The Life and Times of a Suicidal Maniac

   Time is one of the best and worst things about life. Time spent living in a moment, enjoying it, can be truly wonderful. Time spent in a worry-some state can be hell. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where I come to you from this evening. Here I sit, alone in the dark, forcing myself not to do anything stupid. For those who may ask, yes, my boyfriend is home. He is asleep and I'll be damned if I wake him up for anything less than an emergency. No, I don't consider myself, nor my current state, an emergency.

   A few hours ago I started feeling very anxious, like my skin was too tight, like all the heat was trapped inside my body and I was suffocating. I went for a walk in the cold, 2 laps down, couldn't breathe for lack of an inhaler to control my asthma, I decided to call it quits. I soaked in the tub to relax the muscles around my ribs (per doctor's orders) and attempted to explain a little about my disorder and the way I feel to my significant other. He went to sleep and here I sit. Typing this blog post to keep my idle hands busy. 

   Before I started this post, I was contemplating how easy it would be to cut myself right now. He'd never really have to know I'd done anything, but alas I know I'd end up regretting the decision to self-harm in a few days, once I felt better. I also, for the second time today, considered chopping all my hair off. Drastic change might help shock me into realizing this is my body, and not me experiencing someone else's life. And lastly and most concerning, I have considered suicide again. I read a blog post, which I will not be linking, that was based upon someone's recovery process and how they are now better coping with BPD. Sadly, all I seemed to focus on was that the symptoms never go away, and I don't want to live like that. My immediate reaction? "Well fuck this shit, it's not worth it. Why should I continuously burden all these innocent people in my life?" Now, hearing what I sounded like, I wonder how many other people with debilitating physical, emotional or mental illnesses have thought those exact words... and then followed through with it. The empathetic side of me is overwhelmed. 

Also, I'd like to note for my own personal record, that I could also tell something was up by the way I've reverted to thinking my stuffed animals have feelings. Yay inner child.

   So I'd like to briefly touch on something I explained to my boyfriend earlier, involving the "evolution" of my high's and low's. 

When I was around 13, I slowly developed my eating disorder, and for the sake of time I won't be delving into the birth of my self destructive habits, and I'll be only focusing on the timeline itself.

So, where was I? Oh yes. Thirteen. Previously I'd been pretty steady, I don't recall any periods of extreme high's or low's before the age of 13, but I know that I was doing well. For the sake of this I'm going to use a scale to better explain the ups and downs. So prior to 13 I would say my life was at a pretty constant 9. Not perfect, but I was maintaining my stress and life in general fairly well. At age 13, at the onset of my anorexic tendencies, my life dropped to a 6. Not terribly low, but not great either. It was a steady drop from age 13-16 and at 16 I dropped to a 4. It may not seem like much, but back then I thought I had hit rock bottom. So the cutting and carving commenced. I stayed here until late in the year that I turned 17. I came up a notch, to an 7,  I was doing a little better. I still had bad tendencies, I was still developing other bad habits; cue hair pulling, scratching, burning and ridiculous interpersonal relationships. I was stable until shortly after graduation. I'd been in my job a few months before I started being "counciled" for bad behaviors I had no memory of. I was having what I now refer to as "shut down black outs", where I have allowed the emotions to bottle for too long without any form of release and I shut down, lose all train of thought and sensibility and run my mouth like a previously prostituted nun in the convent. Then, I black out all memory of it ever happening. Lovely isn't it? No. It cost me my first real job, and hindered the most recent one severely. This isn't mentioning the toll its taken on my relationships with my family members, my friends and those I've been in relationships with. And now we come to the most recent "drop", I have dropped from 7 to a 3. My all time low. Though I'm not actively suicidal or actively self-harming, I'm still afraid for my life, every single day. I worry I'll give up, I worry I'll never get help, I worry I'll keep losing jobs and failing in life, I'm most worried that I'll lose my current boyfriend and be alone again because I've trusted him above everyone else I've ever allowed in my life, friends and family included.

Well I suppose that's all folks. I feel slightly less desperate now, and hopefully the boyfriend won't be asleep for too long. I'm kind of afraid to be alone.

Forever Fearful~

Maggie

Also, I forgot to add my current biggest fear. My boyfriend has noticed my mild cardiac arrhythmia and now I'm terrified. YAY STUPID FEARS!!!!