It’s been a while…..

Fuck, it’s been a while, but I’ve been on one now for a good 2 months. Mania & depression be killin me. Today I am definitely tearful and borderline suicidal. I hate my fucking life. I feel backed into a corner, and I cannot dig myself out. My account is $600 overdrawn, and I don’t even pay rent. I have lost everything because I did not know I had BPD until it was too late. I threw away a marriage, my job, my family, my house, everything to chase dick. I stopped practicing Islam, the one thing that kept me grounded. I don’t even know how to begin again. I have no space of my own. I have nothing. Literally nothing. A piece of shit car, pt custody of my kids, a bedroom. I keep telling myself that there are people who would love to have what I have, so I should be fucking grateful. 

I hurt…. FUCK I hurt so god damn bad. Online dating, sexting, etc., has been my life. I left my engagement, and am now ready to jump right into the next one. Like a reel through my mind “Would someone just fucking save me!” Settle me down. Love me. Give me, give me, give me hope. What do I have to offer them?? A ccrazy ass wife. Who has an insatiable sex drive and cannot get enough affection. Lucky them. 

I think Somme the last time I blogged, I’ve burned through a few short term relationships. TheJamaican blame extremely verbally abusive, and I saw where that was going and burned that bridge to no return. I had a short term stint with a man from Ghana. A married man from Ghana. I broke his heart. I broke the Jamaicans heart. Now, Mr. Burkina Faso. Will you love me, will I love you. There is also Mr. Kenya/S. Africa. I still don’t know WTF he wants from me. He’s got money. And he wants a baby. He’s not Muslim. Where is my forever. Where is my lover. Is it Mr. Gambia? Who is he? 

Do you see this in my mind. I care nothing more than who the next man is. I used to be able to take care of myself. Now I cannot. I was independent. Had my own place. Took are of my shit. Now, I just want to disappear. And die. I don’t want to hurt my children. But I don’t want to continue on like this. 

If I didn’t have kids, I’d be dead. Long ago. 

My addiction is food and sex and affection.  I am round. Squishy. And need to be assured I am beautiful and sexy or I’d die. 

Today I am full of sorrow, grief, heartache. I wanna vanish… 

Across the World

I want the adventures of Dar Es Salaam.

I want the passion from Kingston.

I want the Smile and warm embrace from Brikama.

I want the security & sensitivity of Lamin Village.

I want the love letters from Kumasi.

I want the spontaneity from Andalusia.

I want the taste of Banjul. 

I want the dedication from Mali. 

I want the innocence of Johannesburg.

I want the mystery and youthfulness of Calabar.

Anxiety Fucking Overload

I had a “To do” list today that I am working on. Usually that relieves my anxiety, but today, not so much. I am fucking anxious. I am supposed to be saving money but I have spent so frivously for so long, that I can’t seem to get caught up. 

Things causing me Anxiety:

  1. Not finishing my divorce papers. (My husband is moving, and I need to have everything wrapped up in 1 month from today, including the court appearance.) Fuck!
  2. Getting my fucking car fixed. 3 mechanics, countless hours and money spent, nobody seems to be able to figure out WTF is going on with it. 
  3. MONEY! I should not be broke, but I am, in my eyes. I had a certain amount of money to last me 2 weeks, and I blew through it all, so here I am 2 weeks out from payday, and I am already borrowing from that paycheck. This is the fucking struggle of my life.
  4. The Boyfriend. I am so fucking terrified of being discarded from him, I just want him to go away. But I love him. I AM SO FUCKING SCARED OF BEING HURT. This makes me want to cry just thinking about it. What if all the things he says to me are lies. What if his idea of love and my idea of love are different. He basically told me last night, and this morning, that my constant negativity is affecting him, and the way he feels about me. So, naturally I am like, I just need to fuckinng walk away from him. He’ll never be there for me in the way I want him to. He will never understand my BPD, he will never ever be part of team unicorn. BREATHE……….My anxiety around this is so fucking profound, I just wanna die. But I cannot die, my kids need me. They need for me to get my fucking shit together. I want this to all just go away. Life is really fucking hard. 
  5. I want to move my kids home up North right now. But I cannot. Because I need a reliable vehicle, and money to move.

BREATHE.

I have not prayed in a long time. I know this is exactly what I need to do. But, I cannot find the time within myself to do it. But it is the number one most important thing about being a Muslimah. I am proud of my religion, but have no energy to practice it. How fucked up is that. 

