I don't know what to name this post so I'm calling it Love Will Tear Us Apart because I love Joy Division

Try saying that with a mouthful of dick.

Yeah, I'm in one of those moods.

There are some things I don't post about because I'm worried it'll make my mum worry. Today I need to get this out so, on the odd chance you read this muvva, I'm sorry.

When my Farver (my dad's dad) died, I was sad, obviously. But, aside from the expected sadness, I didn't really feel much. Past the age of what, 10, he hadn't really been part of my life. I see my Dad's family so rarely that my uncle and aunty didn't know I was at the funeral when I was stood next to them. It's nothing personal, it's just the way things are.

When my mum's dad died, it hurt, it hurt a lot, but I knew it was going to happen. I hate hospitals, so when I decided against going to see him and instead spent the evening with my lovely Grace Face I remember telling her that he'd given up. I knew he had, I knew he was never coming home. Losing him hurt, but it wasn't the kind of hurt I"m feeling now.

There's no denying my nan had been ill for a long while but, when she last went into hospital, I expected her to come out again. Despite my selfish desire for her to get better, she was ready to go. She wanted to go.

My nan's funeral was today and, obviously, I couldn't go. My nan was so so beautiful, I got my balls out honesty from her and she never took any shit from anyone. When my brother wasn't doing his college work I asked my nan to tell him to get his act together, because I knew he would listen to her. It didn't matter where I was or what I'd done if my nan said jump, I jumped.

So the fact that she's gone is hitting me more than I thought it would. In theory, I know that she's gone but, in practice, it hasn't quite registered yet. Her beautiful face is still in my mind, sat on her chair in her flat the same way I saw her the last time we face-timed. The last time we spoke when she told me she wasn't feeling well and I couldn' do anything because I'm so far away. I'm sure it'll register more when I get back to England but, right now, it really doesn't seem real.

Denial, the first of the five stages of grief, am I right?

xXx

Boarderline grief

Monday morning my nan died, there's no way of sugar-coating it. She's dead.

It's the thought process I have around this that got me thinking about how I deal with grief as a borderline. About how I'm able to process something I have such little control of when my desire and obsession with control is often what drives me to engage in the sort of self-destructive behavior us borderlines are known for, as a way of giving myself a break. 

When Matt died, it was sudden. There was no way of knowing it would happen and it seemed a cruel irony that it happened in the midst of such a bs time. The fact that I wasn't able to attend his funeral was, if you'll pardon the pun, the final nail in the coffin. I know I made the right decision, I wanted to go to the sentencing, but it still hurt. 

With my nan it was different though, I knew it was about to happen. As strange as it may seem my dreams predict death. When I dream of dead animals, or sometimes animals in general, someone, be they human or animal, is about to die. On very rare occasions I predict these things when I'm awake, and on even rarer occasions my strange affinity with animals predicts a good thing. Regardless of whether I was conscious or awake, I'd been dreaming of dead animals since the very end of 2019, and I knew it was her time. She was ready to go, and my brain was preparing me for it as best it could. 

As humans, whether we choose to admit it or not, we're inherently selfish. For the most part, we prioritize our happiness over that of others. I wanted more than anything for her to "recover". To escape the virus that is smothering the planet and, once again, come home from hospital. But I eventually realized this wasn't the right way of thinking. There's a video by YouTuber Molly Burke that talks about the difference between praying for others and praying selfishly. I'm not religious, but even I have a vague understanding of trying to communicate with something more in a bid to get what you want, even if it doesn't necessarily benefit the individual in question. 

In this instance, she's talking about how her first guide dog died, but the sentiment's the same. 

As a borderline, my perspectives on selfishness and grief are blurred. Don't get me wrong, I feel bad about my nan and it hurts that she's no longer here, but my temporary inability to feel the way I think I should be feeling is still playing around. In the same vein as when my friend got engaged, or when my mum's boss died, my feelings aren't constant. I know I should feel sad, but I'm dancing between sadness, happy sadness and not really feeling anything at all. As with so many things, it is what it is, and there really is fuck all I can do about it. 

Aside from the obvious question of how I deal with grief as a borderline, this whole situation has got me thinking about how that compares to the way other people deal with such events. Do other people feel grief in the same way? Or is my inability to maintain a steady path of emotions what's keeping me from dealing with my grief? 

To be continued. 

xXx

I can't find anything else written about this so I'm going to write it my God damn self

I thought we could all do with cheering up, so I typed Pupper into Pixabay and this is what I found. 

Enjoy 

It's been posted in passing, but I've yet to find anything I had even the slightest desire to read that discusses how utterly shit the state of the world is if you're a) alone and b) living with mental health issues. We get it you're stuck inside, but given that I have at least 17 different personalities rattling around my brain at any given time it's really hard for me to muster up the energy to give a shit about the fact that don't have anything to do and that Tesco has run out of eggs.  

Right now, I'm feeling it. Not only is this a hella shitty time but I'm also going through it and completely alone. I see people around me complaining about being bored when they're at home with family, pets, and access to a garden, but given that I'm living through this bullshit whilst simultaneously being constantly reminded of the fact that the guy who raped me is in prison living a life void all this crap and, once again, that I wasn't able to say goodbye to my friend Matt who died five years ago because his funeral fell on the same day as the sentencing of aforementioned rapist, I have even less ability to care than usual. 

Things would be bad my end if the world was on lockdown or not, but the fact that I can't distract myself by working or seeing friends is making it worse. I'm living in a permanent state of intense guilt at the moment,  and there's nothing to distract me. Whenever I eat, drink or spend even a cent I feel nauseous, and I find myself searching for something to feel bad about when I wake up each morning. There aren't many symptoms of BPD that I struggle to deal with, but the pain the guilt causes is indescribable. It sits on my chest and curls itself around my fingers, wraps its coils around my throat and slides into my ears where it sits blissfully next to my thoughts. Running down my neck and caressing my spine, I have no idea why it's there and really thought I was done with it once I realized in a long-ago therapy session that the reason my mumma's bf didn't like me growing up really wasn't my fault. 

No shade, we get on like a house on fire now, we just hated each other when I was a kid. 

This post was meant to be about how it feels to be on lockdown when you have mental health issues but it isn't really about that. It's about how there is no way of putting into words how I'm feeling at the moment, but that the tapping of keys and the thud of my fingertips against my laptop is the only thing providing a sound loud enough to even touch the constant drumming of guilt that's been playing in my ears for the past few weeks. 

So who knows.

xXx