Dealing with feelings.

I'm going to start a workbook for BPDs. I've read through Chapter 1. Tonight I'm going to bed early and I'm going to do something good for myself tomorrow morning when I wake up.

I treated Dean so badly these past several years. My BPD wrath finally caught up with me, and I've hurt a relationship, that may be the single most important relationship I've ever had, and ever will have, with a man.

He emailed me a few times last week. It isn't the same. The damage is done. Dealing with these feelings is hard. I'm over the rage. The rage and the pain of his rejection. There is nothing left to burn, nothing left to tear up, nothing left to delete. All the presents, pictures, love letters, all gone. Vacation photos, things he gave me, I ruined them, threw them away, over the years, during my BPD fits of rage. I threw our relationship in the gutter. It's all my fault. And now he's gone. He's not completely gone, but he's tired and he's lost hope that I will ever change and just be nice for a change.

He gave me a little parchment paper journal that his father brought him from Egypt, I tore it up a few years ago when we were mad at eachother. A beautiful ceramic Lotus his mother gave me as a gift when I last visited her home in Houston, I smashed it during an outburst.

My sweetest lover, the only father I've ever known, my brother, my best friend, he's truly had his fill.

How it hurts, but I'm dealing. I could just get into the car and smash it into a brick wall at 60 miles per hour, listening to the loudest, most depressing music I could find, but instead I choose to just climb into bed, for it is 32 degrees outside, turn off the television and read my book for a little while until I fall asleep, than tomorrow, I rise with the sun and do something terrific.

I forgot to mention...

My druggie life is a nightmare.

Did I happen to mention I'm bulimic? Maybe I did. It's a little known fact that I forget to tell people sometimes ;-) I happened to mention today at work that I "used to" make myself puke for about a year to loose weight. Ha! I'm such a liar.

I don't do it all the time, like maybe I do it about 4-5 meals out of the week. When I eat fast food. Ugh. I did it in a major way last night. I came home from work feeling like shit and starving, I ate about $10.00 in fastfood than, that disgusting full feeling hit so I forced myself to puke it up only it wouldn't come up so I had to keep trying and it hurt my throat and my head. So, today, I was late for work, my entire body was hurting all day and my head has been pounding. I took one 10mg vicodin, than, about an hour later, took another 7.5mg. I fucked up at work all day long, not giving a shit and even looked like hell with hair all frizzy and crazy in a bun cause I didn't have time to fix it this morning. When I got home just now I could barely walk, I felt so weak and just wanted to eat the entire house. I was so pissed cause as usual the only thing in the fridge are condiments and some organic milk that I decided to roll a joint and go to KFC. I only ordered the grilled chicken breast w/ a grilled drumstick, a biscuit, and mashed potatoes without the gravy. I don't feel so bad I guess.

I want to stop, everything, ya know. Before it's to late and I'm in my 40s and have wasted an entire youth on self destruction leading up to a wasted, old, unhealthy body with lines all over my face. I'm only 32 years old, people mistake me for being 24-25 all the time. I can see the wear and tear on this face, the tiny line inbetween my eyes that seems to get more and more profound every day, the tiny lines that have just appeared under microscopic mirror that were never there before.

My, my, my, I feel so much better. My head still hurts and my back is aching, my shoulders and feet are throbbing. I feel calmer though. When I got home I was sobbing.

What is wrong with me? This can't be normal ya know. I don't want to end my life but I don't have anything to look forward to. Life just keeps going on. My niece and nephew are all I live for.

There is a meteor shower tonight. I'm going to blame it on that for now. I'd do anything for a massage. That would solve all my worries.

The awful truth is that nobody really cares about me. People say they do but in the end it's not the way I need them to care. I'm a vampire sucking the care and concern right out of them. I miss Dean so much and he just takes my money than ignores me all week long. I wish I would die in my sleep. I hate my life. I am empty with nothing left to give. I'm just a purposeless loser, a slave to this system of greed and material wealth. Does everybody feel this way? Am I crazy or am I just too real for my own good. I wish a satellite would fall from the sky and land on my head.

Had sex this afternoon with somebody I've known for about 7 years but know nothing about him, including his real name. We fuck once every few months when I'm strapped for cash. He usually pays me $200.00 but he only gave me $173.00 today, said his daughter took his ATM card. Go figure.

I went to Target immediately afterwards.

I don't mind having sex with him. He's attractive, well built and well hung. I close my eyes and try to pretend I'm somewhere else though. It still felt good, in a way.

If it was Dean it would feel better. I don't even kiss this person. With Dean there is love and passion. This was a thirteen minute payday.

But of course I feel guilty as he'll for doing it. I feel like Mary Magdalane all over again. Thank God for prescription pills. Lorazepam .5, two of them and a brownie and some icecream. I also smoked a little off this roach i found in my truck.

I hate my life.

Another day another dollar. Honey bees are rapidly disappearing. Another pending catastrophe to keep me awake at night. Lovely.

I feel so alone. Tired. Work is insane. The only thing that gets me through the days are my vicodin pills.

I ate too much pizza and brownies today. Other that that all week was devoted to whole grains, omega 3 and vegetables.

Miss Dean so much, but in the long run our relationship won't last. I don't see him being dedicated enough to stay with me into my 40s and 50s. I'm going to die alone. Just like Morrissey.

Went back to work. Good thing my resumè is updated. I'm not sure I can do what I'm doing for much longer. The stress is insane. I'm on vicodin 7.5 two or three times a day. My antidepressant is working ok. No pot so far. Back to work today. I'm happy though, for how long I wonder.