Are these guys at Les Schwab gunna fix my tire yet or what, been here over an hour.  
I’m tired. 

This weekend was my brothers 8 year anniversary of his suicide. 

The Jamaican keeps texting/calling me, I  accept. I like the attention. 

these random fucking thoughts. 

She’s up and running…She trips and falls

imageMy life, is exactly explained in the above title. This morning I woke up, energized, ready to take on the world,  and super happy. I made good decisions last night. Thats right, I made good decisions. This girl.

The Jamaican texted me yesterday around 6pm, and told me he wanted to get a hotel room for us. I still haven’t seen him in person since I have been with my BF. I agreed to the hotel room because I was in full fuck it mode, and I wanted revenge, and I wanted amazing sex and I wanted to be fucking selfish. I went home and showered, shaved, powdered, perfumed, did my make-up etc.

Around midnight he texted me, and said he had purchased the hotel room. By then, I was naked in bed half asleep. He called me, and I said I’d get up, get ready and meet him. I got up, got some lounge clothes on, then climbed back into bed. I called him and told him I couldn’t come. I was too tired. In reality I felt like God was like, listen bitch, if you even go there, consider this relationship with your BF done.  So, I didn’t go. I had a conscious last night, and I have not had that kind of clairity in a long time. I felt fucking great when I woke up this morning. I MADE GOOD CHOICES!

On my way to work, I left BAE a VM telling him how much I loved him and how I miss him. About 2 minutes later I left him an 8 minute VM on how I felt about our relationship. How I felt mislead in places (maybe my misunderstanding), how I felt vulnerable etc. I bounced into work, coffee in hand, smoked a cigarette with my co-worker and told her how proud I was of myself, and everything was back on track.

In my mind I thought the BF would say, “Baby, I do want to marry you. We will move together up North, with the kids, and I will find another job there, everything will be fine.” But that wasn’t the case. He just said he wants to take our time, and everything will be fine. I will listen to that VM like 800 times until I hear from it what I want to hear, or until it completely destroys me. Right now, I am hurting inside, my bubble has burst, I just want to run away.

It is Eid today, Our Muslim holiday. I miss my husband. I miss my old life. I miss security. Financially. Emotionally. I miss my friends. I miss all this things my BPD fucked up for me. I fucked up.

My anxiety is crippling, I am exhausted. I just want to curl up in bed and cry until my BF gives me what I want and I do not feel so fucking rejected. Even though I know, deep down inside, this should take time. But I tell myself stories that make this whole thing worse. It’s times like this I wish I could just die of natural causes, and disappear.

But my kids need me more than ever.

I am the fucking queen of destruction

Saturday I had written a blog post, and apparently I didn’t save it. As I write this I glance at my phone over 20 times looking for a text or a snapchat or a message of any kind from one of my lovers I’ve reached out to. 

I am mad at my BF because he didn’t give me the attention I was seeking this weekend, both physically and emotionally. Boom, just like that a message. Let’s see what it says and who it’s from;

“Can I pass by and see you.” -The Jamaican (in a voice message). 

Oh my god, the Jamaican is the best sex I’ve ever had in my life. Before I moved back here, My Gpa was passing, so I was here very other weekend. My girl was pushing me to go out to a club with her the night he actually passed away and I was like fuck it fine. I went. As soon as I walked by him, I knew he’d me mine. He’s fucking sexy and watching him dance on me, I knew he’d fuck just as good. We ended up in the back seat of my rental car, for like an hour. The next day I had bumps and bruises and it was amazing.  I was dating my ex BF at the time, I was cheating all over the place. I wanted more of him though. I fucking craved him and all the attention he gave me. 

Once I moved here, We had a 2nd rendezvous, and I swear, I wanted to die…….. I couldn’t get enough of him. The current BF, had started to get serious, so I let the Jamaican go. I shouldn’t even be thinking about fucking around with someone who is a non-Muslim, and has a baby mama he lives with, and is in a relationship with. So yeah, there’s that. I should leave well enough alone, but I can’t. I should stay serious and faithful to my BF, but I can’t. I am in full BPD destruction mode, and I am enjoying the high. 

PS, I fired my therapist because she is horrible. 

