A sick, emotional mess

It feels like my computer screen is really a two way mirror tonight, but not a very good one. I'm seeing a faded reverse image of what is in front of me. As if someone is on the other side, watching. Keeping an eye on the crazy girl. I think they watch me all the time, but I couldn't tell you who they are. The FBI, the cops, leaders in charge of an experiment that I am unknowingly a part of...could be anyone.

I should be in bed. I've been sick for about two months now and adding my period to it just made me a joy to be around this week. Snapped at just about everyone...my pdoc, my T, the receptionist at the physical therapy place, some bitch that wouldn't get out of my way in the store. I was even a little snippy with my daughter, which is rare for me, but she was snippy right back cuz she was pms'ing too.

Today I was an emotional mess. She had her homecoming dance tonight and I drove. Soon as her & her boyfriend got out of the car and I pulled away, I broke into tears. The reality that I'll be alone before to long hit again. I don't want to be alone, but then again, yeah I do. I definitely don't want to keep her from her life, her dreams, her passions. So she won't ever know about my abandonment issues. That's my problem to face and deal with. It's not about her.

Saw my pdoc on Thursday. He gave me 5 refills on my meds this time. I'm taking that as a hint he doesn't want to see me again for awhile. He said to come back at the beginning of December, so I made the appointment before I left, but I'll cancel. I have enough meds, why waste his time? He can't do anything more for me. We both know it even if it hasn't been spoken. I don't want more meds, or different meds. I don't have the capacity to handle more failure right now. Things are too busy.

Also saw my T on Thursday too. I rarely mention either of them to the other. I won't give permission for them to even speak. I don't need them to gang up on me, plot against me. I have a hard enough time handling them separately. My T wanted to talk to him. To tell him the things I've told her. Guess she's figured out that I don't tell him anything. She doesn't know that I don't tell her anything either. Not really anyway. It's a trait of BPD. I can talk for hours about my life, but in the end, I've revealed nothing about myself. Maybe that's an art. A skill. A positive.