Knock, knock

Since my moods have been on the decline and my self-harming thoughts have returned I took responsibility and told my doctor.  I asked to be referred back to my psychiatrist, to DBT, to be put back on medication, and to attend counselling.  I don’t want to do any of it, but I don’t want to be as bad as I have in the past and I know I won’t be able to “fix” myself without help.

So, I had my first counselling session, which wasn’t really a counselling session as it was “intake” to see what programs for therapy I would suit.  It did involve some back and forth – strategies to try when my moods are low until I get into the other programs, stuff like that.  But one question she asked me is one I’ve asked myself, but couldn’t answer well so I pushed it way to the back of my mind and tried very hard not to visit it… Who am I?  And she qualified that she did NOT mean my name, occupation, etc. unless that actually is who I am.   I understood but was stumped.  Beyond the basic drivers licence info, who (really) am I?

Physically – I am no longer the super morbidly obese girl.  I am not even technically (according to BMI scales) an overweight girl.  BUT I do NOT come anywhere close to feeling like a skinny girl (especially with the extra skin hanging and the “apron” I pray every day will be removed soon) or even average or the evil “normal.”  I actually think I was prettier when I was heavier, and now think my smile is too big for my face, so I can’t say I’m the girl with the amazing smile.  I can’t describe myself physically.

Personality – Well… I have Borderline Personality Disorder… but that’s not who I am.  That’s how I react sometimes, how I think most times and primarily what drives me but I don’t think it actually is me.  I also have chronic and severe depression and anxiety but I don’t think that’s me either because sometimes I feel fine.

I can’t tell you who I am, really.  Because I don’t know.  I’m one giant contradiction.  If you asked me, in passing, if I am happy with my life I’d tell you without hesitation that overall, yes, I am.  But when I think about it, there’s a lot not to be happy about.  So a lot of the time I’m not happy.  A lot of the time I’m stressed and miserable.  But I still feel happy, too.  I love my boyfriend, and my daughter.  They also both drive me bonkers and sometimes I feel stressed and miserable.  But I still feel happy, too.  My fake smiles are a lot less, and real smiles are a lot more.  So, I think, while it seems the bad outnumbers the good – and it very well might, actually – the good outweighs the bad making me say that I am, in fact, happy.

It’s actually quite terrifying, though.  Maybe I should be miserable and angry about everything but I end up being hopeful.  I’m having a lot of pretty serious medical issues that are causing a great decline in my quality of life but I keep plugging away because I’m sure we can fix it once we know what’s actually wrong and then I can go back to being happy.  Maybe I should let everything get me down, and a couple years ago I totally would have.  I wouldn’t keep trying with a relationship that required work because I didn’t want to put work in – I thought if a relationship didn’t work itself then it would never work and wasn’t worth trying, but I don’t believe that anymore.  I wouldn’t keep trying to find a job that pays decently but that won’t stress me out and make me physically ill.  It’s much easier to quit and go on permanent disability but I don’t want to.  I want to be productive and feel like I’ve made some sort of difference.

So, I don’t know.  I ramble, a lot, but that’s part of the thoughts racing through my head constantly and sometimes I just have to get them out.

Knock, knock.

Who’s There?

I don’t know. 😦

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