my inner borderline is raging

I should be working right now but I just can't. This morning I couldn't get myself out of bed, a regular occurrence for me these days. But this goes deeper than my hatred of mornings. I just have no desire to live life anymore. I'm at the bottom of a well of despair and there is no way to the top. I'm stuck, I'm trapped and it is dark as hell down here.

This didn't just happen overnight; like a good sauce, it has been simmering for quite awhile now.

Some days I wake up and feel normal, things are fine.

I will always tell you things are fine.

Until they are not, and it is right back to the bottom of the well I go.

Sometimes the darkness stays at bay for a day or two. Sometimes it rears it's ugly head hourly.

Recently I stumbled across an article while obsessively saving INFJ shit on Pinterest:

INFJ Stress: Caging Mr. Hyde.

The title alone spoke to me, because all too often lately I feel like I am living this double life of decent versus demon.

Before I really delved into the whole Meyers Briggs thing, I was so convinced I was a borderline.

Deep, relentless feelings. Ridiculous highs and tragic lows. This unbridled need for connection, yet this deep aching to just be left completely alone. The extremes, the black and white, the all or nothing. Being impulsive, reckless. Feeling empty. Never truly trusting anyone. Seeing through people's motives. Needing to find some escape and release from all of the damn head to toe, all consuming emotions.

When the darkness inevitably finds me, every time it comes with the thought, "my inner borderline is back."

She is such a bitch.

My first real therapist was just not convinced my self-diagnosis was accurate. Laughable now, but I was so upset by that.

Most people would run like hell from a borderline diagnosis. Why in the world was I so dead-set on claiming it?

At the time, learning about BPD (something I had never been exposed to before my Abnormal Psychology class) was validating.

Even if it was a diagnosis that carried a lot of stigma, it was an explanation for all of these aspects of myself that needed a birthplace.

Many years have gone by since that time and I think I hold more solid answers now than a "cookbook" diagnosis for myself (thanks Dr. Spaid, I will never forget your DSM class).

INFJ.

Less letters than it takes to spell borderline, and yet much more of an explanation for myself than I've ever experienced before.

The perfectionism, the idealism, the trouble trusting people. The walking contradictions, the depth. The conflicted extremes. The intense emotions. The "gift" of soaking everything and everyone up like a sponge and never knowing where the line is that separates other people from me.

I'm not a borderline, I'm an INFJ. I'm a "rare" personality, not a disorder.

The article above lists how INFJs can keep our inner Hyde (aka borderline) at bay and hints about the reasons that make him show his ugly face:

-We are too busy helping others to help ourselves.
-We have "too many irons in the fire" and are basically overachievers.
-We have too many stress-triggers.
-Our lives are physically cluttered which doesn't help our inner mental clutter.
-We don't ask for help.
-We don't take time to be alone because we feel guilty.

Wow.

If all the above aren't absolutely true right now for me, then Dr. Pepper is not the nectar of the gods (and we all know that it is.)

In my personal "journals" (if you can call them that, more like collection of loose thoughts that go floating through my head), you could find several snippets about this raging borderline that I keep locked in a cage.

I usually start to get into trouble when she starts rattling so loud I can't keep her quiet.

New epiphany: Borderline me = INFJ Grip Stress. It's practically textbook.

No wonder I can feel like a normal human being for years at a time and then turn into this raging demon.

Fast forward to last year.

Almost exactly this time of year, my inner borerline (newly re-framed Mr. Hyde) was causing such a big fuss I almost quit my job and walked out on my life completely.

I can be a really cynical person sometimes, but that day at work I was especially negative. Everything felt like someone taking my knuckles to a cheese grater and I just snapped a little.

Luckily I kept things in check enough to not lose my job, and didn't drive into oncoming traffic on the way home (though I may have considered it).

Since that time I have been riding this roller coaster of insanity, again with the highest of highs and lowest of lows. I have yet to find a way to jump off.

Last year I got so low I went back to therapy. It helped, it really did. But I got well enough to do it on my own again (with a little help from my empty pocketbook).

