Fight On

I'm sitting here, fingers poised on the keyboard, ready to type whatever my mind might come up with; and I'm at a loss. I feel as though I don't really have the words right now, but I also feel like I need to write, need to share, need to engage in whatever community I'm considered part of. It's much like my life in general, there's a space there, a need to fill; but nothing quite does the trick. Do you know that feeling? I think the thing that I'm lacking is hope.

I've lost hope more and more as my mental illnesses have progressed; and even in times when they remain the same. It's the consistency, in fact, that gets me. The day in and day out with no changes to speak of is killer. I want to hope. I want to feel as though one day I'll feel better and stay that way. It seems though, that life keeps telling me that the staying better is just too much to ask for.

I came back from my vacation feeling absolutely on top of the world. I saw my favorite person on the planet and was reminded that I'm loved by someone who doesn't have to love me. I felt as though my ability to fight my mind had been renewed. I could do this thing. I could keep fighting. I could make positive change; because change actually felt possible.

I wasn't completely wrong. I came home and started doing things that I love again. I felt happy. Happiness, though, is fleeting. The darkness crept back in like it always seems to. Everything just felt like too much. Simple tasks became too much once again. My mind started fighting back against the progress I'd begun to make.

Let me tell you, my mind is one powerful mother fucker when it wants to bring me down. It knocks me down with the general apathy that comes with my depression, pulling the joy out of doing anything at all. Then it kicks me while I'm down by convincing me that the world would be better off with me gone. Then it keeps kicking and kicking while I stew in ideations and plans. It beats me to a pulp and I'm left to attempt to tend my wounds.

And that's why I've lost hope; things never change for me, no matter how much or how hard I try to make things change. I try to get back up only to be kicked in the gut by my own mind. *insert dramatic sigh here*

I keep trudging on though. I keep waking up day after day so that I can keep loving on my sweet baby boys who I love so very much. I keep putting one foot in front of the other so that my parents won't have to bury their daughter. I step into that ring with my mind each and every day, no matter how futile it may seem, so that my sister can talk to me on the phone rather than talking to a cold stone resting above me.

No matter how hopeless I feel, I fight on; I hope you will, too.

One Day at a Time.

Today I took a shower; today I ate a meal.
Could things be looking up; could this be real?

But, yesterday was not so good.
Yesterday I thought of ways to go; yesterday I said I would.

Today I laughed and played with my nephews.
Today I made memories I hope to never lose.

But yesterday was rough.
I've never felt weaker; never felt less tough.

Today my smile is genuine; today it's for real.
I think I can do this, I think I can deal.

But yesterday I wanted to cry.
I'll be honest, I even wanted to die.

Today I can see myself making it to the future.
Today my heart doesn't require a suture.

But yesterday I sat all alone.
I isolated and ignored my phone.

Today I feel like I'm here for a reason.
I believe I'm here for a lifetime, not just a season.

But yesterday I felt completely lost.
I wanted to be gone, no matter the cost.

Today I feel like I can fly.
It feels like there must be a twinkle in my eye.

But yesterday was not so great.
I suppose I made it though, at any rate.

Today I'll keep going, not fearing the sorrow.
I'll keep my head up, keep looking for tomorrow.

What will tomorrow bring?
I'm not sure, but to this feeling I will cling.

Tomorrow I'll get up to face another day.
I'll keep moving forward, despite what my brain might say.

I'll wake again and this mountain I'll climb.
I'll go on and on, taking it one day at a time.

I hate you; don't leave me.

There is a book on borderline personality disorder entitled "I hate you; don't leave me." I never knew until somewhat recently that the title of that book would, at times, perfectly describe my thoughts and actions.


In my last post, I wrote a poem to my favorite person, but I didn't really explain to all of you neurotypicals out there what exactly a favorite person is. The favorite person can be anyone; like a family member, friend, therapist, collegue, etc. The fun thing about it is that I've never really picked my favorite person, they've just kind of fallen into the role. For me, it's been a teacher, a couple of best friends, and now my former therapist who has become a friend. Once I have a favorite person, they become everything to me. I want to be around them all of the time; if I can't be with them, I want to be talking to them. I want to know everything about them, I want to be just like them. I take on traits that they possess and fall into being like them (we'll get to that later).


