24 Hours With BPD During A Crisis Phase

I have a general trigger warning sign posted in the sidebar of my blog, but I feel this post needs to come with an additional warning as it contains more references to suicide and self-harm than usual.

On Friday I woke up feeling depressed, and exhausted… As if I hadn’t slept at all. It felt like I had a block of concrete weighing down on me. I had zero energy, and what usually takes me 10 minutes to do, became 30 minutes. I was moving in slow motion.

I keep a Post-It pad next to my bed, because sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night with an idea or something I need to remember. Before going into work on Friday, on one of those Post-It notes, I wrote what I was feeling. I usually use Pacifica (an amazing app to chart your moods, with lots of additional features) to track my moods. But on Friday I didn’t want to even look at my phone.

Somehow, it turned into me writing notes on Post-It’s (which I have in my bag as well) for the duration of the day. I wrote the times on the notes as well, after each “episode”, but they’re not exact times of course. So I got to document one of my low points for a day, and the crisis phase that was hot on its heels. Reading it back, it feels like a dream. I can’t remember writing half of these notes. I’m not going to post everything that I wrote down during the day, just the most significant things. There are some things that I want to keep to myself for now as well. I’ll add some current things in brackets for some of them. I don’t know why I wrote them in present tense.

09:30 – Don’t want to be here. I’m tired and not in the mood for these people. Just want to be alone, and in bed. It’s noisy and chaotic. (It’s the same everyday. It makes me so anxious being there. The energy in that place is chaotic and stressful. They’re up and down, in a highly out of control way, complaining about everything and everyone, arguing, etc. For a highly sensitive person, that energy, that environment is a nightmare.)

10:45 – I hate him! I wish he would just disappear forever! Can’t he just go one day without acting like he rules the fucking universe? (This is obviously referring to the man who calls himself my dad. I stashed the notes in my jacket pocket so he wouldn’t see them.)

11:10 – Can’t stand it anymore. Get up and go outside. (There’s a place behind the back of the building where no one goes. It’s my “secret” place.) So angry! Want to scream and break things. Maybe just my hand.

11:45 – Panic attack. Want to take Ativan but they’re in my damn bag in the office!

(I was very irritable for most of the day, with mood swings ranging from frustration, anxiety, a brief period of mania, sadness, and depression, and back again. Crying too much. Don’t want to, don’t want anyone to see. No one tells you how exhausting it is to live with BPD symptoms.)

16:20 – Phone clinic, ask for OT. All OT’s already left. She’s lying. (receptionist). They just don’t want to talk to me.

19:00 – Write blog post about current emotional state. Falling even deeper into the black hole. Thoughts of suicide running rampant through my mind, growing stronger by the minute.

19:20 – Status update on new, private Facebook profile. Supportive comments from those closest to me. Comment from (Uncle). Stake through my heart. Can’t trust him anymore. Bond broken. He hates me. He’s never going to talk to me again and will cut me out of his life. I don’t care! Panic. I need him! He can’t leave me! Maybe I can talk to him. I don’t want to lose him. Don’t want to talk to him.

19:30 – “Unfriend” him. Delete post from blog. Want to delete entire blog. Probably not a good idea. Shouldn’t be making any compulsive decisions while in this state. Vow to never reveal my feelings to anyone ever again. Start typing Therapist a message to tell her to cancel our session on Thursday, and that I’m not coming back. Before I can send it, throw my phone on the bed in frustration. Can’t.stop.crying! Add Uncle on FB as a friend again.

21:30 – Want to phone Therapist. It’s weekend. She doesn’t have her phone with her. She hates me. She probably talks to the others on weekends. I need to send her something to make sure we’re still okay. Well, I’m mad at her too. I’m going to quit therapy. I’m going to stop going to groups. I want nothing to do with Therapist and OT anymore. They hate me! I’m so mad at them. Don’t want to lose Therapist. Why am I panicking? It’s not real. She’s not going to leave. But why does it feel like I’m in trouble? I’m not mad anymore. I love her. I’m a burden to everyone.

21:50 – Phone suicide crisis line. Get told to take deep breaths and go take a hot bath. I don’t have a bath, or hot water right now! Why isn’t she listening to me? The more I try to explain how and why I’m feeling this way, the more she cuts me off and throws advice at me! Crisis lines are shit. Where the hell do they find these people? I shouldn’t have phoned. Thought I had learned my lesson the previous time! (When I was told by the guy on the phone that he’s going to hang up because he has another call coming in). Not going to happen again. This time I hang up. Rage. Want to throw my phone against the wall. Hit the wall with my fists instead. Dissolve into tears again.