But now I've circled back to this preoccupation with existential dread. There have been so many things percolating, swimming and simmering beneath the surface.

I recently stumbled across another article that really struck me:

Here's What INFJs Absolutely Must Have in Order to Be Happy

I may or may not have sobbed a little while reading it.

For the last two years I have felt so trapped. I've been in the throes of a never-ending existential crisis. In this dark night of my soul I often find myself asking, what is the point of all this?

As an INFJ, I have to know the reason behind everything.

When it got to the point that I couldn't even find a reason behind my own life, I just kind of lost it.

A life devoid of meaning and purpose is not a life worth living.

As I read through the list of things needed by INFJs to feel happy, I felt almost numb.

-A creative outlet
-Space
-Meaningful relationships
-Helping others
-Being understood
-Staying true to their passions
-Reflection and self-care

All of these are so absent from my life right now.

It is no one's fault but my own.

For as long as I can remember I have put others' needs first.

I never take time alone for myself.

I am too busy doing, accomplishing, hustling for that damn worthiness.

As astute as I might be at noticing and understanding other people's feelings, I sure am shitty at understanding and dealing with my own.

The one thing I do have on the list above is an amazing friend. I really should pay her for all the free therapy she gives me. ;)

She sent me a beautiful Marco Polo last week that really socked me straight in the gut.

In a good way.

She went on about how I have this need to create that isn't being realized and that I am so caught up in trying to control for uncertainty that I'm not dealing with feelings of loss or sadness. That I am allowing the pressure and weight of the world to rest on my shoulders because I have shitty emotional boundaries and take on other people's stories which just leaves me drained when I lack the self-care to compensate. That I need to let go of the things that are "too much."

I don't know what scared me more. The fact that she was so spot on in her assessment, or the fact that I was vulnerable enough to let someone see me start to self destruct. Or maybe even that she cared enough to call me on my shit.

It took a few days to digest.

I still feel on the verge of vomiting at any given moment.

Like all this garbage I have been trying to suppress for so long is gurgling its way back up and I can't avoid it anymore.

And I don't just mean metaphorically.

It never ceases to fascinate me how interconnected our bodies are to our minds.

Can I just say how awesome it is to be not just mentally sick, but physically sick also? *Insert sarcasm*

I have toyed with the idea of making financial sacrifices to go back to therapy again, but ultimately I now feel that what I need isn't going to be found in another person.

I "know" the textbook answers. I need the soul answers. And as much as I love my therapist, those are just not going to manifest on a chair in an office.

I need my own time, my own space, my own permission to create my own healing.

And maybe a little more yoga.

live your truth.

i'm a well of emotion, overflowing.

i want to dry up, evaporate into thin air, slowly disappear.

it's not in the stars for me now.

i'm forced to wear this noose a little longer.

live your truth they all say.

but i'm suffocating in my shadow.

peter pan, come save me from this shit.

I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders every day.

Everything I do is for other people.

I work to make money to feed and care for my family.

I work to help other people, complete strangers.

I take care of my kids' physical needs and try (but fail miserably) to take care of their emotional needs, too.

I worry about having a clean house, the shopping, the laundry, the yard work, the car maintenance, the bills, the meal prep, the cooking, the doctors appointments, the kids' school schedules, homework, class parties.

I stress about buying the kids new clothes that fit because they grow too damn fast.

I worry about world peace.

I worry about my family members.

My biggest fear is losing the people I love and I worry about it, irrationally, all the time.

I worry about people on the internet who I don't even know.

I had a conversation today with a patient's family member and (hypocritically) told her she can't take care of other people without taking care of herself first. It is self care 101, but a lesson (like many) that apparently don't apply to me. Because I'm the goddamn exception to everything, didn't you know?

I am drowning over here, and no one has ever taught me to swim. I can't breathe and even though it is supposed to be biologically impossible not to be able to perform that basic human function, I suck at that too.

My plate is always overflowing. It is never going to change. The garbage just keeps on piling up. Another mess for me to clean up.

But I don't want to anymore. I'm done.

