Biding in the Shadows: The Moment

It's hard to say when it happened. I do not remember the day or the happenings around the moment, but I remember, in vivid detail, the moment my world shifted on its axis. To understand the impact this moment had on me, you need to understand the contrast from the chaos of my internal existence and the stillness and peacefulness of this moment. Uncertainty would be an appropriate label for the state in which I lived. Confusion was abound. I did not know what I was doing or where I was going, I was just trying to survive each day as it came. The speed at which each day swirled around me was blinding, it was loud, and it was hectic. I didn't know if I was coming or I was going, constantly being pulled between my different responsibilities and obligations.  I was entangled in a complicated mess of what was once a desired relationship but had devolved into confusion and pain and what my counselor calls emotional abuse.  How could I get out? Did I want out?  What did *I* want?  Had I ever wanted this?  I had also started a new job (again) and was experiencing transition in the workplace. And I battled daily the emotional burden and turmoil of the mom guilt and the resentment for having the mom guilt in the first place.  In a nutshell, my life was LOUD, and BRIGHT, and BUSY.

And then it happened. One day, she smiled at me.  It wasn't the first time, I'm not describing love at first sight. Our paths had crossed previously, we had spent some time talking and getting to know each other. But one day, one time, she smiled at me and the whole world stopped. Sound muffled and then deafened, lights dimmed to blackness, everything just faded away and there was only her.  Nothing else existed.  In that moment she stood before me smiling and everything just clicked. I knew. All of my confusion, all of my uncertainty vanished in that moment, right into thin air. I knew. 

Since then, the chaos has resumed, the volume and luminosity and fullness of daily life has returned to fever pitch, but the path remains clear. There is only her and all that I do must be congruent to winning her heart and building a life with her. I quickly ended the complicated mess of a failing relationship, I resumed counseling and work on healing old traumas and anxious attachments. I was finally able to shift my perspective with the children and resolved that resentment which has allowed me to develop and deepen my relationship with them.  She has already improved my life immensely and our story together has not yet begun.

It's been months since that moment but the sensations are still palpable, my vision and path still vividly clear.  I can still feel the stillness and clarity of that moment.  It has become my guiding force. When my insecurities flare and my doubts creep in, I wrap myself in that moment and breathe. There is only her for me. She is heart and my love. And I will wait for as long as it takes for us to find our way together. 

Until I can share my heart with her, I will bare it here. Until I can be by her side, I will be here, biding in the shadows.

Communication or Comprehension?

 I have an ambivalence. I am of the mind to give zero fucks about what anyone thinks but I am also completely irritated when I am misunderstood and misrepresented. I am not sure how both of these things can exist simultaneously, yet here we are. 

An epiphany of sorts occurred to me the other day. I read words so simple yet so profound and they have been circulating in my mind since. 

A long, long time ago I noticed the trend that it was breakdowns in communication that lead to the strife in my life. I have strived since to improve my communication, attempt to perfect my communication as to avoid the pain and heartache associated with unmet, unspoken expectations. Even within the last year I was still searching for a counselor to help me, to reveal to me my barriers and teach me how to express myself. Because it always falls back to me. I speak, I share, I tell, I advocate. Over and over and over again. Years go by and my needs remain unmet. So I leave. And then I'm a liar. I'm a cheater. And any love I've professed or shown over the last {insert number here} years has been a lie. 

But it's not been my communication that has been the problem. My counselor says that I communicate very well. I express my needs and my boundaries clearly. I realized it's their COMPREHENSION that has been the problem. If the recipient of my communication does not comprehend my words, then I am just speaking into the void. Words are wind. It's no wonder I'm frustrated. 

Comprehension is the key to success, not communication. Communication is a necessary and viable tool, one arguably cannot achieve comprehension without it. But without comprehension, any attempts at communication are moot.

So then I asked myself, "Self, are you being unclear in your communication?" How is it all of these attempts at communication, at relaying necessary information have failed. Well, maybe not all, but surely enough to create and sustain a problem. 

By no means do I wish to portray that I am perfect in my communication. There are still times I hold back. There are situations in which I shutdown, become mute and any forceful attempts at verbalization result in a stutter. But I am truthful and I am able to convey my feelings and my needs. 

What I've learned though, over many, MANY experiences, is that some women have a narrative in which all things must exist. If things do not fit into this narrative, they are either twisted and contorted or ignored all together. Because for humanity, it is easier to believe we are a victim than to accept failure; to accept and acknowledge our shortcomings. 

The parts of me that are irritated by the mischaracterizations and the misrepresentation want to go to war, they want to defend my character, my truth, THE TRUTH. But the parts of me that have evolved realize such actions will only fuel the narrative. There are hundreds or thousands of versions of me out there in the world, each one existing only in the mind of anyone that's met me. And those versions are none of my business. So this is when I let the zero fucks parts of me take control. 