22:00 – Too much pain. Self-harm is the only other solution I can think of. Cut. See the blood start forming. So beautiful. Relief. Thinking about carving a few “tattoos” on other places on my body. The desire to see more blood is overwhelming. Want to see more blood than a few measly drops. It’s Winter. No one will be able to see. Want to kill myself. I’m definitely going to end my life tonight. I can’t possibly survive this time. Mind racing through different ways to go about it. I have a plan, but if that fails, I need something else to complete it. Read through suicide forums. Lots of ideas. But also lots of failures. Fuck! I can’t even die in peace, without it maybe going wrong! What if the man who calls himself my dad blames Therapist, and ruins her career? What if he goes after her and hurts her?

22:20 – Here come the tears again. Sobbing on the floor. Can barely breathe. I don’t want or need anyone! Maybe they’re all in on it together, and laughing at me. I’m the joke. I can’t trust anyone. I mustn’t. Panic attack.

22:40 – Take 4 Benzo’s, instead of my usual 1.

23:00 – Calm. Numb. Floating far above my body. Drifting.

09:30 – Wake up. Eyes feel like lead. Head pounding. dissociative cloud hanging over me. Feels like I have a hangover. What if no one is real? What if it’s all a dream?

09:45 – See Hope Box. They’re all real. If they didn’t care, they wouldn’t have bothered to write these messages for me. (This self-soothing box usually helps me during the usual suicidal ideation times, but not when I’m as far gone as I was on Friday evening. This is when I need someone to help ground me, because I’m unable to soothe and ground myself.)

I’m still feeling fragile today, but just glad to be out of that chaotic state.

It’s been a busy social and work week for me. I only had one day that I didn’t spend with anyone, but I spent all of that time working. I’m starting a wedding photography business with another photographer, so we’ve been working hard to get it up and running as soon as possible. It’s a lot of work starting a new business. Went out for dinner with potential clients. I’ve been working non-stop, with a few social coffee breaks with Jasmine and some friends from group.

Being an introvert, this is a challenge. I’ve been burning myself out. Even working the whole weekend last weekend. I realized that this “crisis” has been creeping up on me slowly. And when it hit, it destroyed everything in its path.

I realize that I need to take better care of myself, and have a proper plan in place for these times. It’s terrifying being in that space of utter despair. This time really shook me, and made me see the urgency of making a safety plan.

I don’t phone Jasmine (the one person who understands me, and what it feels like to be in that state), because when we were still together, we tended to trigger one another. We decided it’s better not to talk about self-harm and suicide. But now that we’re just friends, and don’t spend nearly every moment together, it’s easier. I spoke to her last night and we discussed being on one another’s evening “crisis list”. I need to choose my people wisely, because a lot of people will just make things worse. With Jasmine, there’s no platitudes, just understanding, care and empathy. She listens more than she talks. Which is what we need during those times. She’s also the only person who’s available in the evenings, when most of these moments happen.

I really need to take better care of myself and notice the signs that I’m starting to go downhill. As for working for the man who calls himself my dad, I’ve created a playlist of soothing, relaxing music. I don’t need to answer phones, so I can put my headphones on, and drown out all the noise. I also have to learn and practice how to balance working hard, with some down time where I don’t think about work every moment of every day. As for my social life, I’m going to be more careful about how much time I spend with people. Too much of a good thing… Quality over quantity.

Took the whole day off yesterday. Put my phone on silent. Stayed in my PJ’s, reading, writing and watching Frasier and other shows on Netflix. Meeting my group of friends for a lunch date today. We’re going to her place and making our own pizza and Glühwein (which I’ll have very little of). That’s going to be interesting. I’ve had a full day of being alone yesterday. So I think I’m ready for this. But next weekend I’m taking the whole weekend for myself. I’m exhausted.

Don’t Tell Me

Don’t tell me it’s in the past, that I need to let it go.
Because the past has the sneaky habit of intruding on the present.

Don’t tell me what I feel is wrong.
Because what I feel is coming from a real place and there’s a reason for it.

Don’t tell me I need religion and God (your idea of God anyway).
Because religion fucked me up in more ways than one.

Don’t tell me that life will get better if I just have faith that it will.
Because you can’t see into my future.

Don’t tell me you understand exactly how I feel.
Because you couldn’t possibly know. You have no idea.

