I'm not much of a sports fan. I really only care about the Canucks. Even then, not much. I've been ghosting a lot lately, but I don't think it matters. I've been so lost in this liquid crystal world inside my mind. Where memories pop like bubbles, where everything is silence and rainbows. On the only positive note I can think of, a friend told me they admired my inner willpower and ability to stare down people. "Daemons run when a good man goes to war. In this case, a good woman." I guess I can kick some ass as need be. They do call me a Guardian Angel... Though I've no idea why.
I've let the other girls take over for me. It helps tame the other things. We have decided to start a shared journal come Beltane. Different people, different colours. My therapist doesn't believe that I really have it, or BPD, despite having been diagnosed multiple times before. He refuses to believe since he can't get his hands on my records when I lived elsewhere. Not my problem. I'm searching for one who does understand me.
I hate it, it feels like it's a fad. I want to freak out on those who pretend to have mental disorders. I want to just freak the fuck out, to scream until I can't anymore. This is not a fucking joke. This is not fucking fun. We're not afflicted for fucking fun!!! This is real. I will live with these disorders for possibly the rest of this life. I will always have BPD. Likely I will also be eternally fragmented, with what they call DID. I also have extreme Depression and Anxiety. The medication I take makes me functional only some of the time. Sometimes these rear their heads and no amount of Therapy, Medication, Mindfulness or Anything Else will combat them. Sometimes all I can do it let it fucking pass. Ugh. I hate it.
That's just the inside. The outside is also a wreck. I've been a sobbing emotional mess because I regained half the weight I lost last year. The Depression hit the hardest it ever has. I don't know why I've spiralled so badly. This month is dedicated to tracking again, and drinking water. I've had one good day in the last week. Two or three days where I've eaten two days' worth of calories in one. My medications are in flux again.
I hate how fucking shallow people are. Especially those who like to harass me. I have a job. I have a LOT of compassion and empathy. I have glasses, and blue hair. I have lovers. I am a punk, a goth. A polyamorous, pan sexual pro-Kinkster. I am an artist. I am a lover, and a fighter when need be. Do people see ANY of that?! NO. All they fucking see is my weight. Normally, the fields upon which my fucks are grown is scorched and salted. But when people use my weight as a weapon, that field gets full of necromantic, viscous Venus fly traps. I HATE PEOPLE SOMETIMES!!!! Asdfghjkl;'!!!!
Ahem. Sorry about that. I just feel disgusting. Like a fucking walking pig. Or a walking whale. I spent most all of yesterday getting mooed and oinked at. Being called Fatty, Flubber or Shamu. Being told to kill myself, even. This happens a lot when I'm at work. I fucking hate teenagers and shallow people. Hell, I had people REfUSE my help! I'm just so fucking done. I bought resistance bands and some exercise clothes. My next plan is to get some decent shoes and socks. And weighted bands for walking. And begin shifting back to where I was last year.
Guys, help me. I'm falling into the emotional Abyss which has caused me to spiral. I'm falling out of control. Into anorexia/bingeing territory. Into wanting to cut all the excess fat off my body. Into just ending it all since I'm such a disgusting blight. Save me before I shatter to the point of no return. Even the strongest fall. Right now, I'm falling.