Side note; I’ve never not been in some kind of relationship. I jump from BF to BF, relationship to relationship, fuk buddy to fuck buddy……..I can NEVER be alone.

So, After I wasn’t getting enough attention this weekend, I set out to the menu, the Jamaican, and others I was able to pull forth from my old black book. (The menu = Online dating sites)

I did a few things I was not proud of, but WTF ever. That’s where I am t today. Really fucking anxious, self destructive, often with ideations, but I don’t want to stop. I know it’s wrong, I totally do……. I know I’m hurting people.

This may offend you….. if you’re Caucasian.

I am a Native American Woman. My tribe is Nez Perce (Nimi’ipuu~ “We the People”). 

I am a Sunni Muslim. Converted on my own, in 2013. 

I am a Pflag mother, a left-winging Liberal

And I am really fucking passionate about the above listed. 

I have a raging problem with “White America,” I am not a terrorist. 

My paternal grandparents were from the Netherlands. 

My Maternal grandfather was Finnish, Maternal grandmother was Native. My grandfather converted to Native-Americanism. 😉 this is only slightly a joke. Though he spoke Finnish, he took on our native culture as his own. 

My skin is light, but the pride for my native culture is thick. 

I was not raised by my biological paternal family, I know nothing about being Dutch. 

I was raised with moccasins, goulash, fry bread, stories of my ancestors, etc. 

However, I was also raised in a family who used racially charged language that offended me for as long as I could remember. 

When I was 9 months old, my mom married the man I refer to as Dad. I love my dad so much, that will never change. We do not share DNA, political stances, or even the same values, but we do share love. It was nothing to sit a Christmas and hear the ever forbidden “N-word.” Or “R-word.” I knew it wasn’t right, and it hurt me to my bones when I heard it. My voice was too tiny to stand up to the white man, and say, enough is enough, stop saying those words!

But I can say them now, and I do, you better Fuckin believe it.  I AM LOUD.

The opposite on my Maternal side. Grandma was always talking BAD about “The white man.” The white man basically fucked everything up for Native Americans. Unapologetically raped and pillaged, and now just wants us to pretty much get over it & stay on the Rez. I did not grow up on my reservation that my family is from. I grew up in Smallsville, where there were only about 3-5 Native families. We lived like white kids, with some Native culture splashed in. When I was a teenager, I tried to absorb myself into the the Latino culture, as I just could not relate to white people. I still to this day get charged over the natural entitlement a lot of white people feel, ESPECIALLY on the heels of this fucking presidential election. I AM TERRIFIED.

I didn’t want my kids to be raised in Smallsville, because I didn’t want them to be subjected to middle class, white, Republican, conservative, Christians. Fast forward 10 years after I moved them away, we have returned. And imagine that my return to the homeland, did not spark a zombie apacolypse. I am dissapointed. 

Today I was in a room, filled with middle class, white, Christian, republicans. I had to pray their prayers, and stand for the pledge of allegiance. I ALMOST FUCKING DIED! This was the most amount of anxiety I had felt in months. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I wanted to run away with my middle fingers in the air. It was aweful…… TBC

This is my fucking life today….

I am absolutely in love with my BF. But I really fucking miss my husband (getting a divorce soon, already filed.) My BPD demons murdered my marriage, and I am grieving it like a mother fucker today…… I wanna cry. I MISS that life. So much. I crave it again. When I was normal. When I felt normal. #hurting

Pink Dahlias

This is the part about having BPD I hate the most. 

Current situation; About 2 hours ago, the BF told me he was going to get the car washed and his hair cut. I am currently in Seattle at his apartment, which has become my 2nd home. I have flat ironed my hair to get ready for a fancy Iftar dinner tonight, where I’ll be introducing him to my girlfriends that live here in Seattle. 

Currently going through my mind…..Where is he? Shouldn’t he be back by now? Did he go meet up with some girl? He’s fasting, he wouldn’t do that. But what if he broke his fast to go meet up with another girl, but he just won’t tell me. What if he brings me back a surprise? No, he wouldn’t do that. Where could he be? Why wouldn’t he take me with him? He looked so good when he left too, like he was going somewhere important. Why didn’t he save those clothes for tonight. What if he breaks up with me? I’ll have to pack all my clothes out of here, like a walk of shame. What if he breaks up with me while I’m back home in Smallsvile? Will he ship me all my stuff. Doubtful. Why does he even love me? Does he love me? Maybe I am just a companion for now. Maybe I should just leave.

