Tag Archives: bpd

Motherhood vs. the things I don’t say

I am on a never ending quest to fix myself. I don’t see a professionl, I don’t take mood altering medications. Part of being a borderline is pushing people away, making sure all of your relationships are unstable, expecting people to leave you. When I understand this, I can take steps to prevent pushing people, one of which is being more careful about what I say when I’m angry. Another part of being borderline is being angry a lot. Airgo, I spend a lot of time very carefully selecting my words. And a lot of energy holding back. 

Take this week for example. We are potty training our three year old. Many attemps have failed, this time we are sticking to our guns, and saying the diapers are just gone. 

It has been an extremely hard week for me. Every second I am trying not to explode. And I feel like I’m not getting any help. 

Yesterday my anxiety level was through the roof. Here are a few of the things I almost said to my husband yesterday and today. 

“Are you going to get out of bed and help me or am I going to go slit my wrists?” 

“After the god aweful shitty day I had yesterday you can’t get your ass out of bed this morning so I can get a little fuckin sleep?” 

I feel like all he does is sleep, and all I do is potty train. 

I’m so tired of the two of us pretending I don’t have a problem. Just because I’m not currently getting help doesn’t mean I’m better. I need to do something drastic like bang my head on the wall so hard I have a bump for weeks, or threaten suicide, before I can get any help with anything.

That might be a post for another day. Today I’m talking about the things I don’t say. I didn’t say any of those things to him, or many more, and I don’t tell him I feel like he ignores my problem. I want to say “you married me, you chose to have a child with me, knowing this is who I am, and that I will need help sometimes.” But i don’t. 

I don’t say these things, because I don’t want to hurt him, and I don’t want him harboring resentment towards me, I am trying to avoid a meltdown of our relationship. I don’t want to push him away. The nineteen to twenty four year old me would be saying these things without a thought, but she was friendless and depressed, so she had to change. 


Motherhood Vs. Perspective.

Some days are good. Some days are bad. Lately there have been more of one than the other. 

I’ve been seriously considering finding a doctor in the area that can get me a prescription. I stopped taking what my ob/gyn had given me, they were expensive and I felt like they weren’t working at all. There’s been hardly any change since I stopped them several months ago. My husband wouldn’t have even noticed if I hadn’t told him. I need to have a real sit down with a real professional. Not that the ob/gyn wasn’t a pro, but her expertise ends with postpartum, and that’s not what I have. 

As I mentioned in my previous post, I’ve been doing some reading. I’d like to better myself, my understanding of my little slice of the world. Being a stay at home mom, the struggles of day to day life. I just finished All Joy and No Fun by Jennifer Senior. There were many wonderful things brought to light in the book, but in the current state I’ve been in, the last bit of the book struck me the most. 

I wonder why I’m unhappy, why I find life with one little three year old so challenging. Even normal parents, without personality disorders, face these kinds of dilemmas. All day long, I’m in proximity with my son, and rarely have any actual FUN. Why is that, he’s the light of my life, the reason I live and breathe. But I don’t find being in his company fun? 

Apparently we have two selves. A remembering self, and an experiencing self. The remembering self looks back in fondness on things that the experiencing self found not so entertaining. “Our remembering selves are in fact who we are, even though our experiencing selves do our actual living for us.” Sure, I don’t have a lot of fun being cooped up in the house with a three year old, day in and day out, but that’s not WHO I am. WHO I am, is a mother who looks back on the most mundane tasks, and remembers with fondness how excited he got when he found a toy he’d thought went missing. When he does a task he didn’t think he could do, and jumps up with a big smile and flings himself into my arms for a celebratory embrace. When he sings the alphabet song for the tenth time in a row, I find it grating on my nerves, but look back at it and think “Wow, he’s such a smart little guy, I’m so proud of him.” Our memories make us who we are, and my memories are brimming with proud moments, hugs and kisses, and his big smiles and silly sayings. 

This revelation also concerns me. He’s getting old enough, that I think he’ll maintain some of the memories he has now. If memories are who we are, who will I be in his memories? Will I be the mommy who encouraged him, helped him learn, got into tickle fights and spent lazy afternoons with him on the couch watching Blue’s Clues? Or will I be tyrant mommy, yelling at him for the hundredth time not to do head stands on the couch, telling him in a stronger tone than necessary that chips are’t a dinner, and he has to eat real food. At an age where he’s learning how to push boundaries, the day is full of ‘no,’ ‘get down from there,’ ‘If you don’t do what I say I’ll take your game away.’ Doing a little math, I figured that if the average parent modifies a child’s behavior every three minutes that they’re together, and I spend every minute with him from wake up to bed time, I will correct, yell at or otherwise discipline him two hundred and sixty times a day. 

