Today I'm angry again. Again, and really angry.
OK, it's anger, all right, but mostly just searing, jarring pain. All it took was one word out of his mouth and I was gone, spinning into that place where my emotions well around me and Fear becomes King and Jealousy Queen and Reason just a prince.
This anger is not directed at children, and it's not directed at me. I'm not yelling in the workplace, which is good, nor in a place of business. I am happy about that.
This anger, this roiling, black anger. It feels like toads coming out of my mouth. It tastes like nasty cigarette breath, it has the consistency of boiling tar. It is visceral, it starts at the tip of my toes with a buzz and works its way up, churning in my stomach and gripping my lungs and heart. It beats its way up through my skull, pounding and pounding and pounding as it escapes my mouth, singing all in its path and creating a swath of damage so wide I doubt I can ever recover.
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2 comments:
It took a dozen years, many very painful experiences and a lot of introspection, for me to learn not to react with such frightening intensity of feeling, thought and sometimes act, to stuff he says or does.
Unfortunately, this means I also had to let go of the positive feelings he inspired.
I don't know about other borderlines, but for me romantic relationships will exacerbate my symptoms more than anything. Frankly I've reached a point where now I'm looking forward to being alone once my child is grown.
I understand the anger. It is one of the symptoms of our BPD. I had that anger two days ago. I was so pissed off that I took my meds at 6pm (instead of my usual 12am) and I just said "Fuck it" and I went to bed. I just wanted the day to be over. It was a bad day. I am fortunate I do not have kids and I can do things like this. Sometimes it just gets so bad that you are terrified of the phone because if one of your friends call and you go off on them, you could hurt them. So I just went bed. Luckily for me, sleep cures all. The next day was better and it was behind me.
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