#lifeiscrazy

mmm Robert and I have never been great at communication (more specifically him than me). In the (almost) year that he’s been gone, we went from barely communicating, to me dating someone else, to him over-communicating with me, to now us spending most nights talking on the phone for hours. Our phone conversations can get really annoying, but with the help of speakers on headphones, I can still do shit (like drink wine and pet my cat) while we chat. 

So as I mentioned in my first ever post at lonelylittleborderline, I’ve come to a point in my life where this huge thing has happened to me and I’ve looked around for my backup, my support, my people. And there simply wasn’t anybody there. In a panic, I posted a very personal, very cringe-worthy status update on my private Facebook. Needless to say the very few family and friends who were aware of my situation told me I needed to take it down and find more appropriate ways of communicating and dealing with this situation.

And here is where I turn to my computer and think, I’ll just write it all down. Heck, I’ll still write it on social media, just on a different platform. An anonymous platform where I’m sure I will find other lost souls like myself, looking for the meaning in the shit things that happen to us.

So here is the shit thing that happened to me...

I am in my early twenties, and often happens around this age, I had a perfectly normal one-night-stand. Then I discovered it wasn’t very normal, because I had started growing a teeny tiny baby version of myself and my sex buddy inside my body. Yep, I was pregnant. Enter panic mode again. I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, I went out drinking, I wasn’t taking care of my body at all. Yep you guessed it, I had a miscarriage. God I hate that word. But yes, I lost the teeny tiny little life that was growing inside of me. And I was truly devastated. I was in shock. Shock that one minute I was up the duff, next minute I’m back to life as I knew it. But mostly I was shocked at just how devastated I was at this loss. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to keep it, I certainly hadn’t considered how the father would feel about it, then suddenly those decisions were no longer there to make.

I cried secretly, locked in my room for a good 24 hours. I hadn’t told anybody. I had started to build up an image in my head of my new little family. The gorgeous guy I had gone home with, the beautiful child we had created, a happy little home. Even though I have a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder, no job, no qualifications and both me and the father were still living with our parents. But the morning I woke up with blood everywhere and an excruciating pain, I couldn’t see any life for me anymore. Not even the one I was plodding along the path of before all of this happened.

Now just because fate loves to throw a spanner in the works wherever it can, my cousin who is the same age as me, has an amazing boyfriend, a house, a new car and a career, was also growing a baby within her perfectly toned body. She was three months along and perfectly healthy, apart from some morning sickness. This knowledge, naturally, only added to my sense of loss and despair. The fact that she had also “forgotten” to mention her pregnancy to me because she was still bitter about a fight we had had months ago only made me feel more disconnected from my so-called family support network.

So ladies and gents, that is my turning point. My fork in the road. Up until this point my cousin and I were on equal ground. But now she is going down the white picket fence path and I am here, telling my story to strangers online because I have a new plan for life. One that involves a lot more stories being told. Because friends, trust me, I’ve got some good ones. (Spoiler alert - it involves drink spiking, potential sexual assault, packing my bags and running away, life support after a suicide attempt, electric shock therapy, and a lot of hilariously unbelievable anecdotes that come from living and not quite dealing with BPD).