*TW* Trying to Return to DBT

So the last several weeks have been hard for me. Last couple of months? Hmm. So more time has passed than I previously thought. I don’t really know if it’s my BPD, depression, or anxiety…actually that’s not true, I do know, it’s all of it. The whole mess of chaos and confusion that lives in my head and in my body, pinning me to the floor, or pushing me into a dark hole. One just egging the other on until I am a puddle on the floor.

The good news is, during this time I have been continuing to attend all of my weekly DBT Groups, and all of my weekly DBT Individual appointments. So I have a wealth of DBT information on backlog. I’ve wanted to start posting those again but I just didn’t have it in me. I thought I could squeeze them in but it didn’t work out that way.

Despite the backlog of posting any DBT skills, there were a few days the DBT stuff helped me with my stress, anxiety, and distress. Some days, I admit, DBT didn’t even enter my brain let alone my practice. And there were a few days I did think of it and it didn’t do squat. But there have been a few moments when it did help, a lot, and I think a lot of it can help others too. Especially the Distress Tolerance, which is unfortunately the most recent module taught, so it will be the last ones to be posted.

Either way, if it can help me, then it has a chance to help others too.

My goal is to now get back on track with posting the DBT stuff again, and in the midst of that, I am going to still try and climb my way back to my normal. “My normal”, for those of you wondering, is a place where I don’t wake up every day wanting to sink into a deep, dark place and be left completely alone. *TW* Maybe or maybe not, considering if I’ll wait for death, or if I’ll walk right towards it. And where every day feels like moving through tar, in body and mind.

I hope to get back on track within the next few days. Wish me luck 🙂

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*TW* Should I Stay, or Should I Go?

Dealing with suicidal thoughts and feelings are overwhelming and frustrating and it’s only made further confusing and frustrating by not necessarily actually wanting to die. At least not right now.

When the idea of wanting to die starts to float through my mind, I sort of let it drift in and out, testing the waters to see how serious I am about it, and if it will stick around or was it just a passing thought. Most of the time it just goes away on its own and nothing else happens.

But sometimes it doesn’t go away. Sometimes it sticks around and becomes more than just a floating thought, it becomes an idea, which is one step away from planning, and that is one small step from attempting. It starts to grow inside my mind and slowly I start to notice and consider all the passive ways that I could die, all of the ways that I wouldn’t be responsible for my life ending so I wouldn’t have to worry about how to do it, and I wouldn’t have to worry about hurting anyone left behind. I wouldn’t have to worry beforehand about people wondering what happened and why I did what I did, nor would any of my family or friends. It would be taken care of by fate and no one would be the wiser that it was what I wanted to happen all along. Of course this passive plan has its faults because there’s also a very good chance it might not happen, and if I’m feeling really low and looking for an out this can be kind of an inconvenience because I want things to end but I’m not yet willing to be the cause of it. In this case any attempts at dying would have to be by my hand so there are pluses and minuses to the passive route.

When I start to imagine the passive ways that my life could end, I know that this is a crossroads for me; I’ll either go down the one road to a much darker place where the passive route of death moves from a wish to a want and then it gets even darker and I actually move into planning or attempting, the other road I decide it’s not really what I want and look for help and ways to come out of the dark place.

Leaving the decision to fate always starts out so tempting, like when I’m standing on the sidewalk at the bus stop wondering if I tripped and fell into the street, would I be hit by a bus and killed? Or if someone knocked me into the street into the path of any oncoming vehicle, would I be killed? What if there was any kind of accident and I was killed? The ideas and fantasies, if you will, become quite fantastical. And in my defense, none of them are totally out of the realm of happening because weird things and accidents happen every day in every country in the world, and whose to say one of them won’t happen to me.

I also consider at this time the even more passive ways my life could end, like if I don’t take care of myself maybe nature will decide for me. I could have a heart attack, or a stroke, or I could get sick. This way however could potentially take months, or even years to happen, if they happen at all, so this route, though it’s relatively easy, is not the most effective way of them all.

What if I stop eating and moving, will my heart give out? What if I find something toxic and it “accidentally” gets ingested? What if I self-harm, will I strike the wrong spot and die? The ways to be killed and die are endless, and it’s amazing at what I start to imagine and hope for that will cause my life to end, yet will be little to no work on my part. It’s skewed thinking I know, but it’s hard not to entertain the thoughts when it feels like it’s the only way out.