Say what you want. Present to the world whatever version of me you need to help yourself sleep at night. It does not have any bearing to the validity of the real me, nor does it detract from my current happiness. 

People will believe what they want to believe. Who am I to interfere?

Life on the Borderline: The Explosion

I suppose it was always going to come to this, always going to end in this fashion and I had been just delaying the inevitable.  Maybe, on some deeper level, I knew this and that is why I waited so long.  (Procrastination is a dirty, little habit of mine.)  There was never going to be an amicable parting of ways, an agreement and calmness to the detangling of our shared lives. The moment I stated my unhappiness, it activated a chemical bomb.  A chemical reaction was initiated that could not be stopped, nor reversed.  When the situation reached its boiling point... BOOM!!!

There is no other way when sparring with emotional dysregulation.  I can't even be mad at her for the things she's said and done during her eruption, because in a sense, she cannot control it.  She CANNOT regulate her emotions; she's incapable. She blasted into a manic state, spiraling up and out of control.  I can, however, and did, protect myself and my son from her unbridled outbursts.  For everyone's safety, most importantly hers and her daughters, I had to create space. I was the trigger for her, being near me caused the temperature to rise, the two of us residing under the same roof caused this explosion.  It was the toxicity that flowed and brewed and stirred within each of us and around us; one triggering the other.  She had to go.  Away from here, away from me she could come back down from her manic state. She was unstable and unsafe and still had a little one to consider.  She needed to return to baseline to be there for her daughter during this period of change too, to be safe for both of them.

I am not claiming my actions were solely altruistic, they were not.  I made her leave because I needed the safety of her absence, my son needed that safety too.  There is a storm that revolves around her, like a cyclone or whirlwind; a tornado.  Wherever she is, chaos ensues and endures.  Since she's left, the storm clouds are receding, the sun is poking through, and the dust is settling in the new calmness.  This is where I'll build a life...far away from the Borderline.

Life on the Borderline: End Times

I wanted to be the person that can withstand the troubled seas during the storm, be the anchor that held my partner steady during the worst of her battles with her personal demons.  I wanted a happy ending, one that included her and our beautiful, little family.  But.  That is not how this story ends.  It turns out, I am not a superhero and there are limits to the trauma I can withstand and endure.

I feel for her. I really do.  I cannot imagine the pain and anguish that burdens her mind on a daily basis.  What she feels when she experiences emotion is in extremes, overwhelming to her senses.  But it's her complete disconnect from reality that breaks me.  Her perception is not based in reality, in the world in which we all live.  The sleights she feels, powerfully real to her, just do not exist.  Each day I need to defend and explain and apologize for things that were never meant, never said, or never done.  And it's all futile in the end because she is incapable of seeing things outside her perception.  She has already determined the facts and nothing I could ever say or do could possibly sway her mind.

I have insidiously poisoned myself over the last 18 months, all with the same result of bashing my head against a brick wall repeatedly.  But rather than a bruised and broken skull and a bloody mess to mop up, I have a bruised heart, broken psyche, and an immensely tangled living situation to unravel.

There's a gaping emptiness engulfing me. I do not the feel warmth of another human being touching me, I do not see softness in the eyes that are supposed love me.  There is just coldness.  There is anger and hurt and betrayal.  There is the sensation of drowning... in sadness.  There is grief in unrequited love. I have come to realize that my self-esteem, my self-worth have been on a steady spiral into nothingness.  I have grown to believe that I have lost my zest, my appeal, my attractiveness to others.  I am losing myself in her crisis.  This is life on the borderline.  Life with a Borderline.

To save myself, my sanity, my liveliness.... This is me walking away.

Life on the Borderline

I didn't realize it immediately.  It's not like they wear name tags or announce their diagnosis like alcoholics upon introduction.  It's not like most even know it themselves.  

I fell in love.  She was fun and fresh and intoxicating in her vitality.  She had career goals, life goals and was actively working to pursue them.  She was a devoted mother to her beautiful toddler, family oriented, and loving.

I feel duped.  I feel deceived.  Smoke. Mirrors.

Today she is lost inside her own world.  Her personal demons have taken over, clearly in the driver's seat.  She is too anxious to work, too depressed to clean or cook or eat or even wake some days.  Her only coping technique? getting high.

Today I have no voice.  My life is no longer my own, my wants and needs irrelevant.  I exist solely to serve her. I provide the home, the utilities, the entertainment features, the food, and the means of transportation.  I provide, she takes.

We have been living amidst her crisis for a year now.  Hers are the only feelings that matter, her problems the only concerns to consider.  I am invisible except to provide.  When I fail to provide any given whim, I disappear completely.  Until a provision is needed again.

Manipulation is the only tactic she knows to fulfill needs.  Primary go-to: withhold and/or threaten most treasured, most valued need of subject. I have gone without genuine love and affection this year.  She dangles that carrot out in front of this horse and I will walk to my death to receive the sweetness.