Don’t tell me I don’t need therapy.
Because therapy is helping me deal with deep seated pain and trauma.

Don’t tell me I don’t need medication.
Because that medication is helping to keep me relatively sane.

Don’t tell me I’m overreacting.
Because in that moment I can’t think straight.

Don’t tell me you love me.
Because you’re not capable of real love.

Just leave me alone.

“Just Be Positive”

I feel this post should come with a warning of ‘excessive language’. So there you have it.

“It’s not that bad.”
“It could have been worse.”
“There’s always a silver lining if you just look hard enough.”

Okay, stop right there.

Those words are all well and good, but

When said in the wrong way, or at the wrong time, it really pisses me off. And I know I’m not the only one.

It’s so invalidating. “Shut up and just listen. Listen to me, instead of spouting that bullshit.” I want to say.

Happy, positive quotes don’t make me feel better when I’m in a bad place. It makes me feel horrible. Because what’s wrong with me that I don’t feel that way? That these words don’t make me see things differently? That I can’t just repeat it over and over again and make it really sink in when I need it to?

I am just so sick of hearing people tell someone who has just opened up to them, that they should just look at the bright side. No, I’m sorry, but the sun doesn’t shine all the time. Sometimes it’s fucking dark and the rain is coming down in torrents. Can we control the weather too?

“You’re bringing it upon yourself”. Fine. Then that’s my burden to bear. It’s not your problem.

Just because there are people out there who have it worse than me, doesn’t mean that my problems and feelings are insignificant and should just be swept under the rug. That’s why I’m in the place I’m at right now. Where everything I had locked away in a great big closet and tried to forget about has come spilling out. There are things scattered everywhere, while I’m desperately trying to pick them up and shove them back in. But the more I try to shove it back in, the more I realize there just isn’t enough space anymore. So now I have to sit with, and sort through all these things. It’s overwhelming, and I don’t know where to start.

“I can’t drown my demons. They know how to swim.”

I’m allowed to feel like my life is shit sometimes. Just because I feel like that, doesn’t mean I’m oblivious to all the good. I can still appreciate a beautiful sunset, be grateful that I have a roof over my head, food to eat, somewhere warm to sleep. Despite what it seems like, I do count my blessings. But sometimes, I just can’t.

I’ve realized that by putting all this pressure on myself to “just be positive”, to be optimistic about everything just makes my anxiety sky rocket. I’ll be positive when I feel positive. I’ll embrace that positivity then. That feeling. But I also need to embrace the less optimistic emotions when they arise. Because they’re a part of me too.

I struggle with work. I don’t just get stressed from time to time. I’m almost constantly stressed. Why? Because I have to work harder to keep myself together and ‘stable’ than a lot of other people. It’s been this way with all my jobs. Even the one I enjoyed. The one I enjoyed still had me running to the bathroom when I got too overwhelmed, to hurt myself. On the surface, everything looks fine and dandy. But underneath, that’s where the struggle really is. Just because I’m apparently ‘high functioning’, doesn’t mean that things are easy. Yes, I’m truly grateful for my job, but I still get those moments where I just want to walk out and not go back. All thanks to these fucking emotions that aren’t happy just showing their faces… No, they have to punch, kick, bite and scream too. I had a face off with the scissor in my stationary holder today. It was a battle. But I ended up screaming instead. Silently, inwardly with all the force I could muster. I was so frustrated. In that moment, life and work just seemed shit. I wasn’t capable of seeing the good right then and there.

2016-08-20-20-52-16

Looking for the silver lining in a moment of turmoil, is like glossing over the very real pain and emotions. A silver lining can be found after I have calmed down somewhat, or when I’m ready to see it. Because pointing it out will not help me see it any clearer. I need to experience that moment for myself.

When we’re in the throes of something, forcing ourselves to just ‘be positive’ isn’t helpful. We’re essentially shutting down our very real need to accept what’s happening, to be able to deal with it effectively and move on. Healing doesn’t come from seeing the bright side. It comes from dealing with the emotions that arise, in our own time, and at our own pace, so that the bright side of our experience or pain can be seen in all it’s glory. And sometimes there just isn’t a bright side. There’s maybe just a less dark side. But sometimes that’s okay too.

“When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” I fucking hate lemonade. Okay, not really, but this quote puts me off the stuff.

Rant over.

 

The Familiar Taste Of Poison

This song represents a few different things for me.

We long to be free. But during agonizing, vulnerable times, we’re unable to resist the pull.