Are those the memories he’ll hold onto, the ones who decide who I am in his memories that carry over to his adulthood? 



Live like you were dying. 

That’s what  I’d like to do. Communicating unconditional and eternal love every day. Make the snowy static of the outside world fade away. In my son’s memories, I want to be the mother who loved unconditionally. Who had patience for days and a gentle hand with everything. Behind closed doors, I might be falling to pieces, collecting myself so I don’t punch a wall or worse. But when he’s looking, when he’s creating memories, I want to be the WHO I’m supposed to be, the best mother I can be in his eyes. I want to make memories worth keeping. I want the experiencing self and the remembering self to find a happy place in the middle, where they can both be happy in the respective nows. 

It’s a lovely thought. And a really great goal. But I know, as soon as my kid comes in my room at seven in the morning and the day starts like all other days, and drags on like all other days, I’ll lose some of this willpower. I do believe, that medication would help. The right medication, from the right doctor. Maybe, it will help me keep some of this new found perspective. 


Motherhood Vs. Understanding

I doubt anyone noticed, but it’s been a long, LONG time since I wrote anything. I go through phases, where things are going good, I don’t feel the need to vent. Sometimes things get busy, I don’t have a lot of time to sit at the computer. Sometimes I go through highs, where all I want to do is work, work, work. I make things, I clean, I decorate, I don’t sit at the computer. Then there are times where the anxiety builds, I want to vent. I’m in a low, where my productivity is down, I sit at the computer. A lot. 

This is one of those times. 

Being as sedentary as I have been the last week or two, I’ve decided to pick up some books. When I’m in a low I like to read. I can move as little as possible and still feel like I’m accomplishing something. When I read fiction, I feel like I’m escaping my own life, and I love that. When I read non fiction, I’m educating and bettering myself. I like that too. The two books I purchased today are non fiction, I’m focusing on bettering myself during this low. Also both books were featured on The Colbert Report, he interviewed the authors and I knew immediately that I wanted to read them. 

I only started this one today, and honestly am only twenty pages in, but I can tell you already that I love it. Just within the first twenty pages I can tell this book is going to address a lot of the challenges I face as a modern day housewife.



The book starts off spouting statistics of modern day parents compared to those from the seventies. Household dynamics have changed. Both parents work, people are waiting to have kids, waiting for careers or financial stability. It also compares households to those before the second world war. Where children used to have uses in the home as secondary caregivers and uses in the workforce like farming, they no longer serve those purposes. Now there’s more pressure on children to grow up to be valuable members of society, putting pressure on both them and their parents. 

But aside from that, the thing I’ve been thinking about most is this statistic. 

Every three minutes? Where is this magical land and how can I get a ticket? 

Maybe my son is just chatty? Every three minutes sounds like a vacation, and I’ve only got one kid! I am a stay at home mom, so I do hear it ALL day and not just the hours that I’m not working or sleeping. But my son is always talking to me. Asking me questions he already knows the answers to, telling me he wants this or that. Saying “Watch this!” which is NEVER good. That means he’s about to do something dangerous and stupid. I’m fine with him talking, I love that he’s so smart, but if you don”t respond, if you take more than two seconds to respond, he repeats. And repeats. And repeats. And repeats. Louder and louder, then finally he’s in your face. Tugging on your arm. Every three minutes? I don’t think so, it’s constant. 

I’m torn. I feel blessed that my son seems to be very smart for his age. He just turned three about four months ago, he knows the whole alphabet in uppercase and lowercase, he can sing the song, and he’s starting to draw the letters. He knows most of the numbers from zero to thirty by sight, but doesn’t count them straight through yet. His hand eye coordination is good, his memory is amazing, he can sing in tune better than most adults I know, he talks at a much older level than he is. Overall I’m very proud. I have nothing to compare him to, but I think for a three year old he’s kind of amazing. 

But I would LOVE it, if he were quiet for three minutes at a time lol. 

