02/18/22:

 Grandma's House

    Okay. I had another bad spell today. I sequestered myself in my room, and watched Flash for six hours, drifting in and out of sleep. I have no explanation. I had a great morning, and then... my mind betrayed me. By all accounts, my morning was great. Lots of laughs; this new job seriously wants me, and I wasn't anxious for the fifth interview at all. Stephanie's friend said nothing but encouraging words, and I was absolutely vibing.

    And then...

    I'm not sure what the trigger was. I think the issue is that some of my triggers are so little that I don't even notice until I'm already spiraling. I don't know what it was. I wrote in my phone's notes, so here they are; my thought log:

        You know, I think I always knew I was forgettable. I didn't think I was quite that easy to forget. Maybe I was wrong. I spend my life forcing my existence on people, in my mind, so I created this system of giving people things or making them laugh to make the perceived burden a little lighter. Dude, it's as exhausting as it sounds.

        Lately, the trampoline is looking better and better all the time. DOWN BELOW!

        Uncle Dirk knocked on my door, and I had a brief moment of confusion. I was half asleep, and his knock was exactly the same as Dad's. I wanted to say Dad, but I knew where I was, and it was the fastest deliberation that had the heaviest weight. It's funny because they look and act so different, but then Uncle will do something so Dad-like that it's like deja vu.

    Incroyable! Siblings act similar!

    The couple quick knocks, and the scratchy knock that followed right after. I wasn't fully asleep, but I was bone-tired enough to almost say "Dad?" again. I was bone-tired enough to miss Dad. The crippling emotional exhaustion and the ache in my bones had burrowed in my stomach, making me vulnerable. Enough to miss Dad in a weird way. I see Anyela, the little girl, and I see optimism, like I had, and a love for her dad, like I had.

    Back to dinner. Uncle Dirk asked if I was okay, and I said yes. There's no other answer because I have no good reason. I just picked at a roll for dinner, and I don't know why. I just couldn't muster up the energy. The energy to be hungry, the energy to lift the roll pieces to my mouth, the energy to chew. All of it was too much.

    I went to my room, but I had to ask Uncle Dirk what time we were going to the store tomorrow. He said they typically go when Uncle David gets here, but not to worry, because they wouldn't leave me behind. And then he asked the same from me. That I not leave him behind either. 

    All I could think about was Stephanie's dream, the trampoline, and how I left her behind with that wicked smile. That cold, cruel-pretty smile.

    So instead I lied. There's nothing to worry about, I said. Sabes, como una mentirosa. I closed my door, and the truly shameful part started. 

    Anyone who has seen me in short sleeves can tell, and with how thick they are, I can't exactly hide my scars. They're like a walking glaring sign that screams, "Ask me about my shitty coping!" I try not to hide them anyway. I feel like talking about them reduces a stigma. Anyone who has issues with self harm as well will often come up and whisper to me about our shared trauma. Anyone who doesn't know what it's like will stare.

    So I talk about it.

    I was so tightly wound, so so so tightly wound, I felt like I needed to leave, to run, to drive-- but all of my escape routes were gone. I couldn't drive, I couldn't walk, I couldn't even sit outside because the dogs and gate were locked. I paced my room, back and forth back and forth, feeling alternately too much or nothing at all.

    I am hugely ashamed to admit it, but I prowled my room and searched restlessly for something sharp. I didn't want to, but my eyes couldn't stop cataloguing everything in terms of how sharp it is. I pavlov'd myself, I guess. That didn't stop me from feeling like a fucking junkie though.

    Luckily, thankfully, I didn't find anything. Anything! Even after I lowered my standards-- I'd just had a tetanus booster, so rust? Noooooo problem-- and felt so entirely low. I did my best to remember all the tools I've been working on, but it still takes a while to reach for them. It's still not instinctive yet.

    I think this is where the idea of running away but taking yourself with you truly settled into me. Typical Jackie. Leaves the country and can't leave her shit coping behind. Thinks she has to force a feeling out of herself so the sick ache and dull numbness can go away. This journal helps though. I know a lot of it is dark, but it reminds me that I've fought some hellish days, and am still kicking. Like I said a while ago, nothing's killed me yet.

    It wasn't a bad day. Future Jackie, when you read this later, that's not what I mean at all. It was a good day with lots of laughs. But I couldn't shake the sheer terror and sadness, and isn't that dumb? Isn't the point of BPD quick mood swings? Ugh. Of course when I rely on the typical symptom, it doesn't happen.

    I took a nap, woke up restless, took another nap, sent an email, watched The Flash, and just laid there, watching people do something with their lives instead of acknowledging that I was just limp, existing in my own. Just a shell. Just an idiot who thought she could outrun herself.

    I feel bad. Uncle Dirk doesn't deserve dealing with my mood swings, the vibe changes, and he's very kind about them, always, but I hate that not even a new country with some sick traveling, and my favorite relative can keep the bad away. 

    I can't let my guard down. I don't know who will kill me.

    When Uncle Dirk stopped by for the Last Call-- what I deemed it whenever he knocks to say he's turning on the alarm, and do I need anything from the kitchen?-- I was slowly shaking off the mood, and my smile was a little more genuine. When he knocked to say good night, my smile was genuine and I was feeling better.

    He told me he was glad I'm here, that I came down. Like he'd read this-- impossible; I keep it locked-- or something.

    I feel better now.

    J