I swear: if not for the cat I would k*** myself tonight.
Dr. S. the psychiatrist confirmed what I’ve suspected for years: I have borderline personality disorder, subtype self-destructive. She also diagnosed me with PTSD, chronic; major depressive disorder, severe recurrent; social phobia, generalized; and generalized anxiety disorder. I wanted to be diagnosed, and none of the diagnoses surprised me. But it’s an odd feeling seeing those diagnoses as black fonts on a white page. Alone, they’re a series of letters, which become words, which become medical diagnoses and accurately describe what I’ve lived with for most of my life.
Flash forward to today.
Today I met an escort. Because of the experience, I doubt I’ll ever seek another. The whole thing was sad. And not for the reasons one might expect. It was sad because she was a severely damaged person (“I was kidnapped at 13.” She actually said this.), and here I am, also a severely damaged person, and here we are together, trying to engage in a behavior that rewards us with a moment of temporarily relief— no, not relief, a distraction from our fucked up lives. I left pitying her. But as I drove home, I stopped deflecting and realized, while I wasn’t judging her, I viewed her as somehow worse than me. But no, that’s cruel and not true. Not that anyone is keeping score, but I may be worse than she is, only colored with different hues. As soon as I got home I showered. And I cried (I’m crying now as I recall this), told Allison I was sorry. Sorry for tonight. Sorry for the emotional abuse I caused her. Sorry for the cancer taking someone far better and certainly more virtuous than me. I cried because I’m a 44-year-old widow with BPD and I’ll never find another person to build this nebulous identity around. I cried because even if it is true Allison loved me in spite of those things, I’ll never believe it. Yeah, I can say, Well, this arises from the self-hatred of BPD, and just because this is your perception doesn’t mean it’s true. BUT PERCEPTION IS REALITY.
…this could possibly be the beginning of the end of me (finally!)…
…the acts are becoming more desperate and repulsive…
Final Body//\\”Sick Quiter” —- I make my new life with my true self // Wondering why I let my body go to hell // Nostalgia couldn’t save itself // Fall asleep to artificial rain sounds —-
…the cognitive dissonance of a fantasy and reality…
That’s all for tonight.