My favorite person becomes, in my mind, the only person who can support me emotionally. I must run to them in times of distress or elation; they have to know. Surely they care as much about my stuff as I care about theirs, right? They shouldn't have anything going on outside of me. After all, I don't have a whole lot going on outside of them since other people no longer really matter to me. So I pester, texting and calling over and over looking for attention that I feel like I desperately need. Attention, praise, love, etc from other people doesn't really matter to me; I need the attention of my favorite person to feel like I matter to someone in this world. When they give me that attention, they are the single greatest human on this planet; they can do absolutely no wrong. The thing happens when they can't give me the amount of attention that I feel I need.


When my favorite person is too busy to text me back, taking time for herself, or spending time with people who are not me, my brain spirals out of control. The first thing that happens is I get extremely anxious; telling myself things like, "you don't matter, she hates you, she's going to leave you forever, you deserve to be abandoned because you are the worst, etc." So I freak out and begin begging to be told that all of that isn't true; the "please tell me you don't hate me" and "please, please, please don't leave me" text start to fly even though I know that I shouldn't send them. Irrational Jacque takes over and runs with the terrible thoughts. I want to push the person away because suddenly they are the worst. They are a liar who was just putting up with me the whole time and never actually cared; I must rid myself of them before they can abandon me like everyone else has always done. Eventually I hear back, sometimes it's with a message asking me to chill out. Other times, it's just the reassurance and love that I'm looking for. And all of the sudden, a switch flips and rational Jacque is back. Then I beg for forgiveness, sending a million apology messages because I realize what I've done and I feel horrid for it. How could I have been so awful to the person that I again see as the most amazing human on the planet?


This terrible cycle is referred to as splitting. Basically, this is a thing people with bpd tend to do because we see most things in the world as black and white; people are either amazing or terrible, they love us or hate us, they're staying forever or walking away right this second, they can do no wrong or have never done right. These are things I believe even when the person's past and present actions probably don't prove what I think. There is no grey area. You can't be too busy to answer my text and NOT abandoning me forever, it just isn't possible. Makes no sense at all, right? Unfortunately for me, it makes perfect sense; it is a simple reality of life.


The thing that I hate most though isn't what this does to me; which I do hate, don't get me wrong. What I hate most is how I end up treating my person, I feel like I'm abusing them in a sense and I hate myself for that every single time it happens. I've already pushed one away, I don't want to make anyone else leave me when ultimately I act the way I do because I'm afraid of being left. I just can't figure out how to stop it, though.
Maybe one day.

Dear favorite person...

I have to fight for myself, you tell me again and again.
But, I lost the will; it's been gone since I don't know when.


I can't even function, barely making it through the days.
How the hell do you expect me to simply walk out of this haze?


No will to eat, no energy to even shower;
longing to sleep my life away hour by hour.


But even in bed I can't hide, I can't find a break;
I toss and I turn, my brain fighting to keep me awake.


You say it's me, I don't want to get better;
as though I have some control, like I hold the key to the fetter.


It's not a lack of want, but the loss of hope;
I'm sitting at rock bottom, clinging desperately to the end of my rope.


You tell me you feel like a broken record, saying it all like you have before;
But I can't do what you ask of me, it's so hard, such a daunting chore.


"You know what to do, you've learned all the things," you like to remind me, as though I don't know.
I can't even think, can't even move; how can I change, how can I grow?


Nothing seems to work, feels like I've tried it all;
now I'm left here helpless, feeling so weak and so small.


I feel like I'm losing this battle with my brain;
standing alone, watching my life slip down the drain.


I'd take even a rest, just a small reprieve;
maybe then in myself I could believe.


But right now I can't do that; right now I need you.
Please tell me it's all a lie, remind me what's true.


Tell me you love me, tell me I matter;
please don't walk away, don't get lost in the scatter.


Can you sit with me in silence? Can you hold me while I cry?
It will never make sense to you so don't even try.


Just be there and make it known.
Stay here beside me, unmoving like stone.


I know it's not easy, the holding my hand;
but with your help, I feel I can stand.


I'm not giving up just yet, more storms I will weather.
But, please, I beg you, can we do this together?

White walls and padded rooms...

I love my job, I love it so so so much. I love it so much that I happily worked 103 hours during my first pay period. And did I tell you I got a cat? I love my Maxie cat and the companionship she provides for me. So, life has truly been great lately. I've had several breakfast and lunch dates with my parents, been seeing my therapists, and been taking my medications as I ought to be. Unfortunately, my brain hates me....

March 6, 2018
I was doing my nightly duty of counting medications at work and all of the sudden a thought popped into my head, "I could slip a few of these from each bottle and no one would ever notice...I could just take them all when I get home in the morning and wash them down with a healthy serving of alcohol and it would all finally be over." This thought nagged and nagged at me throughout the remainder of my task.

