. Today, I checked in with my psychiatrist because I have been struggling. He's actually not my psychiatrist anymore as I am transitioning to a new one, but since I am on my own for the next month, he decided a check-in was in order. I was thinking a bump in my antidepressant might be in order but he had other ideas. Our session got very Freudian (super unusual for him) but he asked about attachment items. And I just might have a second, the pills he gives me. They act as an attachment item, proof that he cares about my wellbeing. And with me transitioning away from him, and my past trauma from abandonments, I may have been looking for something to show I am loved and cared for.

So, he did give me a pill to help me sleep but we decided to not increase my dose of antidepressants. Because he doesn't just want to throw drugs at me like in the past. He wants me to use my tools to confront my emotions. Pills can help borderline, but they aren't the solution.

I admit, at first I was a little embarrassed. Okay, mortified. Was I attached to another member of my care team? Fuck. But this actually makes sense. Why would I not be? These people take care of me and of course there is going to be some level of attachment. And of course, I am going to react to the man leaving who finally diagnosed me correctly after 13 years, was with me in the hospital, and helped walk me through a dark chapter in my life. I shouldn't be ashamed of that. Relationships of all kinds need work, understanding, and love. But, unlike others in the past, it was handled and explained. And we are following up in a couple weeks.

This disease has so many levels. And when I think I know what's going on, I really don't. It's all new.

Judgement.

I have such a hard time being judged. The be honest, there are some things I feel so shameful about that I just want to disappear and hide rather than tell my friends and family and be judged. It's painful. I don't understand why I care so much. But their judgement triggers me. And the shame is hard to escape.