I want someone to clean up after me.

I want someone to worry about me.

I want someone to go to work for me. To cook and clean for me. To take care of me.

To buy me what I need, and to take time for and think of me.

To teach me how to deal with this shithole of a life and all these relentless feelings.

What a freaking fantasy.

I want to be a kid. I spent my whole life, desperate to have the freedom of being an adult. I wanted to run away from childhood so badly.

Yet here I am an adult and longing to run away again. Take me to fucking neverland, Peter. I don't ever want to come back.

a picture is worth a thousand words.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Looks look I will be writing for awhile...

A few months ago, I lost over 2000 precious photos and videos that were deleted in an instant from my phone. I have agonized for months over getting them back. I have tried everything humanly possible to retrieve them, but here I am... writing this post. I'm sure there is some kind of symbolism or metaphor in the fact that all of my backups failed me. Or maybe it really is just my terrible luck. Either way, it does not change the fact that I am devastated.

For the last two days I have felt like I'm gasping for air, racing against the clock. I didn't want to end the year without wrapping up this year's memories with a pretty bow. I was hoping, against all hope, that somehow, someway, I would have gotten them all back, intact. Like a kid on Christmas hoping for Santa to deliver a Christmas miracle. But Santa isn't real, and there is no such thing as miracles. Technology is supposed to make our lives better, not make us prisoners of our own lives. Yet here I sit, in a cell of my own making.

I'm mourning for these lost photographs like I have mourned over the loss of loved ones. To someone who has a complicated relationship with time and with memory, it is impossible for me to just let go. "At least it was just a few months worth." Easy for you to say. But a lot happened in those months. Moments I captured and recorded that I can never get back...

Visits to my kid's very first classrooms, the start to their journey of learning.

Miles practicing and executing his "hurricane in a bowl" Scientist of the Week experiment. 

Bowling and other good times with my parents who came down for a fall visit which left me and the kids teary over the goodbyes we had to say when the weekend came to an end.

A fall family 5K that Atticus ran nearly non-stop, giving motivational speeches to himself and to me the entire time about how "we can do this!"

A labor day camping trip to Red Canyon where we froze our buns off in the tent, snuggling together for warmth; with hikes later to Kodachrome and Grosvenor Arch (and knarly, bumpy car rides where we thought we might die).

Staying overnight at Grandma Beatty's so Brett could run the Cedar City half marathon and going to IHOP with grandma after.

Our first "movie in the park." The kids loved Lego Batman and it was the perfect weather to lie on a blanket under the stars and enjoy some family time.

A visit to the memorial crosses in Vegas following the terrible shooting which left me in awe of the humanity that can arise out of tragedy.

A trip up north for a play therapy training with Tiffany complete with late night laughing fits and snorting Dr. Pepper out of my nose in the hotel bed.

A night alone with my baby sister reliving Cornbellys memories, and sneaking into the princess village to take our traditional pumpkin carriage selfie that started it all.

Spending days and hours with Brett and the boys exploring all the new and old Cornbellys haunts. I don't want to forget how hard the boys begged to go down the sack race slide over and over. Or how proud and excited Miles was to make it to the very top of the rock wall. Or laying on the giant swing with Atticus with the sun on our faces as we pushed pause on time and just relaxed. Or how I couldn't stop laughing while rolling in the rat rollers.Or how hard the boys tried to pull the tractor and excited they were to get it to move. Or the extra visit with the cousins and playing the mini golf and riding the grain train which now told us a fun, new little story. Or how tightly Atticus clung to me while riding the new Barn Swing and Corn Flyer rides. Or how obsessed the boys were with riding the stationary tractors and turning the crank to start the engine. They could have played on the playground pirate ship for days. We had to pull them away from watching the animal band and the new dog show. Or jumping like monkeys on the jumping pillows. I think my favorite part was the new "Clunk the Crow" and the farmyard Skee-Ball. This place is so magical to me, and this has been my favorite visit since the kids were born-- one truly for the books.

