the black and white of it

there is something so intimate about sharing someone the details about the inner workings of your brain.

your thought processes.
your fears.
how somehow the chalky feel of toothpaste reminds you of the caulking your dad used behind your bathtub.

it honestly opens you up to a new level in a relationship, but can also open you up to a whole can of worms of blame, guilt and arguing.

this is where i am.  my openness of my borderline personality disorder being used in every argument, every tiff within my household.  and myself, scratching like some rabid animal in a corner, trying to use my defenses to show that i am not my mental disorder, i have a valid argument here.

mostly the term splitting (black and white thinking) is what seems to be coming up the most.

either, i love you or hate you.

there is some little childhood rhyme that always reminds me of it:

Molly, my sister, and I fell out,

And what do you think it was all about?

She loved coffee and I loved tea,

And that was the reason we couldn't agree.

and honestly I'm not that BPD to where i would say a big "fuck you" to Molly and never speak to said sister again.  but i have been known for some pretty damn black and white thinking--i hate the term splitting (it makes me seem at odds with myself).

but, BUT if someone does something shitty to a person, is there a point of black and white thinking allowed?

because if you love a person, and said person does a shitty thing, those feelings of love and caring don't just zip out of your brain into some vapid space?  they still linger.  they lie in conflict with the anger and hurt with the shitty occurrence.  they mingle and switch between forgiveness and unforgiving anger.

i still love the person, at the same time, i choke back tears and sit in the floor to play with my children.  you can't make a black and white choice.  so many lives in the balance. but my diagnosis of BPD says i make a rash decision--but i don't meet all criteria.  i still love him.  i still long for sunday mornings and cereal in bed watching reruns of Parks and Recreation.
there are moments i want it to return to normal and there are points when i want it to just be over.I miss sitting on the back porch and talking about places to eat and upcoming vinyl releases and how awesome my new job is.
and how great it is to feel better.
it's easy to be slammed back to where you once were. BPD or whatever.
and ultimate cop out to express what it is like to deal with something hard.

then you have the layer of mental illness.  it is pretty thick if you let it be.

the always looming Eeyore grey rain cloud in the room.  the easiest thing to blame.  because i mean, fuck, most of the time he's here.  the normal perpetrator.  

because why take the heat on your offense when you have something or someone so easy to blame?  my brain.

the mentally ill, as we know it through our great treatment of them through history shows that they are most likely the culprit? put me in the tub rotation.

"did you hear she's on Prozac? No wonder she's so upset by this situation, she's not meant to handle it."

and ultimate cop out to express what it is like to deal with something hard.

being told not to have kids, because you have issues.  be happy with what you have.  don't push yourself.   i am of the opinion to never settle. always push. always make it better.

here is to me pushing through it.  make my own decisions, BPD or not. to exceed and love my children. and try to love myself.

even if that includes using massive amounts of coconut oil and beauty products.