Dear Diary

Taking advantage of my employer’s EAP. Employee assistance program and getting 5 free therapy sessions.

Today, like many other days, I wanted to die.

I just woke up hating myself. Hating my job. Hating my financial situation. Hating my house. Hating my life. I screamed at Jake because he couldn’t find his coat. He cried. I felt guilty for doing this all day long. I couldn’t wait to get off work and apologize to him.

I can’t explain what all goes through my head. The hate and disappointment I have for myself. The hate for my brain for making me think things. Like Adam, why the fuck do I still think about him? Why every night do thoughts of him leaving me enter my mind? Why does my brain allow this to hurt me over and over and fucking over again?

Today it was suicide. I can’t tell you if I didn’t have my kids I’d be alive today. But I think I would because I’d have money and I’d be taking. But I probably wouldn’t. I’d probably be doing what I do now and questioning every God damn thing I do at work. Did I do it right? Did I forget this? When did I do that? Are they going to fire? When are they going to fire me? Why do they still employ me if I’m so awful. I forgot to put pics in a cease and desist letter today. My boss didn’t tell me he changed the wording. I’m losing sleep thinking of the repercussions of not including pics in a generic craze and desist letter. Should I mail it all out again tomorrow? Then they’ll question when the 15 days starts. Oh my God, I’m so pathetic. I can’t even mail a letter right.

I’m seeing a therapist tomorrow. I think it’s funny that even when you mention suicide they just schedule you for an appointment at a later date. Yeah, thanks. I can’t say I won’t be thinking of killing myself by then but I’ll try to hold it.

Truth is I could never, ever kill myself. Because of the boys. I won’t leave them. No matter my thoughts of myself. I try to ignore the fact that I’m going to live thinking and hurting myself bringing myself to yet another heart racing night of no sleep, anxiety attacks. No one’s going to want me. Especially if I have something that actually requires my story like doing exercises or completing workbooks. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to relive my past and my feelings. I don’t want to purposely think of how I think. I’m trying to push those thoughts away.

I vomited twice after dinner. I’m making myself physically sick. I really am living in my own self-created hell.

I bent to you today because I know I’m not alone. Because I’m trying to clear my head. Because I’m trying to make myself tired.

My heart is still racing. I know I won’t get much sleep tonight and that stresses me out.

Again, no one is ever going to want to be with me. It’s why I’ve been divorced twice. I can’t make a relationship last. Why I didn’t handle my dad’s death well and acted impulsively. Why I didn’t handle Jeff’s death well. The drinking, the eating, the sex, the drugs. All of it. I hate myself for all of it.

I’m going to try to close my eyes now. I took some propranolol. I don’t even see it working for me these days.

Therapy tomorrow means a lover lunch break which means making up time which means more sitting at my desk doing absolutely nothing but fucking up one single thing asked of me. I’m making myself want to vomit again.

This is a very, very personal post. I’m hesitant in publishing it. But I kind of want to see if I’m not alone. I know the thoughts aren’t normal. But I can’t be the only person who thinks this way. I can’t be alone. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be alone in my life. I have so much love to give. I want it in return. I just don’t know if I’m deserving of it or worth the hell I could potentially put someone through with my anxiety and constant reassurance that they’ll never leave, they love me for who I am on my good days and those days are worth going through the bad with me.

Ugh, to publish or not to publish? I might leave it public for a while. We’ll see.

BPD

The moment when you bring up your irrational behavior and hate of yourself, the admission of not sleeping three nights because of fever anxiety offset by sleeping for hours during the day in a depressive mood and you mention just the title of the book your therapist recommended you read and both friends say, “Oh, you’re borderline” that suddenly everything clicks. Everything clicked. I’m almost certain I have and my doctor and therapist believe me to have borderline personality disorder.

If only this realization made me easier to love.

Handsome Pants

I want an apology. I want an “I’m sorry for dating you for over 6 months and breaking up with you over the phone”. I’m sorry got continuing to sleep with you when I no longer had feelings for you. I’m sorry I cheated on you. I have proof, want to know, call me, we’ll chat. I’m sorry for saying you were the biggest person you ever dated then dumped. For lying to me. Got saying I was a catch then dumping me. I just want an apology so I can move the fuck on.

I won’t even tell you about what a piece of shit you are. I won’t mention that I wish I’d never met you. I won’t mention that my kids ask about you. That I want my door fixed. That I want all the things you’d mentioned you’d do for me done like painting the trim, fixing my floor, digging up roots in my yard. I want all of those nearly 7 months back so I can give them to someone who really cares about me because clearly you didn’t.

So fuck you and everything about you.

Sober as fuck right now. Bitter as hell.