March 7, 2018
Same shit, day 2.

March 8, 2018
Again the thoughts tugged at my brain and wouldn't go away. That morning I had a therapist appointment as I sat in her chair I heard myself say, " I'm done, I just can't do it anymore. I literally do not have it in me to do this for the rest of my life, I can't." I was terrified of the words that were spilling from my mouth. Terrified because I can't seem to control the way these thoughts come in and overtake me. Terrified because I was no longer scared of the thoughts, I was starting to see their validity. "Jacque, I won't send you to the hospital tonight, I think you're alright enough to stay home, but I'm either sending your mom or a police officer to check up on you tonight, you choose which it will be" were the words I got in response. My mother checked on me as I slept the day away as per usual since I had worked all night, I appeared fine because, after all, I was just sleeping peacefully.

Let's fast forward just a couple of days here...

March 11, 2018 (exactly 2 months after my return from my long term treatment program in California)
I had made up my mind. I wasn't going to steal pills from work, but I would get some somewhere to combine with those I already had at home and I was, once again, going to try to end it all. I like to ignore the fact that like 98% of suicide attempts don't actually end in death and think that may, just maybe I'll be in the 2%. My mother was set to be gone for a night on Tuesday to pick up my nephews from my sister, thus there would be no one in town to check up on me. "That's my chance," I thought as I ran through various options for plans in my head. I fell asleep, secure in the knowledge that I wouldn't have to fight myself for much longer. I woke up a few hours later to a text from my friend/ former therapist from California telling me that she was going to check in with me later in the day because she could tell from my texts that something was wrong. At first I told her she didn't have to do that, that I was fine...but later I sent another text saying that the thing that was wrong was that I probably wouldn't be alive after a few days. I thanked her for what she had done to try to help me and said goodbye. I only did this because I, mistakenly, thought that she didn't have phone numbers for my family and surely couldn't do anything about anything from across the country. Needless the say, my phone rang moments later, "what's going on Jacque?" I basically told her that I just didn't know anymore, that it all had come on so suddenly and I felt like this was going to be a cycle for the rest of my life; a cycle I could never break unless I took myself out of the equation. After some therapizing, the ultimatum came, "Jacque you either get to a hospital on your own of I'm calling your parents to take you there." Turns out she still had their numbers and actually could do something from across the country....so I called my mom.
My mom took me to the ER where they decided that I needed to be admitted for inpatient psychiatric care...again. Round 6 for those of you who are counting. Unfortunately they couldn't find a bed for me in town so I was sent to a hospital in Osage Beach. It was a rough night at the ER as I had worked all night and was basically running on zero sleep and trying hard to stay awake for the various tests and questionnaires they had for me. In the wee hours of the morning, I was loaded into an ambulance, we arrived at the other hospital around 4 am. I spent the next 8 days in that hospital having 3 different doctors talk to me, evaluate my situation, and tinker with my medications. (And no, the hospital didn't ACTUALLY have white walls and padded rooms, I just liked that for a title lol)

March 20, 2018
Now here I sit at my mom's house, which will eventually become my house too. The decision was made that right now I'm just still not really safe living on my own. So they're going to build me my own room here. In the mean time, modifications must be made like me keeping only enough pills for a week, spending more of my awake time with my family, and going to therapy more than once a week. Let me tell you that my opinion of all of this is that it sucks. I have been on my own for nearly 10 years now and moving back in with my parents feels almost childish. I don't want to have to make these decisions. I don't want to feel like I can't do things on my own. But I also don't want to do something stupid because my brain got the better of me, and I know this is the best way to keep myself safe; so that's what's going to happen.

For now, I'm stable. I would like to say I'm all better, but I just don't think that's a thing I will ever have the good fortune to be able to say. I'm still coming to terms with this, because it seems so vastly cruel and unfair that I should have to live with a brain that is near constantly trying to kill me, even in the happiest of times. But whatever. Mostly, I'm thankful right now. Thankful for good therapists and good friends who love me even though I couldn't tell you why, thankful for a family that has never left my side through my many storm, and thankful that I'm still here to tell you this story. May I be able to say that for many years to come.

I'll see you tomorrow.

All things good and holy...

Once upon a time, my life revolved around my religion. I was that girl with Bible verses tattooed on me. My Facebook posts were regularly verses or biblical words of encouragement. I went to church every Sunday. I attended youth group until I was old enough to be a sponsor, which I did. I went on mission trips, I worked at a church camp, and I was part of a campus ministry at my university. I talked the talk and did my best to walk the walk. So I’m tattooed and I swear and sometimes enjoy an adult beverage? My God doesn’t condemn for that. I’ve always tried to do my best and love people like they ought to be loved.