The Familiar Taste of Poison

“Drink the wine, my darling” you said
“Take your time, and consume all of it”
But the roses were only to drain my inspiration
The promises were spoiled before they left your lips

And I breathe you in again
Just to feel you underneath my skin
Holding onto, the sweet escape
Is always laced with the familiar taste
Of poison

I tell myself that you’re no good for me
I wish you well, but desire never leaves
I could fight this till the end
But maybe I don’t wanna win

I breathe you in again
Just to feel you underneath my skin
Holding onto, the sweet escape
Is always laced with the familiar taste
Of poison

I don’t wanna be saved
I don’t wanna be sober
I want you on my mind
In my dreams, behind these eyes
And I won’t wake up
No not this time

I breathe you in again
Just to feel you underneath my skin
Holding onto, the sweet escape
Is always laced with the familiar taste
Of poison

A familiar taste of poison

Letter To A “Friend” – Living With BPD

I wrote this to a friend a while ago in a moment of anger, but never gave it to her. I thought I’d share it here, but add something more positive at the end.

Dear “friend”

You think you know me. But you only see what you want to see. You only see what I allow you to see.

So let me give you a glimpse into my inner world.

Do you know how it feels to hate yourself so intensely that you hurt yourself because you think you deserve it, and constantly put yourself down, because the thought of being good to yourself seems like a right that only other people have? That you’re not worthy of this life. You’re like a ghost walking through this world. Never feeling you belong.

Do you know how it feels to be empty? Completely devoid of feeling? A bottomless pit of darkness? It can also feel like there’s something inside you that you don’t have access to. A locked room, with the key nowhere to be found. It can’t be reached. It can’t be touched. It can’t be felt. Only the sense that it’s there makes it real. And when you’re not feeling empty, you feel too much, too intensely. Imagine a small cut. Now take that cut, pull the skin apart, put your finger into it, widening it, opening it up. To you the cut remains that small cut. To me, that cut feels like it is being poked and prodded at constantly. The emptiness, or feeling too much. Which is worse… A flood or a drought? They both bring great turmoil and devastation. Can you imagine living through those two natural disasters, and just when one is over and you think everything is going to be fine, you’re hit with the other? This is what goes on inside me constantly. Welcome to my reality.

Do you know how it feels to have death on your mind every day for weeks at a time Planning, preparing to die, but unable to go through with it. But deep down inside you fear there will come a day where you won’t be able to stop it from taking you over completely. Resulting in total finality. Most days a fight just to survive. A fight to hold on. To be so tired of fighting, that death seems the only way to get rest and be free from the torment of a seemingly worthless existence.

Do you know how it feels to become so taken over by another human being that you can’t escape them? That you long to be a part of them, one with them? Even a few days without them feels like an eternity, and it feels you’re so much a part of this person that if they leave it seems there would need to be a surgical procedure to remove them from you completely. That you’ll never be whole again. That your very survival depends upon this person. The thought of the person ever leaving you is enough to make you do things you normally would never do. Go against your values. Yet constantly feeling you’re not good enough. That the person you’re with can’t possibly love you, because you’re so defective. But still desperately holding onto to them.

Do you know what it’s like to be walking around when you’re suddenly transported out of your body, watching everything going on around you as normal? Voices are like whispers, whispers you can’t quite hear or make sense of. You feel completely alone. You don’t feel real. The world around you doesn’t feel real. It’s as if you’re sleepwalking.

Do you know what it’s like to not have a clear sense of who you are? What is that which you took on from other’s, and what is really you? Taking on other’s emotions and feeling them as if they were your own? To not know what you’re really good at. To constantly compare yourself to others and feeling you’re not good at those things you thought you were good at? To change your career path because you are so convinced it’s what you really want, when it’s actually something you’ve never enjoyed, but went down the path because you took on someone else’s desires.

Do you know what it’s like to be turned into a whiny, tantrum throwing toddler when you’re under extreme stress, or you’re scared and panicking? You feel unable to control yourself. You feel you need someone to just slap you or speak to you calmly to help you remember to focus and breathe. Then feeling hopelessly embarrassed and ashamed once the waves of emotion have calmed down.

Do you never lose your temper? Do you always treat people perfectly? Have you never felt any of these things, if only for a while and to a limited extent?

So before you judge me… Think about how you would feel if our roles were reversed. Then tell me again I’m over-reacting. Tell me again to “get over it”. Can you?