This is my fucking life. I could go on and on with all of these thoughts that race through my mind all damn day. It is a constant battle to shush these demons daily. I know it is not a reality, most of the time, If I can pull myself out of it in time, or something external happening (like him walking through the door with a perfect explanation), then I will not disappear into my own head, to the point my anxiety consumes me and I cry, then want to die. 

Let me tell you about my boyfriend. Maybe if I describe all the reasons I love him and why he is so incredible, I can get this filthy shit out of my head for a while. 

I stopped online dating like a long time ago. Thought dating in the work pool was a better idea, turns out, not so much! About a week before I moved to Smallsville I met my BF, via an online dating site. If I already wrote about this, in a previous post, I apologize. Just kidding I don’t, I don’t really care.  Anywhoooo, I really just wanted to flirt with someone. We texted and decided to meet up at the mall, so we did. Then he invited me to his apartment, so I went. Prior to that we went out to lunch which was nice, he paid. 

Arrived at his apartment, it’s nice here, children playing outside, it’s very clean. We went strait to his room. We kissed, hung out, rubbed all over eachother, etc. I gave him a blow-job, because I was on my period, and well, why not. I am not too humble or shy to say, I know how to give a good blow job, which is probably what’s had them all coming back over the years. TMI, I know……

I had a BF at the time, named Brix, I had been seeing off and on again over the past few months. The sex was AWEFUL, but he loved me, so I kept going back. I probably broke up with him like 4-5 different times. Each time he would just say, oh, it must have been your condition. Lol…Fuck. I cheated on him all the time. I cheated on ALL OF THEM, except one, my current BF. 

So, after I moved, I broke up with Brix, and went about my business. I had a few little romances in the 1st week I was in Smallsville. One was a Jamaicain who fucked like, naked Dirty Dancing, and I came alllllll the time! OMG. He was good. The other was Zim who I had been talking to for a few weeks prior to moving. I knew both of these dudes were temporary, but in the meantime had still been texting with the who is now BF. 

I had made plans with him to spend the weekend at his apartment in Seattle about 2 weeks after I moved. I still wasn’t so sure about this guy, but was like, okay, I’ll go. Well the night I was getting ready to leave, I tried to cancel on him, and he texted me back, “Don’t do this to me.” 

Those words, those 5 words, Friday May 15th, 2016 @ 5:04pm,  saved my life. I spent the weekend with him, had incredible sex, multiple times, went on fun little dates, and my tiny, cold, blackened, broken heart, sprouted a little yearling. Since then, I have been spending every other weekend with him. That yearling turned into a bud, that bud blossomed into a beautiful pink Dahlia, and my heart has almost completely shed all of its iron clad armor. I have not had any big urges to cheat, like I had in the past. Like, I am actually in love with him. He is trying to understand my BPD, but there is no way he’ll ever be able to wrap his mind around it. Who can. Thankfully, right now we do live 3 hours apart, which slows down the process, and makes me be incredibley patient. I wanna be married now, living together, sharing our lives, but I know at this point in our lives, it’s just not possible. 

A day in the life of us. Alarm goes off, the 1st thing I do is check my phone to see if he left me anything in the middle of the night. I get ready, then start my 8 minute commute to work. Every single day, on that commute, I leave him a voicemail, telling him about why lies ahead in my day, what the weather is like, if I’m getting coffee, but most importantly, I wish him well for his day and tell him how much I love him. 

After he wakes, he does the same. My favorite is when he calls me baby girl, beautiful, or gorgeous in his greeting. We leave eachother anywhere between 3-9 voice messages a day between the 2 of us. Coupled with texts and pics. Sometimes we send some little quotes. It’s pretty adorable. Before we go to bed at night, if I have not fallen asleep (he works 3-11pm, I work 7:30-4:30pm), we video call eachother. We chat, and giggle, I get sleepy, and we say goodnight. It’s the only thing that makes this long distance relationship work. THANK YOU TECHNOLOGY! Never does a day go by, this little routine gets skipped. 

I think at this point if something did happen, I would have a mental breakdown. Okay, I know I would. So here I sit in his apartment, waiting for him to get home. Wondering WTF is taking him so long. See, for like 45 minutes, I actually forgot about him being gone for so long. Fuck…….The thoughts return. 