It is killing me. Living with a Borderline is torturous. Physically, my body aches all over.  My nerves are frayed, one in particular misfires when stressed, causing debilitating pain on the left side of my face and head.  Bring me to my knees in tears pain.  The tension carried in my shoulders prevents full range of rotation in my neck and provides constant pain.  The abdominal pain has reached levels of intensity worthy of an emergency hospital visit and many thousands of dollars spent in diagnostic tests and procedures over the months, all results "normal."  Muscles hidden deep in the pelvis, muscles most do not know even exist, are now so tense it is nearly impossible to defecate, impossible to fully empty my bladder, and impossible to sit comfortably, as these muscles are squeezing my anus and urethra closed, and pulling my coccyx out of place.

Loving her is making me sick.  It is robbing me of my light, my love, my laughter.  She doesn't even notice.  This is by far the most toxic, the most unfulfilling relationship I've had. Yet, here I am.

I complain. I cry. Yet, I remain.  Forever the hopeless romantic or just the twisted masochist?

New Year's Reflection

 My heart aches.  A weight of unlimited and undefined measurement engulfs my body, pressing me, squeezing me, holding me down, from the outside, from the world, but also from within.  It feels as if lead is sludging through my vessels, a slow and crippling pace while cement is drying, hardening all around me.  This year has been tough.  The whole planet has struggled, life has changed dramatically for everyone in one way or another, and for too many, life has ended.  I have struggled.  My demons remain, finding ways to test my resolve.  My most recent tests have involved allowing others to face their demons without trying to fix everything for them.  One of the hardest things I've had to do is watch people I love so dearly be so miserable, struggle so immensely, with hurdles looming so large that some, at times, no longer wish to continue in this life.  And I can't do a single thing about it.  I cannot help them.  I can encourage them to help themselves.  I can listen; I can provide phone numbers to hotlines, counselors, resources; I can take them to appointments and suggest healthier coping techniques but I can't fix it for them. I cannot make them do things they do not wish to do, they do not feel is helpful or important or necessary or possible.

Another major difficulty for me is to advocate for myself, to ensure my needs are being met, and to walk away from people and situations that just aren't getting it done.  My well to help others seems infinite but my well of strength to stop slighting myself to accommodate others appears to not yet be drilled.  I have thus far been incapable of saying "no more."  I write this as I contemplate saying such a thing, of performing such an act.  This act, these words will break my heart, crush it into millions and billions of pieces.  The pain I feel even thinking about it is real, it is raw, and cuts me deep.  But it would still be less than continuing to accept that my love is not reciprocated.  My commitment is not equaled.  My broken heart will heal, but my resentment will only continue to grow if I let me be disregarded and not considered.

My big lesson of 2020 is to learn that I cannot not save anyone but myself.  I am worthy and must insist I be treated as such.  That's my 2021. 

Starbucks Ruminations

A person's reality is formed by their experiences in life.  A person abused as a child learns distrust and fear of others. A narrative forms in their mind, a belief system that they are not worthy of respect and love from others and that others will undoubtedly hurt them and let them down, leave them. All input passes through the lens of this narrative becoming distorted. A person lives in the reality they create in their mind and truly believes the distortions their lens has produced. These distortions are then projected as truth out into the world because it is the only truth they can comprehend. Kindness, love, compassion are viewed as scams and lies. Differences are viewed as validation of the narrative. Adults have the ability to change their narrative, change the lens. It really is a choice. A person can make a choice to learn new thought patterns. A person can make a choice to accept they are flawed and accept responsibility for their behaviors triggered by their distortions. A person can seek resources to help them be a better version of themselves. They just have to want it enough to make the first step. And keep taking steps every day. Day after day. Change is work. Constant hard work. Even though their narrative creates a painful and lonely existence, it's still a comfortable existence because they know it, they don't need to do anything to achieve it, it just is. It's all they've ever known.

This is why there is a mental health crisis. It's easier to keep status quo than it is to effect change. We live our lives in a connected state, with limitless access to people supporting our narratives. Healthy or not, a person can find "facts" or quotes or even stylish memes to support their distorted perception. A person may see a quote about not falling in love with a certain someone because this certain someone wants them to seek treatment for their mental illness and therefore must not truly love the real them, and think "this makes sense" because it validates the distorted narrative of they are not worthy of love.

If a person suffers from a mental illness, is aware they are afflicted and they are aware their illness negatively affects those around them, their loved ones, but refuses to seek treatment, how long should those loved ones subject themselves directly to this illness? Is wanting someone to be truly happy, wanting someone to find peace and solace within themselves mean you do not love them for their true self? When does supporting someone become enabling someone? Is understanding a person's motivations providing justification for their hurtful behaviors? How does one continue to withstand the consequences of a loved one's behaviors while maintaining their own good mental health for which they work very hard to achieve?