Hanging From A Rope

I don't want to write this because I'm so ashamed and disappointed in myself. It's taken me 2 weeks to come up with the courage to type it out. I guess I'll start at the beginning.

John and I have been really stressed lately. The biggest stressor is dealing with the big move. We're both worried because we're moving 2,000 miles away and neither of us will have a job. Plus, we'll be living in a tiny camper until we finish repairing the guest house. John's upset about leaving his friends and family so he's been making excuses to stay here longer. But I feel like I'm going crazy in this house so I've been trying to leave sooner. It all came to head 2 weeks ago when he came home from work. First we argued about him working overtime and not getting paid for it. Then we moved on to arguing about when we're going to move. When he told me we were staying an extra month, I kind of lost it. No. I totally lost it. All I could think about was having to stay in this damn basement and be around his annoying family for another month. I couldn't handle the thought of that. I started screaming and slamming things. I ended up breaking 3 plates against the wall. Plus I broke the door.

I haven't blew up like that in years. It wasn't as intense as it used to be. I didn't get dizzy. I didn't black out. And I didn't feel the need to cut myself. But it was still pretty bad. It was so bad that John asked me for a divorce the next night. When he asked, there wasn't a trace of feeling in his voice. There's wasn't a trace of emotion on his face. He was serious. He wanted a divorce. At first I thought he was just saying it out of anger but when when I realized he really meant it, I threw myself down and literally begged him to stay. I can't imagine my life without him. I don't want a life without him.

I knew I was going to hurt myself. I even asked him to take me to the hospital to prevent me from doing anything. But he wouldn't. Instead, he made me promise not to cut myself. Then he left me alone and went upstairs.

Well, I didn't cut myself.

But 15 minutes later I was hanging from the ceiling by my robe belt. It was horrible. It hurt so much. I was hanging there and my legs started spasming and my vision started going dark and all of a sudden I realized that tomorrow was my daughters birthday. I didn't think twice. If I had, I probably wouldn't be here. I pulled out the knife that I had promised not to use on myself and I cut the belt. Even as I fell, I knew that I wasn't going to try it again. I wouldn't turn my daughters birthday into the anniversary of my suicide. And I knew if I waited until after her birthday, by that point I would be strong enough to handle the pain.

Unfortunately, I couldn't hide what I had done. My neck was bruised and my voice was hoarse for 3 days. So I told John and I told my Dad.

Writing all this down, I feel so selfish. The last time I saw my Dad we talked about my self harm and suicide thoughts. I told him not to worry because i hadn't done either in years. He told me if I were to kill myself, he wouldn't be strong enough to live through it. And he was serious. It wasn't just a guilt trip. I know how sick he is.

Plus leaving my kids....And my Grandma.

The only good thing that came out of it is that I realized I actually do have friends. Before I hung myself, I said goodbye to my online BPD support group and I posted on my FB wall that I was sorry and I just couldn't handle it anymore. I didn't post that for attention or sympathy. I didn't post it to try to get people to talk me down. I just didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. So I posted and immediately turned off my computer. Some time after I cut myself down, I went back to erase my post and was surprised to see that many of my friends (and even my biological Mom) had responded. I honestly didn't realize so many people cared about me.

Today things are better. John and I talked and he decided to give us another chance. We compromised on when to move, a week later than I wanted and 3 weeks earlier than he wanted. We'll be leaving on Sunday.

I really hope I never feel those feelings and think those thought again. It was so scary and I came so close.

I'm such a hypocrite

I just realized how unfair I've been to my husband. He's a great guy. I'd even say he's every Borderlines dream guy. He's read everything he can in order to understand the condition. He puts up with my mood swings. He follows all of my stupid rules I made in order to alleviate the feeling that he was going to leave me. Even in my hardest times, he's never stopped supporting me. And it's because of all this that I expected more.

We got into an argument the other day. Well, it wasn't really much of an argument. I just said something that he took the wrong way and he ended up yelling hurtful things at me. It made me cry for hours. The whole time I was thinking that he should've held back his feelings. I was thinking that he shouldn't have yelled because he knows I might react badly to it. I was thinking that he must not care for me because if he did, he would've acted in a way that put my feelings first.

It wasn't until last night that I realized how hypocritical and selfish that is. I mean, I yell at him all the time. Why shouldn't he be able to do the same? Just because I have BPD doesn't mean I'm the only one with strong emotions. I've always said that everyone has a right to their own feelings and there's no such thing as a wrong feeling. So then why do I expect him to always keep his feelings in check? Why do I think my feelings are more important than his?

I've got some serious thinking to do.

Why am I not good enough?

I've never felt good enough. For as long as I can remember, I always felt like everyone else was better than me. I always felt like I didn't deserve anything positive. I always felt like I was the outcast. Even in my own family. I've never felt like I'm loved and liked as much as my sisters.  And I don't understand why.

I'm smart. I maintained a 4.0 all through school. I completed 3 years of high school in 4 months and aced every class. My mind soaks up knowledge like a sponge. I love learning and I was the only one who didn't give my parents any trouble about it. So why didn't my parents ever brag about their smart child?

I was the one that stayed. Everyone else got shipped off and got to live out their teenage years in happy homes. But me? I stayed. At least until I went to the girls home. And then I came back and stayed again. While my sisters were spread out in 3 different states, I stayed in my hometown with my family. And what did I get for it? The same old feeling of not being good enough. I mean, you should hear my family talk about my sister Lisa. She's perfect, even though she's not. They just act like she is. She lives in California and flies up every year or two. She never came up when Dad was hospitalized. I was the only one there for that. She never came up when Grandma had open heart surgery. Just me again. She never sent Dad money when he was broke. But I did. And I didn't do it for praise or thanks or glory. I did it because he needed help. And do you know what I found out last year? Lisa does drugs. I really don't care. It's her life. But I don't do drugs. Sure I tried pot when I was 14, but it was just 3 times. I smoked it a couple times as an adult but I realized I still didn't care for it. So I just don't do drugs. But my Dad thinks I do. And he looks down on me for it. But not Lisa. He's proud of her.

It's like I'm held to a higher standard or something. And it's so high I'll never be able to reach it.

Please don't take this post to mean that I don't like my sister. I love her very much and wish we could be as close as we used to be. I just don't like that I'll never be as good as her.