Then he came home, with juice for me. I am fine. All demons gone. He is laying next to me. Sleeping. I am happy. I am content. I am in love. Thank you to my team of Unicorns.

DBT Tuesday, or so I thought…..

For fucks sake. 

I began therapy last week, had my 2nd session yesterday. Before I left Seattle, I wanted to take DBT through UW, the Mecca of DBT. I knew they had a good program there, and I was so super stoked! However, things changed, and I moved to Smallsville instead. More on that at a later date. 

Anywhooser, I googled DBT therapists in Smallsvile, and found 3. Why I chose to pick the one I did, I have no idea. It was like throwing a dart at a spinning wheel. You never know right. Well, my therapist is about 75 years old, and that is not even an over estimate. She could be even older. Older is wiser right??? Fuck. I hope she don’t die on me. 

So the past two weeks, I’ve just been spilling and spilling. Talking about everything under the sun and all my craziness. But yesterday, I was thinking, okay, she’s going to give me some tools right? We’re going to start DBT. Right? Apparently not. She keeps talking about clearing the table, and making room for us to talk and work. 

My table is clear chick lets get started before I make some really bad choices again. Frustrated. This is why people stop going to therapy. And hate therapists. Maybe I need to change, idk. I’ll give her another 2-3 sessions and see how this goes. This shit ain’t cheap either. 

Stuffing rape.

“You’re moving anyways, do you really want to be traveling back and forth dealing with this whole thing? I mean, I have my own opinions about this, but it’s not professional of me to share them. My advice to you, would be to just wrap it up and put it somewhere in the back of your mind. -Some Snohomish County Sheriff Douche Lord.

That was the response I got when I reported my rape, 24 hours after I became just another statistic. 

“Rape is Rape! No means No! Even if you’re having sex, and you say no, or stop, it’s still rape!” -Says all the federal laws and rape advocates. Yea right, on what Fuckin planet! My rapist, a temporary co-worker, raped me in my apartment while I was training him. And everyone, including my company let him off the hook. I let him off the hook. 

Part of being borderline, can also mean you’re a slutty little whore. Okay, that was a little rough, it can also mean you tend to be exceptionally promiscuous. I definitely fit into that category of the diagnosis and symptoms. The more I learn about BPD, the more I understand myself, and why I did the things I did/do. I did not become borderline in the past 3 months, I have struggled with this diagnosis since I was a teenager. I did not know an official term for it until now. 

Some may say, I put myself in that position. Being raped. Are you fucking kidding me……Nobody puts themselves in a position to be raped. The reality of it is this; I had created a reputation for myself (promiscuity, overly nice & incredibley accommodating.) By nature,  I am ridiculously naive, and vultures seem to smell it a mile away. I love to flirt, but that does not mean I want to fuck you. Well, I mean, most of the time it does, but not always. In this specific incident, I flirted, I gave into the grooming, and his seduction. Then he took from me what he wanted, while I yelled NO!, and STOP IT! And GET OFF! What led up to my rape, and post rape, I could have handled differently looking back, but I didn’t. 

You know they should really give us a fucking manual when we’re born on how to appropriately react to rape. That way there will be no question. It’s like when your dad tells you, “If you get into a car accident, never admit fault.” We learn that shit early on. I mean, it’s a really great piece of advice, but when it came to my rape, I had no tools. Just guilt and shame. 

The fact that I was promiscuous, and it was known, coupled with the fact that I let him back in my apartment twice afterwards, basically dismissed my rape. The Sheriff was right, Why in the fuck would I want to put myself through all of testimonies, and victim shaming. I don’t think I could emotionally handle it, and really in the end, what would I gain. Look at the swimmer that just raped that woman. He got nothing really but a slap on the wrist, and that was a highly publicized rape.

Because I have a pussy, and you wanna fuck, even if I say no, you’ll take what you want anyways.  You will suffer no consequences, wipe the sweat from your brow, let off a slight “whew”….and call it a day. Meanwhile, I remain a victim for the rest of my life. 

But there were 4 people in my room that day. Saytan, you (piece of shit rapist), myself, and Allah (SWT). It is the latter you will have to answer to. 

PS; In case you haven’t noticed, I refer to my God as Allah, as I am a Muslim. A very liberal Muslim, who says very naughty words. 

If you are a victim, I am sorry. Fuck your rapist. They’re worthless. The universe does not forget them. Trust that.