My husband and I were talking just the other day about the family dynamic. Much as the book discussed, families used to serve a purpose. Have lots of kids, put them to work on the farm, have them help raise the younger kids. I imagine the family from 19 Kids and Counting has more parents than siblings. The older girls and boys raise the younger ones probably more than mom does. I came from a small family, it was just my parents, my brother and I. My mom worked, sometimes two jobs, and went back to school, twice. While my brother and I were both probably under thirteen years old. 

So the whole concept of stay at home mom turned out to be a little weird to me. I was kinda thrust into the situation. We made the decision to have a child, but the decision to leave my job was made for me. I was sick all through the pregnancy, with dehydration and all that jazz, think Kate Middleton’s pregnancy. I missed so many days of work that they let me go. Said ‘see ya’ and escorted me out of the store without even asking if I had a ride home. Four months pregnant, without a ride home. Luckily it was summer, and my husband only worked about a mile down the road. So I walked, and contemplated what life would be like without a job. 

I never even considered going back to work. I was always a home body, loved WORK but hated being away from home. We could only afford one car, so transport and finding a sitter would be a pain in the arse. So I was officially dubbed ‘Stay At Home Wife and Mom.’ But it was weird. I didn’t grow up seeing any of these things, I saw a mom who worked her ass off all day, did homework with baggy eyes at the kitchen table all night, and still got up to make us breakfast before school. My mom was an amazing role model. But she wasn’t a stay at home mom, so I never saw the completely different set of challenges that poses to a woman. 

Of course, my challenges are a little different than the average stay at home mom, because of my borderline personality. 

The two books I’ll be reading will help me understand some modern day challenges of modern stay at home moms. All Joy and No Fun will address why I feel so fulfilled, but also so lonely and not very happy. The next book, HomeWard Bound, will address the new revolution of stay at home businesses and independent living lifestyles, such as gardening, canning, making your own items instead of buying from large corporations. 

I just need to find time to read. Because, I have a hyperactive chatty three year old who wants my attention ALL the time. 

Motherhood Vs. Going Numb

I already know that I don’t think and feel the same ways as other people. I really wish I did. Sometimes I find myself going completely numb, I think it’s a coping mechanism, because feeling numb is better than the alternative. 

I get this way sometimes when I’m babysitting my niece. She’s teething, and she’s spoiled. When she’s here I can’t put her down. So there’s five hours where I can’t do anything, even go pee, without her going nuclear. If I put her down she screams. Lately she’s been inconsolable, you can give her teethers, try to feed her, walk with her, change her diaper. When there’s nothing you can do, you just listen to her scream. I go numb, instead of getting mad. 

My son is almost three. He’s been going to bed regularly on time since he was about one. Just last night he’s started this new thing where he screams until I go in there. When I ask what’s wrong, he says “Nothin.” I kiss him and walk out, and he screams again. I don’t like giving in to bad behavior, tantrums, crying. (Unless he honest to God needs something) So I let him cry. 

Last night I finally gave in and went into his room and lay on the floor for forty five minutes until he fell asleep. Today I was in there for forty minutes and he was still up. I don’t want that to be a habit, so I kissed him goodnight and left. He’s still screaming. He’s been in bed since eight thirty five, and it’s now ten twenty six, and he’s still crying. It doesn’t help that my husband keeps going in there. Now my husband is at work, and my son is screaming for dad. 

And I’ve gone numb again.

In my head, I’m banging my head on the wall, I’m punching windows to make my knuckles bleed, throwing things, screaming obscenities at the top of my lungs. It’s so hard not to do all those things right now. Going numb is the only way to keep them from happening. From hurting myself or someone else. From screaming. My husband has called it ‘checking out.’ I know he doesn’t like it, because if he’s home that means he’s the one who’s trying to fix the problems. Make the crying stop. I don’t think he understands my alternative. The alternative is seeing red, blood pounding in my ears, breaking things, and hurting myself. 

No picture for today’s post. There are no pictures for this. 

If I had more self esteem…

I’m approaching my 30th birthday.

It’s an interesting feeling. Before my son was born, I didn’t look anywhere near thirty. People would put me between twenty and twenty five. (I was 27) I was tiny, a size three, and pretty cute if I do say so myself. I colored my hair, occasionally did makeup, kept up with eyebrow plucking and face fuzz removal and had a tiny waistline.

