Looking back on my behavior over the past couple of months, and my bank account, I’ve come to realize I’m a compulsive shopper.
I have urges. And even though I can’t afford to go shopping, I have to. I need to go. I need to buy things. I need things, even if I don’t really need them. Even if I literally have no money for them. My bank account can be at $20 and I’ll go buy something for $50, putting us in trouble. And I simply can’t stop myself. Because even after I’ve done that, I still need to shop.
I don’t know if it’s being used as stress relief, you know how people say shopping is cheaper than therapy… I have been stressed lately, struggling with my depression and mania. I know I went shopping when I was manic and spent quite a bit of money. There was a time before that where I spent hundreds of dollars, I can’t even tell you what I bought… I’m a compulsive shopper.
Noticing I have a problem is the first step. I’ve admitted that I have this issue. I’ve told my husband what I’ve done and that I’ve got a problem. That we need to figure out a way for me to stop doing it, to recognize the signs.
I also think that I need therapy. I’m currently trying to find a counselor in my area that will help me, with everything actually.
Do you have a problem with impulsivity it compulsions?
The way we live today, in this crazy, busy world with crazy schedules it’s hard to find time for yourself.
Sometimes I just need some time. Time to relax and heal. Time to process. Time to think and breathe. Time to rest and really rest. With my schedule I can’t always get that.
Today was an instance of overload. I went to my gyno and for news that I didn’t want to hear, it made me angry. Things aren’t happening how I want them to. I thought I would be pregnant by now. And yet there is still no progress there. There’s too many factors that he wants to consider first, things that he wants to work on first before we really start pushing hormones. I understand, logically – the logical side of me can see he’s being a good doctor. But the raw emotional side of me says that I hate him and he’s wasting my time.
I needed time to process.
Then I had an anxiety attack, different from a panic attack.
I needed time to get over that.
I called into work. They got mad. I felt bad. But I needed time. And then I needed time to get over then getting made at me.
I fell asleep and woke up in a panic attack. Shaking, heart racing, I felt like I was dying. I felt suicidal. The voices in my head saying I deserved to die.
Marcus talked me through everything. He was calming and helped me take my medicine to calm the voices in my head. We’ve been resting since then.
I just need time to rest and maybe I’ll be better tomorrow, if not, I just need more time.
When I visited the doctor the other day, I noticed on her billing page that she marked borderline personality disorder.
Not that it bothers me or anything, I’ve had the diagnosis for a while, but when we last spoke she took the BPD off. She said that I wasn’t showing signs of it anymore. She took it off.
People with BPD, or so I’ve read, can lose the diagnosis within two years of being diagnosed. They use therapy and medications for the symptoms, but you can get better. Again, at least that’s what I have read recently.
I think over time, my symptoms have gotten better. I no longer feel like people are abandoning me or that people are leaving me. I’m no longer trying to push people away. I feel better in that sense. And I’ve been so focused on my bipolar disorder and PTSD that I’ve forgotten about the borderline.
I meant to ask her if I’m still borderline or if she is rediagnosing me. But I forgot. I guess that’s a question for next time.
If only it were that simple. Pick up the shattered pieces that litter the dusty floor of my psyche. Maybe then everything could make sense. But right now, nothing makes sense. Nothing feels right. And I don’t know what to do.
I’ve always been the one on the other side. The one getting treatment, the one being in a crisis. Now, now I’m the caregiver. And now, well now I’m stuck because no one will give me any information about my loved one. Now, I feel lost, confused, bruised, broken, sick, tired, and numb, all at the same time. Nothing makes sense anymore.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore. I don’t feel like doing anything. Writing this, well, this is just a journal, words spilling out of my fractured mind. I feel fractured. Did I break?
I’m supposed to be strong. Be strong he said. I told him the same. I told him I was fine. But I’m not. I’m anything but fine. I can’t even fake a smile. I try, and it just comes out as a grimace. There is no joy. No light.
I’m surrounded in darkness right now. I don’t see the light. There is no light. I feel like there may never be light again. I try to sorround myself with people so I won’t be alone, because when I’m alone the shadows are there. They came back just yesterday. Playing on the edges of my vision, but I saw them.
I’m slowly going insane, aren’t I? But I’m not allowed to. It’s not about me. It’s not my time. I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to be the one to carry us right now. To keep going no matter what. And I can’t. I can’t move. I can barely breathe.
Crying… Well it happens whether I want it to or not. I’m not in control of my tears anymore. They comes as they please, and I just have to sit there in the waves as the tide of sadness rolls in. At least I’m not screaming anymore.
I hit myself. I couldn’t control my hands. I broke. Something in me snapped. I had to just ride it out. There was no one to help me. Just me. Even the cat left me.
Get it together, honey, they say. Pull yourself together. If only they knew just how impossible that seems right now. He’s the glue that holds me together. Without him, I’m just pieces lying on the ground.