Anyway, as you may or may not know, I began struggling with depression at the age of 15. A few things happened around that time; namely the deaths of my 7 year old cousin and a fellow student from my school. I really began to question God at that point. If He did exist, I couldn’t see how He could be at all good. I mean, how could He let 2 such young people die? How could He let me struggle the way I was for no reason? It just didn’t seem right. It was pretty dark for quite some time. Later though, I found solace in the idea of God. I found comfort in the idea of always being loved and important. And I was perfectly happy that way for several years. My depression went up and down over the years, but never got to be too much for me to handle. Until it did.

April 2015, everything was going right in my life. I was doing all of the things I told you about earlier, walking the good Christian walk. I was just about to graduate from the Honor’s College at my university and had secured my dream job. Something wasn’t right, though. I couldn’t quite place my finger on it, but everything started slipping. My life just wasn’t in my control anymore. I’ll spare you the details of the story, since you’ve probably already read it in the past. I sought solace in God the way I had when I was younger…but I found nothing. I found emptiness, loneliness, and even more darkness. I became angry with God. I couldn’t see how a God who was supposed to be loving and good would let me live in such darkness. I walked away from the church. I didn’t speak to anyone and no one made any attempt to contact me for about 3 months. When they did try, I wrote them off completely, saying it had been too long and I was too deeply hurt. And that was that.

I was no longer part of the church. I was angry at God. I felt hurt by God. I felt unloved by the God that was supposed to love us all as His children. I had been abandoned. Then I tried to kill myself. Obviously that didn’t work and some say there’s a reason for that. Some say that I was saved by something greater than all of us because I still have more to do on this Earth. I don’t know about that. What I do know is that I have come to a place of acceptance with God. I believe in God, I don’t think this Earth could exist in its wonderfully complex state without an intelligent designer. But I still have trouble believing that God loves us as much as I was always taught. I mean, how could I be loved so much and left to suffer for long and so deeply?

Here’s what I’ve come to accept though, God is real. That’s about all I know at this point. Do I feel love from God? Not really. What I do finally feel though is a sense of love from and for myself. And I think that’s the key. It’s not about finding the Divine on the outside. In my understanding of things, the Divine is in each of us and that’s what matters. I have found that piece of the divine within myself. There is a part of me that knows peace and love and I think I’ve discovered that part. It’s been through yoga and meditation and energy work and opening my mind up to finding God in other things and places that I’ve discovered this part of me. So maybe my style looks a little different these days. Maybe you won’t see me in a church or see Bible verses on my Facebook wall. What you will see from me, though, is love. I will love people, because that’s really all we can do in this life. I will love myself because, since we’re all one, I can’t love you unless I love myself first. So while loving me isn’t my strength, I’ll do so because I want to be better able to love you and the rest of the world. So maybe I do yoga and meditate and play around with healing crystals, but those things don’t make me any less of a believer than you or anyone else. Those things just mean I find God in a different place than you do. I find Him in little things, I find Him in the energy that makes up each of us, in the silence of meditation, in the strength of my body in a yoga pose, and in the vibration of a crystal. I find God in everything and everyone. Long story short, I’m not religious anymore. I subscribe to no religion; I subscribe only to love, that’s what truly matters in this world.

“This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples, no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple. The philosophy is kindness.” (Dalai Lama)

Pull the trigger

I spent 6 months away from home (roughly 1 month in the hospital and 5 months in a treatment center). I learned so much while I was away and I changed a great deal. I went from constantly wanting nothing more than to die to that popping up only occasionally to it popping up almost never. Don't get me wrong, the thoughts still enter my head from time to time. In fact, I just had a bit of a rough patch this weekend. You see, the thing that I knew, but didn't realize would have such a profound effect, was that I was basically in a bubble while I was in treatment. I had people to remind me to take my medicine every morning. If I was having a really rough time and needed to talk, I had access to a therapist at the push of a button or by simply walking down the hall if it was the right time of day. Everything was new and different there. I was far from home and my past and the memories of the darkest times of my life. Upon returning home though, everything came rushing back in like the tide. I was right back in the place where I tried to kill myself, alone again. I am surrounded by things like the store where I bought the pills I swallowed that night and I'm still not sure how to handle it. It doesn't seem rational to other people, but I have trouble even driving by the place. Over the weekend, I had to sit outside of said store while my sister ran in, unsure of why I refused to get out of the car. I started to have a panic attack and didn't regain normal breathing until we'd made it back home. Can I tell you how much I hate this? It seems so silly that something like a store can almost completely shut me down, can make me feel like I'm a failure because I'm having a panic attack and flashes of all the reasons I shouldn't be alive again. I lay in my apartment each night and wonder about that morning, wonder what it was like when the paramedics broke down my door and found me there. I flash back to that ultimate decision and the actions that followed. I often get very upset by this, so it's good that it only happens at night and I can sleep it off.