Now I’m twenty pounds heavier, and feel like I’ve aged ten years over the last two. I normally have bags under my eyes, and my grey hair shows because I don’t color anymore. I don’t spend much time primping, being a mom. I don’t like to diet, it makes me feel deprived and miserable, it adds stress that I don’t need in my life right now. So my waistline is NOT tiny anymore. I’m not horribly over weight, I’m in a healthy BMI range. But I’m not as slim as I was before.

Coming up on my 30th, has me thinking. I never looked my age, I always looked younger and fresh. I miss that. I miss spending time on me. I think it would be in my best interest to find the time again. I need to spend the extra couple of dollars on the nice shampoo. Keep the eyebrows plucked, and the face fuzz free. Even keeping the bikini line trimmed will make me feel sexier in my skin. I need to eat healthier, if not to lose wight, but to stay healthy. To feel comfortable in my clothes.

So I’m making a resolution. Not a new year’s resolution but a 30s resolution. Spend more time on me. Take pride in my appearance.

On my birthday, I’m going to get some new ear piercings. I’ve always told myself I couldn’t afford it, but I’m going to set money aside. And when we get taxes back in February, I’m getting myself a nice big tattoo. I have two already but they’re small and you can’t really see them. I’m getting one people can see. So people can see ‘she’s the kind of woman who has tattoos.’

I’m going to get a haircut, and have it colored. I’m thinking about bangs! *gasp*

I may be turning thirty, but I’m not turning in my young card just yet. Thirty isn’t old, no need to look or act like it is.

In a perfect world, where I had more self esteem, I’d have some of these things.


Surface piercings probably on the collarbone or sternum.

ImageRed hair and these bangs!


A nice big shoulder tattoo.

And I’d dress something like this;


Motherhood Vs. Adventures in Babysitting

I don’t know what I was thinking. Telling my sister in law that I’d babysit their baby when she went back to work. Well, I know what I was thinking, I just think it was a momentary lack of sanity. With my condition, how could I possibly think it was a good idea?

Some women are just born to raise a brood of kids. Handling more than one kid at a time comes naturally. Being nurturing, having all the right mothering instincts. It doesn’t come natural to me. I have to work at being affectionate more than other people do. And I get more easily irritated than those women who are natural born mothers. 

I love my son, and we’ve been thinking about having a second child. So I said I’d babysit, thinking it would be good practice, having a baby in the house. Good for us as caretakers, good for my son as a toddler. I knew it would be trying. 

With my emotions on edge, as they are with BPD, it’s more trying for me than it should be. When my son was an infant and he cried, there was still the overwhelming love for him, so I could push past the irritating wails. With my niece, as adorable as she is, it’s lacking the overwhelming love and the wails get to me faster than they did with my son. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a great baby, well behaved and easy to take care of. But now she’s teething, and it’s a whole new story. 

We only have her for five hours a day. I keep telling myself, five hours. Get past it, then it’s done. A small blip in time. So far I’ve done well. Yesterday was the first difficult day. My husband is home for seven days then works seven days. He’s on his seven days off, and I feel like I should get a little more help. It’s almost like, this is my job, not his, so I need to do everything. Yesterday, I had to ask him to hold her so I could eat some lunch because I was feeling light headed. She wasn’t letting me put her down because she’s teething. I held her for a collective four hours yesterday. 

But why did I feel so guilty for asking him to hold her for five minutes? Because I feel like he doesn’t want to help me, because it’s my job and not his. Even though he encouraged it, because they’re paying me. (Very little, but it’s family) He wanted the extra cash, no matter how difficult it is for me to be around two kids for half of my day. But he doesn’t want to volunteer any help. 

Sigh. That’s getting into a whole new story for a whole new day. 

I’m hoping today goes better. Yesterday put me in a bad mood because of the teething, and the mood lasted all day. 

Hope today is better. That’s all I can do, hope. 

But the good news is that my son is really good with her. He doesn’t interact with a lot of other kids, but when he does he’s really good. I’m very proud of him.


Motherhood Vs. Anger

ImageOne of the lovely symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder is anger. I’d say of all my BPD symptoms, this is the one I have the hardest time managing. I get ridiculously angry for ridiculously stupid reasons. Women; think of it as having PMS, ALL the time. Men; imagine your favorite sports team losing, ALL the time. 

