What in the World is God up to?

Month: May, 2013

How Can I be so Easily Swayed?

It’s been a couple of days since my last post.  Monday night I felt so good.  My husband and I had a great Memorial day weekend.  I believed God had really taught me some things during the week before, and I felt like I was finally having a breakthrough in my spiritual life.

I thought I’d turned a corner.

Today, I am hiding my tears and my confusion with God from my husband; he is very down, and I feel childish to express my sadness in front of him.

My original therapist will not email with an appt. time.  I sent him an email last week after the debacle with our current therapist.  He responded and it seemed as though I would be able to go back to him.  But I’ve emailed twice now, asking for an appt. time, and there has been no response.

My best friend has been very distant since Friday.  She sat here in my home last Thursday night and told me how much she loved and cared about me, and now she is very quiet; no email, text or phone call.

I don’t feel like I have the right to ask God for anything anymore.  I’ve had a really good life, for the most part.  I have two beautiful daughters, three precious grandchildren, with another on the way.  I have a home with indoor plumbing and a/c.  There is food in the pantry.  I spent this afternoon and early evening with my oldest daughter and my three granddaughters; held my 6-week-old granddaughter for over an hour.  I love that fuzzy little head on my shoulder–it made me feel like a human being who was really worth something.



Praying that the Good continues…

In the past 3 days, I have had to face some embarrassing and humiliating truths about myself.  I don’t know how long it will be before I can stop apologizing to my husband and to God.

But I do believe that some real good has come from my face-plant of ridiculousness.  My husband and I have had some very productive conversations.  I’ve seen myself in a couple of “snapshots” that are awful to view, but necessary if I ever want to stop the madness of my self-inflicted emotional injuries.

I know I’ve said this before, but, honestly, I cannot understand how any person with a more severe case of BPD makes it through a day.  Borderlines are now on my prayer list because there is no way I’d still be alive is my case was more severe. So in spite of the irrationality of a BPD, the fact that so many fight to get through a day and make it is amazing and noteworthy.

I’m so thankful today is a holiday.  It is needed for me.  Taking a walk with my husband and hashing through feelings and memories with him is so good for me.  I’m 99.9 % certain that he loves me.  For a borderline, that’s as good as 110%.  I’m 98% sure that my daughters love me.  I know my grandkids love me because they’re still at the age where they would tell me if they didn’t.  But they run to the door and scream, “Gigi!” when I show up and let me hug them and kiss them.  That is such an incredible feeling.  Why can I believe that I have the power to love them as much as I do outside of God’s love?  That’s so stupid.  God must love me so much more than I love them.  Why is that so hard to believe?

I feel like the prodigal, standing in the middle of the road.  My father has run to meet me, thrown his arms around my neck, covered me with kisses, called for a PAR-T to be thrown…and I’m still standing in the middle of the road saying, “I don’t believe you really mean that,” and believing that My Father doesn’t really mean it.

That’s the best definition of my borderline that I can give you.

I absolutely despise it.


Dear God, is there healing?

Just watched a video of a psychologist talking about the diagnosis of borderline personality disorder.  He said most therapists view it as a death sentence for healing.

God, tell me that is not true.

Reading different websites and blogs dealing with BPD are usually discouraging.  The outlook is often grim, and that just feeds my depression.  It doesn’t help that there are other stresses going on in my life that contribute to my depression.  It doesn’t help that one of the worst aspects of BPD is that I don’t trust people easily, and that translates into my inability to trust God.  I’m always waiting for the punch in the stomach.  And a great deal of the last year has been one long pounding.

Now throw in menopause, which I thought I was past.  But the hot flashes are back, sometimes several times a day, so I’m figuring my hormones are still whacky.  Menopausal hormone fluctuation is nasty enough on its own.

I cannot count the times I have been on my knees, begging for healing.  And now I’ve screwed up royally with my therapist.

Dear Lord, I am my own worst enemy…no, that’s not true.  satan just dogs me.

Heal me, Father.  Please.


Never say “this is the worst day”….because they can always get worse

Wow.  I thought I’d had the worst day of my life back in June 2012.  hahahahahahaha (that’s maniacal laughter).  May 23, 2013 was even worse.  It started out as a pretty good day.  I didn’t have to talk myself out of bed into the shower, I didn’t worry myself silly to the point of tears at work.

Got home from work and ate lunch, then went to see my oldest daughter and one of my grandkids.  Sweet.  Got to therapy and the poop hit the fan.  I had misunderstood something my husband had said the day before, and he brought it up first thing in therapy.  It made me mad because I felt like he had said it and then decided he should rethink it and brought it up in front of our therapist to sort of put me on the spot.

So I got ticked and asked him why he had told me one thing on Wednesday and now was acting like my response to unfair.  Our therapist jumped right in and started badgering me.  From there, it went straight to hell.  I ended up leaving the session early because my therapist said he had told me B.S. in my private session and when I said, “It was all B.S.?”  he said, “yeah, B.S.”  So I left.

I mean, wouldn’t you if someone you had been paying to help you had just told you he had been feeding you crap?

My husband came out of the office about 15 minutes and wouldn’t get in the car with me.  He wanted to walk and calm down, so I went and got a Coke and came back and picked him up.  He didn’t want to talk, so I just said there had been a misunderstanding and I was sorry.  He still wouldn’t talk.  We drove home in silence. At some point, he must have said he didn’t know if he would come home that night.  When I stopped to buy gasoline, he got out of the car and walked away.  I started home and broke down.  Called my best friend and went to her house to sob my eyes out; stayed there for a few hours trying to figure out what in Hades had happened in the therapist’s office.  I know I felt like the therapist was berating the heck out of me just for the hell of it.