Your friend,
Rayne

P.S. Now that I’ve mentioned the Black, let’s shed some light on the White:

I feel happiness to a whole other level. Euphoria I’ll call it. A state of such intense bliss and excitement, it feels as though I’m flying high above the earth and nothing can bring me down. I can do and be anything. Nothing and no one can hurt or harm me. I’m invincible.

When I love, I love completely. I give all of me. I’m compassionate, empathetic, intuitive and can sense your emotions better than you think. I know when you’re feeling sad, even when you try to cover it up, and will do anything to make you smile again, to lift you up.

I’m adaptable, and can blend into any environment and situation. I’m resilient and strong, and rise out of the deadliest fires like the mythical Phoenix.

I’m here, writing this right now. And for that, I can be proud.

I Am Borderline (Powerful Video)

I thought I was relatively comfortable saying I have Borderline Personality Disorder. But the truth is… I don’t yet think I am. I feel if I admit to it I will just be giving myself permission to continue to let the symptoms own me, so to speak. I’m afraid that if I admit it, I’ll be admitting to weakness. I feel ashamed. Would I feel ashamed if I had the flu? No, so why should this be any different? Voices from the past (and present) repeating over and over again that it’s all in the mind. Yes, it literally is. But that’s not how they mean it. It’s not just society. It’s that one person I wish could understand. The one person I wish would show compassion instead of making hurtful (and untrue) comments.

Why do I keep trying to reach out to someone who doesn’t know how to show emotion? Someone who thinks throwing money at me makes it all better. Someone who just keeps hurting me over and over again in ways he can’t even imagine. Someone who I never wanted to hear from while living far away, and didn’t want to answer calls from, yet feeling abandoned and desperate when he wouldn’t phone me every few days. Picking up the phone to call him, and “jokingly” asking him whether he forgot about me.

Hating him so intensely, while other moments, loving and wanting him so desperately. The desire to feel a connection to him. For him to be the father I always needed and wanted him to be. Attempting to get his attention, while at the same time uncomfortable with the thought that I might get it. Wanting him to really see me. Longing to escape him, yet feeling that even when I do, I’ll be unable to let go completely. That only death will annihilate it.

Trying to hide the marks on my skin from him, in my late teens and early adult years, yet desperately wanting him to notice them. Realizing one day that he had noticed, but never saying anything. Having his sister tell me to roll up my sleeves, while he stands there, saying nothing, not even looking at me. Refusing her harsh request, but being unable to stop her from grabbing my arm and forcing me to reveal what’s there. Her yelling at me “you stop this shit today!”. Looking over at him, hatred flooding my body, daring him to look at me. But he doesn’t. He just keeps looking at the floor. The coward. The bastard. Wanting to yell “I hate you”, but keeping it locked away instead. And still… I keep it locked away.

I feel like there’s something fundamentally wrong with me. I feel like no one understands. Not even my therapist. Not my closest friend. Unless we have somehow miraculously been transported into another persons body and mind, we will not understand what someone is really going through.

One minute I’m floating on a beautiful cloud, as high as I can get, surveying the amazing, rich landscape below and filled with gratitude, and the next the cloud just disappears out from under me and I find myself plummeting back down into the lowest depths of the earth.

I’m tired. Of this constant up and down, over and under. It’s exhausting. I long to just sleep for a few weeks, to get some rest. Or to fall asleep… Forever.
I’m so tired. I sometimes wish someone could just come and carry all this for me. Just for a little while. But no one can.

I want to yell “fuck it all”, “fuck you world” from the highest rooftop. Keeping these screams inside feels like a poison coursing through my body. The frustration and pain is so strong that it has a physical effect, and I can’t stop the shaking.

Another mark. They say it’s inappropriate. But if I express my emotions by giving them a voice, they say that’s also inappropriate.
“Just be positive”, “It’s not that bad”, “You can choose how you feel”.
So please tell me… What do I do when neither of those options are seen as “appropriate”? My mind is a black hole and maybe the answer is there, but there’s no light to illuminate it in this moment I find myself in.

I just saw my therapist on Thursday, and already I’m desperate to just reach out to her. To hear her soothing and gentle voice. But what if it’s not that voice? What if it’s the firm one? The one that frightens me when I’m in such a vulnerable place. No, I can’t call her, even though it takes every ounce of strength to resist… A strength that just leaves me drained and depleted.

It’s this hopeless, penetrating sadness again. I came across this video, and couldn’t stop the flood from taking over and unleashing the storm. It was as though someone was slicing through my whole body with a sharp knife, and the blood was pouring out in the form of tears. It hurt so bad. Because it touched me on the deepest level.