I do have to question how much of these thoughts, particularly when they remain as thoughts and don’t move into planning or attempting, is about control. When I feel a lack of control about life in general, and my emotions and thoughts are all over the place, one way to take back that control is to know I have the authority to say when it all ends, even if it means taking my own life. It’s extreme but it gives me some sense that I have a say in what’s happening. When everything else feels like it is being done to me, and I am just stuck on the roller coaster forced to endure the constant ups and downs that wrench me from state to state, taking the reins on whether I live or not feels like I finally have a say. Suddenly the roller coaster ride, though still hard and frustrating, becomes a little less violent and overwhelming, knowing I can just stand up and jump out of my seat and end the ride permanently.

There are times when I wonder if my solitude is a means for me to slowly extract myself from other people’s lives so if something were to happen to me, and I were to die, whether by accident, nature or by my hand, it will hurt less. For them and for me. I can convince myself that because I haven’t talked to people in a while it will be easier to leave them, and I can believe that they feel the same. I can push people away, or keep them at arm’s length because it will be easier to leave if I have no one close to me. And I can tell myself that no one cares because they aren’t around. So I may as well be gone.

All of the things I would distance myself from; friends, family, work, interests, hobbies, and dreams, and then I will have nothing left to stay for. I can leave without feeling anything because everything I cared about is either gone or taken away. I would convince myself of all of this in order to make it easier.

It’s in this state of mind that the passive ways to die aren’t good enough or fast enough for me, and I actually start looking and considering how I want to end it. This is when I am in the darkest of places and this time it might be the last.

The uncertainty of life terrifies me enough that it paralyzes me. And the farther I am from all that I care about and love, the easier it becomes to end it for good. My reasons for living will be gone and there will be nothing to hold me here. Why would I stay here if no one is looking for me? Why would I stay if no one is seeing me? Why would I stay if no one is paying attention to me? Why would I stay if everyone else has better things to do? Why would I stay if my dreams are dead? Why would I stay if I have no interests or purpose? Why would I stay if I am alone?

I am not yet sure what will happen.

*TW* When It Feels Like the Only Way Out

One of the hardest things about BPD is the suicide ideation. It can come out of nowhere and for seemingly no good reason. But when it does happen it feels like it’s the only way out. It feels like all options have been eliminated and the list of choices has shrunk to one.

And it can turn on a dime. In the morning things might not be so bad but by the end of the day the feelings and thoughts become so loud and mean and they just get louder and louder until it feels like suicide is the only way out.

I always think something is wrong with me. I always feel broken when I start to think suicidal thoughts. I hate the bombardment that comes over me because it’s a torturous cycle.

My thoughts race through my mind at a million miles a minute, and they are relentless. My mind feels like it’s on overdrive and my emotions feel like they’re on a high speed roller coaster that won’t stop. It leaves me paralyzed, scared, and tired. The thoughts come at me…and I start to believe that I am unworthy and unloved…I start to believe that I am hopeless and helpless and alone…It feels like things will never get better and my life will be plagued by these evil thoughts forever. There is no respite from them.

My mind says…you are unloved…you are unlovable…you are unworthy…you will be left behind…you are a failure…there is nothing redeemable about you…you are flawed…you are broken…you are nothing.

And I wonder…What is wrong with me? Why can’t I do better? Why can’t I be better? Why do I try if all I will achieve is failure? Why do I constantly try to fit in and belong when I should know better, that I am not worthy of better, and I don’t deserve it.

I am manipulative. I am a bitch. I am undeserving and I am alone and that is one thing that I do deserve.

The thoughts pour over me like a waterfall and my emotions are along for the ride on this violent roller coaster trying not to cry or fall off but also wanting desperately for it to stop. My anxiety climbs to its limit pushing me into dissociation and numbness because it’s the only way I can cope with the bombardment.

I am to blame for all that is wrong with me and for all that I fall short on. I am a disgrace and a disappointment.

As these thoughts get louder and meaner I start to spiral down and it could be days or weeks, sometimes months, before it eventually lands me in a dark place of solitude where I start to build walls around me so I can try to keep all the pain away.

But somehow the thoughts and the pain find their way in and now I am in a dark enclosed space with them where they become deafening and I can’t stop crying but I feel powerless to stop them. I try to plug my ears but they work their way into my mind where I have no peace from it all.

And so I think of the only way out and the only way to silence all the mean thoughts and derogatory comments is to die. That dying is the only way to finally have some peace and quiet. Dying is the only way to stop hearing all the mean things, and it’s the only way to get rid of the pain, it’s the only way I can finally get ahead of the thoughts and shut them down for good.

Sometimes it’s not that I want to die as much as it’s about wanting all the thoughts and emotions that overwhelm me to stop, and death feels like that’s the only way it will happen.

Desperate thoughts lead to desperate actions and as much as I wish it didn’t need to go that far, I can’t help that it does. The pain is too great. The thoughts are too mean. The emotions are too much. There is only so much I can take. I hope to get past it without extreme measures but I can’t promise it won’t.