The traditional Halloween Party in Milford, complete with making witches fingers, decorating our own jack o' lantern mini pizzas, family cuddling on the couches watching movies, and Atticus's obsession over Bop It.

Atticus's fixation on wanting me to watch him go down the slide over and over again at my mom and dad's house as he squealed with joy.

A hair cut adventure which resulted in the most adorable, wild, blow dryer hair pictures.

A visit to Dallon and Kaitlin's complete with the boys running wild after the twins finally got to sleep. The boys wanted to show off their exercise skills and were running in place adorably and doing impressive push ups. Where do they get such energy?

Our annual Dixie football game where as per tradition, we never make through the whole game. Though it was so dang adorable to hear Atticus and his chanting: "come on Trailblazers, you can do it!"

A work teleconference in a room that made me feel like a character from Star Trek.

Atticus singing all kinds of songs while helping daddy empty the dishwasher, or the little conversations he creatively concocted with his cars and trains while playing.

Miles and Atticus playing basketball with the over-the-door hoop in Atticus's room, with Miles's crazy shooting skills and Atticus's adorable blocking skills. Or their football/tackling moves while running around the kitchen with a helmet and their Jazz jerseys on.

Dinner at the Cheesecake Factory in Las Vegas with cousins complete with trying my Funfetti cheesecake for the first time, and the boys snuggling with their cousin Jace and avoiding bedtime after.

The boys' first official Jazz game.We rode the train up to Salt Lake and explored the City Creek Mall for the first time--complete with a trip to the American Girl store where my childhood dreams came true. Atticus threw a fit about taking a family picture in front of the stadium which is ironic, as the photo obvs. didn't make it through this photo crisis of 2017. We got to jump in giant piles of leaves for the first time this fall, albeit landing on the cement below wasn't the most pleasant experience. We did not love the lines and the waiting, but the boys did love sitting court side to watch their favorite players warm up, and Atticus shocked me with his bravery and got Rodney Hood to sign his program. I think their favorite part was getting to shoot hoops on their own on the court after the game. Brett will never let me live it down that I scored a shot and he didn't. Even though we sat nosebleed for the actual game, the boys had a blast waving their obnoxious noise makers and barely stayed awake on the late train ride home. I think the only reason they managed to keep their eyes open was because we were all stuffing our faces with Korean treats we got for free from our favorite, awesome Cup Bop peeps.

A last minute trip to the trampoline park the night before Halloween. We had the place to ourselves and the boys bounced their little brains out. Of course Atticus's favorite part wasn't actually the jumping, but touching every button on the few arcade games that were there.

Atticus singing his "mean old witch with a hat" song that he learned in preschool over and over during the month of October.

A Halloween Trunk or Treat with the next door neighbors and a Halloween night trip to IHOP for Scary Face pancakes with two sets of twins and triplets AKA some of our favorite peeps. And the boys fighting with each other and their friends over who got to ring the doorbells while out trick or treating.

Miles losing his first tooth.

Miles participating on his first basketball team. I don't ever want to forget how adorable it was to watching him excitedly skip/jump all around the court, or refuse to shoot the ball, instead tossing it to team members at the earliest chance. Or hugging/tackling his new best buddy, Jaedon during practices. Or Atticus's newfound ability to sit completely still for an hour due to all of the distractions to keep his little brain occupied.

A solo trip to Zion after having a mental breakdown and screaming at the top of my lungs to Sum 41 on the drive there. The mountains, fall colors, and view overlooking Sand Hollow helped to calm my soul.

Practicing my french braiding skills on Atticus's hair.

So many, many memories.

I have mourned their loss over and over again. With each newfound hope that they might be restored, I have only been let down with the repeated "I'm sorry, we can't help you."

Today I found myself paralyzed and curled up back in bed, in tears once again over the fact that as much as I can't stand the thought of giving up, I have to let go.

Most people don't get it. I can't make them. But I'm trying hard to hold space for myself as as I heed the advice of the ever wise nayyirah waheed:

I'm starting off the new year by letting go of hope and moving on to reality.

Fist fighting my need to hold tight and instead choosing to let go and move on.

Happy New Year.