The smallest things set me off. I won’t know when, I won’t know how. At least with PMS you can see it coming a month away. “Okay, about twenty days from now I’m gonna be an angry bitch, so honey I apologize in advance.” No, I don’t think so. 

It seems to happen a few days at a time. I’ll be fine for several days, then for several days I’ll just be a fuse waiting to get lit. Today, my husband had a cough. When he coughed, I had to resist the urge to throw things at him. Every. Single. Time. Some things just grate on me on days like today. I have an unusually low tolerance for other people’s grievances and illnesses, so that doesn’t help on days like today, when coughing sends me into a bad place. I’ve read that this is a common BPD trait, and all along I Just thought it was something in me that I picked up from having a hypochondriac father. 

Today it came on a little slow. I was a little irritated to start off with. We had some friends over to play games, and we played a game I hate. They didn’t ask if we all wanted to play, they just said ‘this is what we’re playing, you’re either in or you’re out.’ So I played an irritating game where you’re a politician in the 1850s, you’re trying to gain favor of a bunch of Italian, German, English and Irish immigrants in various districts to win elections. Maybe I was just being a stick in the mud. I mean, who doesn’t want to be a nineteenth century politician and do all kinds of corrupt things to earn immigrant favor?

Anywho, I was a little irritated but nothing unmanageable. As the day wore on more and more things upset me. I kept it all in check, we had guests over and my son was home. By the time our guests left I just wanted to crawl in a hole and scream at the top of my lungs until I felt better. Then the coughing started. Every. Single. Time. He coughed and I’d have to close my eyes, take a deep breath, and keep my mouth shut. 

ImageI get mean when I’m angry. I yell, I say things that shouldn’t be said, I hurt people. When I say people I mean my husband. For the last few years he’s been the only one who sees this side of me. I used to blow up at friends and family. It cost a lot of friendships, so I changed my tactics. Avoid conflicts, keep things to myself, don’t even talk when I’m angry. But not with my husband. I can’t help it, I’m home 24/7 and he lives here too soo….. yea. I say things that I shouldn’t say, at least not in anger. He gets hurt, I feel terrible when I’ve cooled down. It’s just bad. 

I should look into anger management classes. But I’m not sure, would that help? Or does anger accompanied with BPD need to be treated differently? Lately I’ve just been trying harder to keep it under raps. Close eyes, deep breath, don’t speak. If I speak when I’m angry the bad stuff happens. After my son was born and the post postpartum depression hit I would scream a lot, and I don’t want to do it in front of my son.

I feel like it needs to get out. It’s festering in me, this anger. I don’t know what to do with it. Sometimes it gets so infected that I expel it through banging my head on the wall, or counter. I almost knocked myself out a few weeks ago, hitting my head on the counter. I hate to think how that COULD have turned out, my son and I were alone at the time. What if I’d have hurt myself terribly, and passed out. He’d be alone and scared for who knows how long. I don’t want that. It scares me to think it could happen. So I need an outlet. Hurting myself isn’t acceptable.

Most of the time, breathing works. Sometimes, not so much.

I feel guilty, and horrible. I feel like a horrible human being. When my son gets on my nerves. It’s not his fault. He’s just being a kid, and most of the time being adorable at it to boot. But if I’m in the right mood, no matter how cute he is, something will send me off. I don’t want him seeing that side of me. I don’t want to neglect him. I hate shutting the door and separating us because I’m worried I’ll yell at him or worse. I don’t want him to see me that way.

Go into the bathroom with the child safety knob so he can’t follow. Shut eyes. Deep breaths. Think. 

That’s not a childhood any kid should have. Angry mom, locking herself up in the bathroom. Heaven help him if he ever sees me hurt myself. This is not acceptable behavior. All I can do is try harder. 

I’m on an antidepressant. It’s not great, and doesn’t help with the anger. I was on Citalopram for years and the problem with that was that it took everything away from me. Sure I wasn’t depressed anymore, but I wasn’t anything else either. I wasn’t happy, content, sad. My cat could have died and I wouldn’t have cared. Everything was the same shade of gray. So I switched so I could feel something again. Unfortunately, I still get a lot of the bad too. One worked too well, one doesn’t work well enough. 

I need to see a real doctor, get a real medication for a real problem. This was just for the postpartum depression and honestly my obgyn doesn’t really know anything about these meds. But guess what, no insurance. No doctors for me, no good medication. 

So I just have to breathe.