When I was a wee little lad I was taught that men do not talk about problems of the emotional level and they definitely never ask for help about a personal nature. I tried for so very long to figure out what was going on inside my head and refused to talk about it with anyone. One day I decided I needed help so I set up a doctors appointment to ask for anti depressants and my world came crashing down. It was this weird sort of event where by admitting that I had a problem opened the door to let everything that I kept tight inside to come flying out and needless to say it sent my brain into shock. Part of me wonders what would have happened if I had never opened that door but that is a dumb question as I was prime for a major crash it was just a matter of when.

I hate asking for help and it may be the most difficult thing to do in my life so what happens is I put up this mask that makes it seem everything is okay but in reality nothing could be further from the truth. The doctor just waits for that day when I go into his office and say that I need help for I have a feeling he knows of the constant battle that I fight. The same situation has played out twice where I have walked into his office yanked up my sleeves and said that I needed help that I could no longer do this alone and within a matter of hours I would be back on the psych ward. There have been times in between psych ward visits were I have expressed concern over my well being but the BPD in me does not think the doctor responds properly so it is back to the same ole pattern of not disclosing my true mental state and at the same time basically digging my own grave.

I spend so much time convincing myself that I am fine that some days I actually believe it. My world is created for me to survive in but not designed for recovery. For the most part my mind knows how to keep me out of trouble by focusing and concentrating on areas that have no ties to the past and following a routine that is designed to make it appear all is well.

I had a blood test today and the nice lady asked me to pull up my sleeve which I did. She took in the series of marks on my arm and asked if this was my good arm. Now chances are she was referring to which arm had the better vein to poke and suck blood out of but it sent my brain into a mini tailspin for I thought she was talking about the marks. I slowly nodded my head and she attempted to draw blood out of my left arm and it did not work so she asked if she could try the right arm. Now my brain is basically screaming as my right arm is a mess. She took the blood and I left but on the way home I started to think what just took place.

Is my self harm back out of control? Have I fallen deeper and deeper into depression without realizing it? Could I consciously step back and analyze my emotional state to determine what action is required? The benchmark I have always used is “Can I convince myself that I am not a danger to me and those around me?” Too many questions with answers that I am having trouble seeing clearly. Take care.

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