Thoughts slowing down. That is welcomed. Other things, however, are not slowing down. Time is a slide. No, wait. Time goes DOWN a slide. Slides are fast. In simpler words, time moves quickly. Or it appears to move quickly. I run faster (I know, I know -- take a break, Meg!) now that I've had these pricey iron infusions and have begun to, well, eat food again. Guess food and iron are essential ingredients to being a runner/human. Certain relationships in my life are currently moving at what appears to be lightening speed, but then again I don't know how fast lightening is. I'm not a lighteningtologist, okay? I am just a girl who is staring at a computer screen, asking it to love her. LOVE ME! I hate you, don't leave me. I've mentioned how I am 117% sure I have Borderline Personality Disorder, right? Actually, I think multiple therapists have agreed with me -- does that legitimize it? Does it matter? On my official records it just says I have anemia and ADHD and depression. And maybe other thins I don't know about. About which I don't know. Maybe it says I don't know grammar. And I don't. I really, truly don't.
Oh right, back to BPD. Borderline. Life as a Borderline! Gotta love it! But at the same time, gotta hate it! But at the same time, you gotta shave your head and get into questionable situations with men and women and write manifestos and fall into a pit of despair over something as simple as... well, you can't really remember what put you into this pit, but you do know that you are pissed off! And you are going to drive the (EXPLETIVE!) off of this cliff and no no no now you are happy again. Euphoric! You should write a book or become a nun or maybe marry that dude you met twelve hours ago or drink this whole bottle and see what happens. Push people away, but don't forget to desperately need their approval. They should leave you alone, but be emotionally available whenever you want them to be. Isn't life as a Borderline just one magnificent party? A party with a lot of illegal substances and activities, by the way.
By the way, don't worry too much (mama <3). Or maybe do worry? I always tell people not to worry, but then I go ahead and cry out for attention by shrinking myself. You know what? I think a lot of my eating disorder has been about wanting to be taken care of and/or noticed. Not noticed for beauty, but noticed in a way where someone will say, "Oh my! You are sick! Let me take care of you and bring you back to health." I used to pretend like I was on my dying bed as a child. It was a game for me. I played it often. I liked the idea of people being sad that I was sick and then telling me how much they loved me. I liked hearing them tell me goodbye. I don't remember if I ever died in these scenarios or if I just abandoned the game for something more "kid friendly," such as hopscotch or after-school cartoons. I don't know. But I do know now that no one can save me. No one should save me. I have to make the critical decision to save myself. I have to make the decision whether or not I want to save myself.
I guess my thoughts haven't quite slowed down yet. I guess there are still lightening bolts crashing in my skull and disease-carrying monkeys picking fleas off of their lovers. I guess all of those things still take up space in my head. And that's okay. I have slowly learned to let these thoughts be. Let them happen because they will happen anyway -- might as well not take up energy trying to fight or avoid them. And let myself be comforted by the fact that they won't last. They will fade and vanish and then new thoughts will appear. Those new thoughts will eventually become old thoughts as well. It all passes. We all pass. The only thing left for us to do is ask ourselves whether we wish to ride these waves or to get caught in a rip current. Currently I wish to break the grip of the rip. I think. Some days are better than others. Some days the depth of the ocean is seductive. Some days I forget I don't know how to swim.