Small Psycho Sidebar

READER ALERT: I am NOT in danger of harming myself or others. This particular entry is NOT cause for alarm. None of what I am writing is new in my life. It's just an attempt to wade through the disturbance in my head to possibly find some relief in a harmless form of self-expression, namely writing.
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k, 'cause I'm having one of those days where I am very very aware that all is not right in the land of markira's brain. Is it still an avoidance spending binge when all you purchase is books about your disorder? I've got several books on the way with lovely inspirational titles like Get Me Out of Here, Sometimes I Act Crazy, I Hate You, Don't Leave Me and other fine cheery stuff. (oh, and the latest Stephen King hardcover, 'cause, you know, I've gotta have it.) I'm trying to put a positive spin on it, saying I'm just trying to ramp myself up, getting pumped up for the Great Therapist Hunt, which is *supposed* to start after all my new poor-person health insurance stuff kicks in on Nov. 1st. (note the supposed to.) Getting geared up for Project Fix Markira.

I think the truth is closer to I'm getting mighty tired of feeling like I am the only person in the world who functions the way I do, and I want to see that I'm not, in black and white (hahaha, black and white? get it? no? sigh).

For those who are not "in the know" about what I'm talking about, I have borderline personality disorder. There's a regular little laundry list of accompanying dysfunctions that I also have, but that's one of the biggies.

Anyway, I'm having a bad day, and a bad week, and maybe, just maybe, something in one of these books will help some.

One of the weird parts of my "bad days" is that to the outside, it doesn't look like anything should be wrong. And nothing really *is* wrong. Sure, I'll point to things (like the fact that my entire house currently smells like sewage for some weird reason that has *something* to do with my [insert many strong curse words here] basement), but none of them are really anything that should cause the turmoil that is going on in my head. And I can't really *explain* the turmoil in my head, either. But what I'd like more than anything would be to just run away from me, which of course is impossible, but it feels like if I could just reach inside and rip my brain out it would help somehow.

Now this is the kind of thing that often leads to self-harm. Where hurting the *outside* distracts from the hurt that is in the *inside.* And here is where the curse of intelligent reasoning comes in. Because I am very aware that self-harm doesn't *really* help any, and so there is the monstrous struggle to refuse to engage in that type of behavior, but having no other outlet.

So as I wrote this last paragraph, it occurs to me that someone "normal" might read this and start freaking out, or backing away slowly (or hell, turning and booking ass as fast as they can). I wouldn't blame them. I am aware that in my blog I swing back and forth from inane chatter to this psycho stuff. Part and parcel of the disorder, really. Not that I want to excuse myself, saying it's *okay* or anything. It's just that I haven't figured out yet how to not be the way I am. I sure as hell don't LIKE it. Quite frankly, it sucks. I'd like to be a fun & friendly person, with perhaps a slightly twisted sense of humor, that people enjoy being around. And yes, sometimes I *am* that person. But other times I am not. I have a huge pit of darkness that just sucks me in whole. And I'm trying to claw my way out of it, but it's not so easy.

And now I am getting disgusted with myself and my self-pitying rambling on and on. And I'm just going to cut this whole crap out and go upstairs to my room and stop in the bathroom first and take a stupid Tylenol PM and go the hell to bed. G'night. mk