In the therapy world, things that set off these flashbacks, thoughts, and feelings are called triggers, and boy have I been inundated with triggers since I came back. It's like everything suddenly reminds me of all of the darkness I lived in for so long. Sometimes, it's a stretch, but my mind makes the connections to bring me crashing back into the past. I'm working on dealing with my triggers and learning how to live with them. The reality of the situation, I know, is that these things aren't simply going to go away. Even if I change my whole life, there will be things that pop up that trigger me. That's forever for me. What I'm focusing on is not letting that control me. For now, it means not shopping at a certain place, spending the majority of each evening at my mom's, and not having anything I could hurt myself with in my apartment. Sure this is mildly annoying at times, like when I need a kitchen knife because I'm cooking, but the annoyance is worth it until I feel more secure in my ability to face my triggers without giving in to them. Right now, all I've got is today. That's what I have to focus on, making it successfully to the end of the day. And, boy, does it feel like an accomplishment making it through each day! I still have lots of help from my family and my amazing therapist/life coach or whatever you want to call her, and I know that I will need that for quite some time, and that's something I'm learning to be ok with. No one can do this life thing alone, so even though it's tough for me to lean on others, I'm doing it.

I am surrounded by triggers and tough stuff here, but I'm still making life happen. For me, it's all about practicing mindfulness and staying in whatever moment I'm in. Letting myself drift into the past is dangerous territory and the future is so big that it scares me. But here and now, I am in control and I am safe and I can handle things. Remembering that keeps me moving forward and still looking up, even when I take a few steps back. I'm doing this thing. I'm hanging in there. I know I'm not alone. I'm not giving up ever again.

I'm both happy and sad...and that's ok.

"So this is my life and I want you to know that I'm both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be." (The perks of Being a Wallflower)
I used to read this quote and kind of wallow in it. I read it as saying that I was always somewhat sad, no matter what. Even on the brightest, sunniest, and best of days, I was sad. I appreciated that a book actually got that. Charlie felt like I felt. Charlie had to be in a psych ward, just like me. Even if it was just in a work of fiction, I wasn't alone in how I felt. The thing is though, that I was always trying to figure out why I felt that way. Why me? What did I do to deserve to always feel sad? I've come to the conclusion that "why" is the most dangerous question I can ask, at least for big things in life such as this. There are 2 simple reasons for this: there is no one on this earth who can actually tell me why and even if there was, the answer would never satisfy me. I would always walk away feeling frustrated. And that's where I would stay. I would ruminate on the frustration until I eventually spiraled out of control, ending up at the bottom of that damned rabbit hole. Over the past several months, though, I have had a drastic shift in perspective. I have challenged myself to stop asking "why" and it is so freeing. (Not so) Simple acceptance brings so much more peace to my life.

I still love the Perks quote as it still resonates deeply with me. I think now I would just reword it a tiny bit..."I'm both happy and sad and that means I'm alive and it's amazing." The cool thing is that I am both happy and sad, but I now know how to make that ok. I've learned that feeling that sad isn't something to be ashamed of and it doesn't have to take over my life. I can acknowledge the sad, feel it, then let it pass by without clinging to it. And the happy, oh man, the happy. I know to be mindful and soak up as much as I can from each moment while I'm in it. I know to give myself over to the happiness even if that means I'm singing and dancing and acting a fool in front of everyone (that's exceedingly rare, btw). If it makes me happy, then who cares? I don't anymore.

Learning to live life again is cool. Learning to see the world with fresh eyes is truly awe inspiring. Friends, I want you to take a few things from reading this: you are NEVER alone, no matter how you feel....please never let your mind convince you otherwise; it's ok to feel sad, but don't allow it to set up shop in your mind; stop asking why, it will free you like you would never believe; embrace the happy moments as long as possible.

So this is life and I want you to know that I hope you're both happy and sad and that means you're really alive. And that, my loves, is the most amazing feeling of all.