I went to therapy today and I feel like a ton of weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I feel much better than I have the past week. I’m actually not doing as bad as I thought. Shew! That released so much tension from my neck. Not to mention, my sister blocked me. YAY! Sometimes in life, you have to drop the extremely toxic people in your life. If they’re not giving off positive energy, you don’t need them in your life. I’m so happy, I could literally do flips right now, if I didn’t have anxiety. My luck, I’ll crack my neck or break a leg.

From where I was to this point, I’ve done so much better. Instead of having that Borderline rooooaaaar every day, I have one, maybe every six months or so. It’s like I suck in problems like a sponge and then I erupt like a volcano. Yeah, I had one of those outbursts every single day. Someone would say something foul to me and it would set me off. I was like a ticking time bomb. Waddling around and saying ticktock, ticktock. And then I would go BOOM.

As I was telling my therapist everything, I sort of laughed today. “I know this is going to sound really crazy or a work of fiction but this, this, and this happened in my life.” My husband also attended my therapy session. He was worrying about me like he always does. He explained to my therapist what my outbursts were like. So collectively, my therapist and my husband believe it’s severe anxiety that’s the main issue. It’s like a barrier and BPD is my shield of armor. If that makes any sense. It’s hard for me to handle multiple problems at the same time. And when you have multiple kids coming up to you and pulling you in different directions, you sort of freak out a little bit. The anxiety wants me to retreat to my room. We can hide out together. You can tell, I have severe anxiety. I never thought it was that bad. So, they came up with a game plan to help me tackle anxiety, the gorilla in the room. The mad, stomping, and noisy gorilla. It’s like a switch. Anxiety is the button and BPD is like the powder keg. It makes wicked fireworks. Sometimes it can be pretty. Okay, maybe not pretty. Bipolar is just sitting around, smoking a cigarette. “When do you want to dance? I’m feeling sexy today… let’s go dancing. Shall we do the rumba?” Bipolar is the least of my problems. Good when you’re manic and it sucks when you hit the pavement, head first. It’s just doing the tango in my head. “Let me know, when you feel like a sexy diva again.” And then Bipolar sits in a corner, taking another drag off a cigarette. Everyone loves to be around you, when you’re happy. They hate it when you’re a tornado. You’re not as much fun, when you’re roaring like a lion.

My childish antics stems from Bipolar. Water balloons! Time to play pranks on everyone! I can deal with Bipolar I a lot easier than the others. The others, I’m trying to shove in a closet but the closet door is bulging out. “Get back in there! Bad BPD! Bad Anxiety! Stay in the closet! No, no! Not today!” Drats! They broke the damn closet door. Bad disorders! Hey, even I have to laugh at myself. When you’re telling your therapist, “I know this is going to sound really fucked up, but…” and of course this. “My family is really fucked up. I know this sounds like a fictional novel but this shit really did happen to me.” My husband is sitting there and he confirms everything I’ve been through. “Jen has suffered from a ton of crap. She used to be worse than this. She’s gotten so much better but we need to work on her Anxiety.” Note that he said “we” and not “me.” I have this goofy smile on my face. “He gets me!”

So, I tell the therapist that I don’t need my husband to “tame” me. I love him but I want him to be happy, too. I feel as though, I’m a burden and it does suck you down sometimes. My husband, god love him… “I’m here because I want to help her. I love her unconditionally. Some would call me pussy whipped, but I’m not. I just love her. If I can find new techniques that I haven’t thought of, I’m willing to learn.” He’s so… going to get laid. But he’s always been that way. He enjoys the fact that I love him so intensely. Without a shadow of doubt, I can say that he’s the only person, I can trust 100%. I don’t trust my own family members. They’ve done things in the past for me not to trust them. I don’t trust my siblings or parents. After you’ve been burned a few times, you don’t want to return to that burning sensation. Because you know they’re going to say something really stupid or something really dumb.

Holidays are the worst for me. I can’t handle the holidays. I have to put on a fake smile to make others feel at ease. What I really want to do is stab them with a fork. I’m talking about parents and siblings. I love my immediate family. So you sit there and you give them the look of death. You’re in my bubble and I don’t want you here. And you’re almost tempting them. “Say something to me, fool. Just say one negative thing. I dare you. I fucking dare you!” That angry scowl remains until they leave. Once they leave, you breathe a sigh of relief. I love my in-laws but I can’t stand my own family. I wouldn’t stab them because I’m not that kind of person. But I don’t enjoy their visits. I love my niece. She’s pretty amazing. And she’s planning her wedding. I excitedly want to attend it and then I remembered it’s a function. It also puts me outside and near a crowd. People who I don’t know, will be there. I have to remain sober and hopefully, they put me on the right medication by that time. I want to be there for her. I just don’t want to deal with my dad and his woman. That feeling and anxiety of him acting like this. “I am God! You shall kneel down to me, you paupers! I am the God of shit!” I’m actually laughing as I see my dad pound his chest like a gorilla and sticking his nose up in the air. And when he sits down in a chair, he sits with perfect posture. And here my husband is bumping into me to get me to stop scowling at him. My husband notices me tightening my lips together and my eyes are shooting daggers at him. Which that would be a cool superhuman trait to have. I could shoot daggers out of my eyes and they make direct hit. Damn, I’m morbid! I would rather listen to Polka all day long than deal with my extended family.

I shall bow down to you and tell you that I’m not worthy of being in your existence! I really don’t like the man. He makes my blood boil. I’m trying to forgive but it’s hard when you think of supernatural abilities. He would make a good rogue to kill off in my novels. See, I’m creative. I would make one awesome vampire until it came to blood. I don’t see myself killing anything for blood. “Not the cute bunnies, kittens, or puppies! You monster!” Now you see why, I write Dark Fantasy. I have a morbid sense of humor. I can create awesome villains. Those types of villains that you hate to love or love to hate.

When you can leave therapy in a joking mood, that feels great. The burden has been lifted and we are peeling back the onion. I may cry but I also can laugh at my insanity. I’m happy today and I hope I have more days like this. I love this feeling.

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