And then there were three- no, four.

Is it possible to love out of anger, or out of spite? Are we that in control of the way our heart feels, or do we just seek out new love when we no longer feel any from those we used to?

In such a case, an important question must be asked.
Did I actually feel her love in the first place? Or, was it something I wanted so badly that I would dismiss my reasonable mind that said, "She doesn't love you" and think with my emotional mind that said, "She said she loves me, she must"? I have reason to believe that it's the latter. This same emotional mind tried to convince me that I was the only one. I told myself I wouldn't go through that again. But, I also told myself that she was different. Despite all the signs, I gave her the benefit of the doubt. I ignored my reasonable suspicions and willed them to be gone. "She loves you," cried my emotional mind. To which my wise mind would later respond, "Perhaps, in her own way, she does. But, that is not enough."

And, so, it is. We seek out grout, cement, glue-anything that will fill the holes. Is it wrong to glue yourself back together before telling her that you're broken?

Amidst this crazy love square, is a strange truth. Some people may never change and others will find ways to surprise themselves, when they least expect it.

And then I thought to myself, "somebody's using their crisis survival skills!"

As much as I felt DBT was a waste of my time, and quite possibly the most irritating class I've ever been required to participate in, I am so glad when someone who needs that kind of structured thinking is able to use it.

I fought so hard to try to keep her sane and rational. I tried so hard to keep her out of trouble and out of the hospitals that make her worse. But, every time I thought she was improving, every time I thought she's getting better, I was always proved wrong. I'd be telling her not to punch a hole through her mother's car windows. I'd be in the waiting room of EMH. I'd be on the phone, holding back tears, as she told me she'd only be away for few weeks. For a period of time, I had McLean's on speed dial. And that was only the half of it. But, today, when she called me crying, explaining just how sad and disappointed she was, but how it was alright because it wasn't "the end of the world", I knew something so very beautiful was starting to happen. She was evolving. She can look at life, admit that it's terrible, and try to push through it anyway. For a moment, not only was I stunned, I was so happy.
She's not the center of my life anymore. I've got other potentially worse things to deal with. But, god, does it feel good to see her actually doing better. So good.

I don't do blogs. But, I do insanity pretty well.

So, here I am. Blogging. Gross. I don't blog. I haven't blogged since I was an angsty juvenile. That's not to say that I'm old and wise, because I'm neither. But, I certainly no longer consider myself angsty or juvenile. Though, I'm quite positive that unlike regular angsty teens, my mental health definitely made those years much worse. Of course, my mental state hasn't actually become healthier, but at least I've matured and become more self aware. I feel that, despite all this time that has elapsed and all of the growing I've done, I still cannot understand many things about my past. Perhaps what I'm thinking about in particular is not really about me but about people in general. Allow me to explain.
First of all, I suppose it's fair to state that I'm not exactly mentally stable. I suffer from borderline personality disorder which comes with and is attached to anxiety, PTSD etc. This also causes me to not sleep well, especially at night which will explain the, what I feel will be, frequent, late night posts.
Anyway, the relevance of this information is that recently I had a flash back. Often, I block things out. I did this very frequently as a child. The other day, a very upsetting memory flooded my brain. Almond Joy. Naprasin now included.
I was ten. Twelve at most. I hadn't mastered swallowing pills quite yet. I still frequently relied on liquid Triaminic, chewable Amoxicillin, and crushed up Tylenol in a spoonful of homemade raspberry jam. I only swallowed pills when it was absolutely necessary and had no real illnesses that doctors felt required daily pill popping. So, I automatically, subconsciously looked for ways around swallowing pills. It must have been shortly after Halloween because we never had candy bars hanging around the house, much less the miniature sized ones, which I thought always tasted better. Then again, Halloween candy often hung around a while in our house. None of us were excessive candy munchers and between my older brother and I, we came back with nearly an entire pillow case full. My brother never liked the Almond Joys. They were one of my favorites. He traded me all of his for something of mine that he preferred.
I'm not sure how I got the idea, why I thought it would work, or moreover, why I felt the need to do it, but during one of my apparent suicidal days, I decided the best course of action was to overdose and the best way to do that was to push the Naprasin, that I'd taken from my father's medicine cabinet, into these candy bars. I thought that maybe I could eat them and not taste the pills at all. It didn't work, I bit right into the pills and they tasted disgusting. I got frustrated and threw out all of my left over Halloween Almond Joys that were stuffed with those foul tasting pain killers. I hated my unsuccessful suicide attempts. Little did I know that I'd finally down the rest of a Naprasin bottle about 4 years later, be sent to the ER, and finally be forced to seek therapy. I've been there ever since.
The other day, it occurred to me that I had forgotten all about these times before my real overdose. And now that I think about it, not only do I feel depressed that I have been mentally ill, to one degree or another, since I was just a child and that it will continue for the rest of my life, but I'm more upset over the fact that children shouldn't be mentally ill. There's no way to grasp those feelings. How was it possible that I was so unaware of what was going on in my head but acted in whatever way it deemed necessary? It was like I was two different people. It never occurred to me to talk to someone about being upset because I didn't even realize I was upset. Nobody did. How is it possible for a child to understand life, death, and the choice of which to participate in? These issues are much too complex. That's not to say that some children don't understand this concept to a degree but they're very limited. They should be. They shouldn't have to deal with that sort of thing. The biggest anxiety a child should have is whether or not they'll win the soccer tournament on Saturday.
It upsets me to know that while I was engineered to protect other people (especially my parents) from my dark emotional side, I didn't know that throughout my childhood, I was also protecting myself. Good liars can fool other people. Great liars can fool themselves. Never underestimate the power of denial.