Tuesday, December 5, 2017

The Fragility of Human Existence

Do you ever think about how utterly frail and flimsy the human body is? Like, what soft, squishy, meat sacks we are? How even a tiny problem in a vital area can mean lights-out?

I've been contemplating this a lot today... mainly because I nearly choked to death on my own spit.


Nearly. Choked. To. DEATH.

On my own spit.

I guess I just breathed wrong? I don't know. But it was mildly terrifying and resulted in a 5 minute coughing fit. It felt like I was drowning.

I am so special.

Image result for choked on my own spit meme

Monday, December 4, 2017

Is 'Identity' Even a Thing?

"You're both the fire and the water that extinguishes it. You're the narrator, the protagonist, and the sidekick. You're the storyteller and the story told. You are somebody's something, but you are also your you." 
-Turtles All the Way Down, by John Green

I have trouble locating myself... Or, rather, I have trouble locating my self.

Who am I?

What am I?

Am I?

When trying to define myself, I cannot seem to come up with anything besides explanations of me relative to or in relation to other things and people. I am a wife. I am a daughter. I am a sister. I am an IT worker. I like watching crime documentaries with my husband (I don't ever watch them on my own). I like to camp with my dad (I would likely NEVER camp alone). I like just hanging out with my friends. The only thing I can ever come up with that I like independently from other people or from roles I find myself in is that I like to read. But really, I think all the reading is just a way to escape... but I love it any way. I don't seem to have any interests of my own, you know?

Then I think that I could maybe define myself in terms of the sort of person I am. But that either ends up being very vague/general characteristics, or things that vary from day to day or even moment to moment: I am funny (sometimes). I am kind (almost always...). I am smart (except when I'm clearly an idiot). I am empathetic (except toward people that I think are assholes).

Maybe this is the case for everyone... maybe nobody has an actual concrete definition of their 'self'. It just feels like I ought to. Like I don't know who I am. I'm just sort of going with the flow.

When I get really caught up in this question, my thoughts start to get a little weirdly organized... like I'm narrating the story of my life in my head. I'm not exactly living my life, it's just a story I'm telling myself. And the story is never in present tense... always past or future:

I walked down the hall toward my office. I didn't want to be here, but I didn't want to be anywhere else either...


I will go home and I will find a way to relax. The apartment will be a mess, so once I get my head sorted out then I'll do some shores. Everything will be just fine.

I just feel sort of 'outside' of myself. I suppose it could just be mild dissociation. That's apparently a thing with BPD. It doesn't usually get very bad. Then again, now that I'm really thinking about it, I think the times it has been really bad tend to line up with my self-harm. Perhaps I should mention this to my therapist.

Whatever the case, the story I'm telling me about myself could use some work. Definitely short on character development.

It's turtles all the way down.

Friday, December 1, 2017

Alcohol is Complicated

Seriously. There are so many bad things you can say about alcohol... its affects on your mind and your actions and your health. That it can become a crutch. That it really doesn't mix well with depression and/or mental health medications.

But, man. It can also be a gift. An escape from the inside of your head. A way to get a break from near-crippling anxiety.

The line, however, between loosening up and having a good time and potentially damaging yourself/being an idiot/ending up with a murderous emotional hangover...  that line is rather thin. And basically invisible when you're actually drinking. This can cause some problems. And frequently does, for me at least. Most of the time I'm fine and I can keep my drinking within reasonable limits. Sometimes though... I just lose control. I go way overboard. And this has two very shitty results: First, I always hate myself the next day. Like, more than usual. I feel ashamed and stupid. And second, it really, really upsets my husband. Which I understand. Because it's foolish and potentially dangerous. Also, because I apparently say really shitty stuff to him when I'm blackout drunk.

I did it last night. I don't know why. I don't even really know how.... I thought I was being pretty good about spacing out my drinks and everything. Maybe I didn't eat enough. Or maybe it's because the effects of alcohol can be a little unpredictable for a mentally unstable and heavily medicated person. Or maybe both. In any case, I screwed up. Again. And I feel horrible about it and about myself. Also, my husband is pretty upset with me... which always makes me feel worthless. I apologized, of course, but I know it will take him a while to get over it. I know this because, like I said, I've done this before. Because I am an asshat.

Sometimes I think that maybe I just shouldn't drink alcohol at all anymore. Because no matter how long I go doing just fine, I eventually have one of these episodes again. But then I think of all the times that I don't go overboard and how much fun my friends and I have knocking back a few beers and shooting the shit... and I don't want to not have those times. I like to cut loose and get silly from time to time. It's fun. It's therapeutic. But getting puking-blackout-drunk and calling your spouse nasty names is beyond shitty. For loads of reasons.

So, yeah. It's probably true that I shouldn't drink with the meds I'm on. And it's probably true that if I cannot consistently control my consumption (that was inadvertently weirdly alliterative) that I just shouldn't ever drink. That sounds like the most reasonable course of action.

It also sounds like a total bummer.