So I had a rollercoaster of a day yesterday.
For most of the day, spent at work, I was productive, got a lot of work done, walked to work and back in the sunshine instead of driving and felt generally good. I don’t think I have mentioned Simon (name changed) before – he is a friend of mine that I met through the dogs. We have a very frank and open relationship, and I suppose you could call us ‘friends with benefits’ or ‘fuck buddys’.
The arrangement started last October when we shared a room at a training event with the dogs. Before we went, we had a conversation that entailed us telling each other that things might happen while we were away, and that we were both OK with that, and that although it would be a fun experience, neither of us wanted a relationship, and that was OK too. Anyway, we spent the weekend together, and had sex both nights. It was great sex – and true to my BPD form I wanted to tell him I loved him etc etc, but stopped myself (I have covered why in a previous blog post – intense feelings which aren’t a true indicator of my real feelings).
After that weekend, we have periodically met up for training with the dogs and other events, and each time we have had sex. The relationship works, there is no pressure of a relationship, we just have fun; after all a girl has needs right!! The arrangement is that if either of us meets someone else, our sex would stop. Also, if one of us gets feelings for the other, we would openly discuss it. I have never had such a laid back relationship with someone, but for some reason it works. Some of you might think it is morally wrong but we aren’t hurting anyone, and at the end of the day he is a great friend, he knows about my BPD and he is very supportive, especially in times of crisis.
Anyway, getting to the point! Recently, I have been broody. Probably because of having my cousin and young baby to stay, where I helped to look after him, feeding etc. I even carried him around when he went shopping and pretended he was mine (thoroughly enjoyed that!). Now you know what it’s like. With BPD you don’t just have normal emotions. So I am not just broody, I am broody to the point of planning an ‘accidental pregnancy’. Now, at this point, my logical head kicks in and says, ok, this is wrong. You don’t want a baby with no husband on the scene. Imagine how hard it will be. Imagine what you will have to sacrifice. What sort of life will you give this child? Also on my mind is the BPD. How can I bring up a mentally stable child when I am not mentally stable myself? Is BPD hereditary or does it have at least some genetic aspect? Then also weighing on my mind, is my condition. I have poly-cystic ovary Syndrome (PCOS). It means that my ovaries are full of little cysts, and this can affect my fertility. How – I’m not sure, but the general consensus is that each case if different, and you don’t find out until you try – but the earlier you try the more likely you are to be successful.
An ultrasound of one of my ovaries – the little ‘dots’ are the cysts:
So anyway, at the moment I have a Mirena Coil in, I had it put in during the situation with Jean and Tom because I knew any accidents at that time would be unbelievably bad. So recently, I have been thinking I should take it out, and let any ‘accidents’ happen. I know this is my BPD thinking. I’ve even tried taking it out myself but couldn’t reach it (sorry waaaaay too much info there). Now I know taking it out is wrong, and I’m doing it for the wrong reasons (this is my sensible head). So I spoke to Simon yesterday and was completely honest with him. I’m really proud of myself for doing this, another example of how I am facing my BPD disordered thinking head on and trying to prevent any further BPD inflicted situations from ruining mine, and other peoples, lives.
I explained to him how broody I was, and that I didn’t trust myself not to get the coil taken out without telling him and then have sex to get pregnant on purpose. I explained I knew this was wrong, that having a baby when we are not together (and both have a lot of baggage) that the consequences would be awful, but felt as though I had a battle of wills going on inside my head and didn’t know which side would win. And bless him, I fully expected him to run a mile, but he didn’t. He calmly said he would take responsibility for us using condoms, and that I shouldn’t worry about it. I’m so glad I have him in my life.
Anyway, when that was sorted, I loaded the dogs up into the car, and drove to training (I was planning on doing some water training with them tonight). The little one has been lame and we have been worried it is a serious joint condition, but she was been ok for the last few days so I took her too. Unfortunately, it did not go well. The trainer I go with has a nasty temper, and I think he rubs off on me. I have now made the decision to stop training with him as I am not an angry or violent person by nature, but I am ashamed to say last night I lost my temper. My little one was the naughtiest she’d ever been, and then she suddenly went lame again. I suppose her lameness, coupled with her inability to do what I was asking her, incensed me. Perhaps I feel it shows an inadequacy in me, I know it’s a lack of training and not her fault, but I selfishly blamed her. I laid into her, badly, the first time I’ve ever done it.
Afterwards, I felt terrible. I do not deserve her. How dare I even lay a finger on her when her lack of training is my fault and not hers? I put both dogs back on a lead and stormed off to the car. I was still furious with her, and furious at myself.
There were razors still left in my car, so I stopped on the side of the road and re-opened the cut on my hand. I decided that every time there was a lay-by on the side of the road I would stop and open it a little bit more. That way the pain was bearable. I could still feel the pain, unlike over the past few years when I couldn’t feel anything. So clearly something HAS changed.
Every few minutes or so I stopped, cutting a little bit deeper each time. I wanted stitches. I needed stitches. I arrived at the hospital, went in, registered my details and sat down. They saw me in triage, I said I had fallen over, miraculously he believed me. Or he didn’t want to explore the other options. By now it was pretty late, I had left my phone at home and I knew my parents would be worrying. They were due to leave for their next holiday at 4am the next morning so I didn’t want them to know where I was as it would ruin their holiday. I also didn’t want to be stuck in A&E most of the night, for them to worry. I took another look at my hand. Who was I kidding, they wouldn’t stitch it. It was pathetic. You could barely see inside the cut.
So – for the first time ever, I bailed. It’s stupid – I had been desperate for the attention of the doctors in A&E, and when I finally had it, it made me so anxious I couldn’t deal with it. I drove home, put the dogs away, and went to bed. I didn’t even strip my hand.
I felt so upset. So stupid. Another scar to add to the collection. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I stop doing this? I feel so alone.
I woke up this morning, and my hand was in so much pain. I stripped it, and now I am work. My parents are away now for 7 days and I feel more alone than ever.
Take Care. x