On Fighting And Survival

I received a letter tonight, containing diary entries and poems from my ex. “A goodbye letter”, she called it. We’ve been communicating almost every day, but now that’s over. She’s stopped all communication between us, and removed me from her social media. I understand why she had to do it. I just thought we could still be friends. Because I don’t understand how you can just “turn it off” after sharing almost 4 years together. But it was the right thing for her to do, for her to heal and be able to move on. I have so many emotions and thoughts. I don’t know what to do with them all. All I can think of to do is write this post in an attempt to survive. I’m not talking suicide. Rather feeling that my body is going to give up on me, and I won’t wake up in the morning. Maybe writing this will force it to just keep going. To hang on.

I was involved in combat sport for a few years. Mostly Muay Thai and MMA. MMA only lasted a few months, as I discovered I didn’t enjoy the ground work and having big, sweaty men in awkward positions between my legs. I still learned a lot from the experience though. In Muay Thai I found my home. And in that gym, I found my spark. It was as though something had come alive inside of me.

It helped me develop discipline, and enabled me to release all the pent up emotions that had built up over the years. It also gave me a boost to my self esteem when I became known as the small, innocent looking girl who’s strength didn’t match the outer package. The female coach, a former world championship title holder, took a particular interest in me. We became good friends outside the gym. But during training, we were just coach and student. I respected her as a coach, and because I’m extremely good at compartmentalizing certain things, I found it easy to forget we were friends outside the gym, while training. She would still “discipline” me if I was doing something stupid and unsafe. And I would still feel embarrassed and shy and like I just got crapped out by the coach. Ouch. She would always tell me I have that “thing”. That I could be a world champion. I never saw it. Which is why I turned down going to Thailand to train and fight (besides, I couldn’t afford the trip anyway). She kept encouraging me though. I had a few small light contact fights, but that’s as far as I ever got. I didn’t care about getting hurt. I just couldn’t bring myself to hurt another girl. If I were allowed to fight against a guy, it might have been a different story.

There’s a particular memory that brings a smile to my face whenever I remember it. A new guy had joined the gym and it was a Saturday morning sparring session. My coach/friend came over with the new guy. I was in a bad mood that day, so was taking it out on the punching bag instead of sparring. She asked me whether I’d spar with him. I’ll never forget her words to him: “Don’t let her appearance fool you, she’ll knock you out if you’re afraid to hit her. So make sure you get in there and fight.” She winked at me and walked off. My bad mood vanished.

My favourite though was sparring with the coaches. I felt I could go all out. I received a few beatings, but it was great. I relished the challenge and the laughs. I also met one of my closest friends in that gym. She actually reads this blog. The day I had to leave my Muay Thai home was awful. I was devastated. It felt like a part of me died. A couple years later I found another gym, and I started Muay Thai again, as well as starting in Krav Maga. But I hurt my shoulder during one training session. It wasn’t major, requiring a hospital visit, but it was bad enough that I couldn’t train for a few months and would have to go for “therapy” sessions with a physiotherapist. I still have pain in that shoulder from time to time if I bend my arm a certain way, but most of the time I don’t struggle with it. I wanted to go back, but unfortunately I couldn’t afford it anymore. Until today, I have this missing part of me that longs for my sport. I found an MMA/Muay Thai gym close by, so as soon as I get a job, I’m going to start training again. It’s perfect therapy.

During my training, I didn’t know that it would be years later where I would finally connect it with real life. Now I face the true fight. The fight for survival. The fight for life.

I haven’t had suicidal thoughts for a few weeks now, which has been refreshing. But I feel that all I have the strength for right now is to survive. That’s the focus of my day. Just surviving. I don’t feel I’m living, like I have the strength to live. What do we do when we don’t want to hurt ourselves anymore, and suicide isn’t an option? We survive.

It doesn’t seem to make sense that I’m fighting to survive, yet don’t have the strength to live. How do you explain something like that to someone?

Maybe an analogy will explain it better. Muay Thai and MMA taught me to fight. Krav Maga taught me to survive against attacks on my person, as well as against knives and guns. I’m not able to fight right now (as in MMA and Muay Thai), but I can most certainly survive (as in Krav Maga). Eventually I’ll start fighting Muay Thai again. All I know is that I’m still standing.

So even though I can’t fight to live right now, I can fight to survive. And that’s enough for now.