I just have to “talk.”  I am trying to figure out my story.  Which, shame shame, is an identity issue, I suppose.  I recently read a couple bpd memoirs and they sort of disturb me by defining self within the frame of disorder.  But also- they seem so liberating.  Stuff I hold back- ways I think that I know I “shouldn’t”– claiming the diagnosis makes me think– well– it seems like it could be easier say says yeah, I have this fantasy– or once I tried to become an alcoholic because that seemed like a good idea.  Or lately, I’ve really been considering abusing food because I want to harm my body and I hate the extra pounds I’ve put on– ….but I will never admit that– that I hate my weight, which is totally “normal”…. or– I just need to make extravagant gestures.  Wear a turban and smoke cigars…. I can’t stand normal living.  And I’m either on an obsessive buzz of project or unable to put enough shape in my day to get a few minutes of work done.  I hate the phrase “chronic-ly unique” — it’s from Alonon.  I am feeling a good dose of it and I am hating a lot of Alonon.  In fact, I am hating a lot of everything.  This last book is based on a self-image of chronic unique-ness, which, in 12 step world of my understanding, is the opposite of spirituality where you feel your commonness with others.  And today my sponsor wrote to me about it because she was comparing something of her ex with something of mine and I told her that they were not from the same pile.  Mine raped me and was old enough to be my father.  Which brings me to my larger  problem: trying to understand what happened to me– Who am I?  Someone always wearing a disguise.  Or- really- where is my role in having been through so much of what I have been through– and how to have that but also not– I mean, also be able to hold that it was abuse.  How can I have a role in my abuse?  I just don’t understand.  I live in a state of bafflement.  And I have a need to perform it.  I need a good temper tantrum of railing against myself.  ……everything passes on its own…….  …….I do not need to perform it and I do not need a tantrum……  Actually, something happened today and it’s in another corner of me.  I don’t want to get punished.  ….No one is punishing me…. ….and I didn’t even do anything wrong….

I think it’s weird that therapy can exist when– …..he asked about some bad tools I used to be keeping and thought I had to use– I was on a course.  But that was wrong.  It isn’t true.  I am free.  I got rid of them a long time ago but he says I didn’t tell him.  I think I was probably just not making sense– but I think I did tell him.  But, apparently, he has been thinking they were still waiting for me.  Which is weird bc I haven’t even done anything even minor for a very long time.  From a very different part of me I feel– is he going to go away now?  Has been sticking around bc he had that misunderstanding?

I am always amazed at the existence of therapy in face no life threatening anything.  Even that lives matter– I don’t really believe it.  There are so many people in world.  I don’t know why anyone cares if the sick ones go.  But even past that– it’s even weirder that anyone care about those who are pretty sure to live– why anyone cares about discomfort.