My husband did come home, but slept on the couch.  I didn’t sleep hardly at all.  Came downstairs and asked my husband if we could talk.  “No!”

At this point, I felt sure my marriage is over.  And I really felt like the SOB therapist had encouraged my husband to leave me.

I tried to go to work, came home, went back to work, took 2 Benadryl to try and sleep.  Woke up and felt horrible, physically and emotionally.  Called my best friend, went to her house again, sobbed again, tried to figure out what had happened again.

Got a text from my husband.  Went home to see him and he told me he loved me.

Here’s the problem; I have borderline personality disorder.  My therapist has told me I have to stop making assumptions and listen to what is actually being said.  So that’s what I did.  He affirmed that he had been telling me B.S. in our last private session and so I left.

But my husband told me today that the therapist was using a particular approach for someone with my disorder.  Which I think is crap.  I took what he SAID as what he meant.  I don’t understand why I’m supposed to try and decipher whether or not my therapist is telling me the truth.

I am trying to believe that my husband is back because he wants to be.  The timing of all of this garbage couldn’t be worse.  I’m in between the one-year anniversary of our best vacation ever, and the day my husband got arrested.  My world has been in little bitty pieces during the last year and it has been painstaking to put pieces back together.  And so my therapist picks a great day to be a jerk.  My disorder aside, he was a jerk.  I’ve been seeing him for 6 months; you’d think he would know me better by now.

I am going to be dealing with the repercussions of this for a while.  It’s really sad because, on Wednesday, I’d had a couple of little breakthroughs.  I’ve now taken about 10 steps backwards.

So, this is a vent blog.  Amazing how much my insecurity got reinforced because of the “method” my therapist decided to use.  I’m just thankful my husband is here and we’ve had a good day.


One Drop…..

One drop…one drop of His precious blood…is greater than all my sins.
One touch of the dusty, filthy hem of His garment is greater than a multitude of years of sickness.
Father, keep me right here today, and the rest of my life.                                                           One drop.

I wrote the above this morning and felt so good on my way to work.  Held onto being in the “one drop there” for about 30 minutes before the evil one started in on me.  Made it through work, got home, had good news in the mail.
At 4:00 p.m., I was engulfed with waves of terror; laid on the bed and sobbed because I was so scared.

What is wrong with me?  Am I just losing my mind?  Have I bought into the lies for so many years that there is NO way I can change and move past my past?

It’s a Painful Day…

Flashback to one year ago today, May 21:  My husband and I have left around 1:00 p.m. to head to the Gulf of Mexico for vacation.  It’s before Memorial day, so the beach won’t be littered with pale northern bodies trying to turn brown, turning beet red instead.

We have a great time there; sand and surf in the morning, nap in the afternoon, shrimp, shrimp and more shrimp, walk on the beach at sunset, sleep longer and more deeply at night than we do at home.

It was a fantastic trip.

Fast forward to three weeks later:  My husband gets arrested.  Two weeks after that, he loses his job; four months later, he does 30 days in jail.  Still no job.

Fast forward even more to today, May 21, 2013: He still has no job.  We’ve been in therapy  together and separately for 11 months.  Yesterday and today have been anxiety-ridden, deeply depressing days for me.

Yes, God has brought us through a great deal and been very gentle with us compared to how it could have been.  I am trying to be grateful for the change in my, my husband and our lives.

But, still, I am incredibly sad. Some of the loss we’ve experienced is hard to bear.  I am still so confused about who I am in God’s eyes that there are days when it still feels like my soul is being torn in two.  And I still feel stupid…for not knowing.

My counselor said that my husband’s arrest does not negate the great vacation.  I told him it had cast a shadow over it.  He said if he’d had the best meal of his life, getting sick the next day wouldn’t change that. (He’s obviously never had food poisoning).  I responded that it probably would if he found out it had been horsemeat.


The Father of Lies…

satan has been all over me today, and it’s only 8 a.m.  Last night, I didn’t end the evening well with my husband.  This morning, the first thing I heard was, “you are such a rotten sinner.  You just embrace sin like an old friend.”   Now, intellectually I know that this is a rich statement coming from the one who LOVES it when I sin.  He accuses as though he is “helping” you see your faults, when in reality, he revels in sin and revels in condemning me when I do.

I’m stuck right now.  I can’t seem to move forward.  Maybe after the one-year date has come and gone, that will change.

There is a strong wish in me that I could just run away, go somewhere totally unknown to me and me unknown to it, but I can’t stand the thought of not seeing my kids and grandkids.  Besides, it would work only for a few days.  You can blot out the noise if you keep moving, but eventually you have to rest and the noise comes back with a vengeance.

BTW, I found this great site on youtube.  If any reader is wondering about or struggling with pornography, here’s a great short video to watch:

We as U.S. citizens don’t need to worry about terrorists or illegal aliens destroying this country.  The USA will destroy itself, much like Rome did.  Pornography will be the major factor.  I have no doubt.


What the Hockey Sticks?

Woke up yesterday morning and was doing okay but, by the time I got out of the shower, I was in tears, begging God to forgive me because I can’t believe He has forgiven me…twisted, huh?

Saw my therapist in the afternoon and asked him how long he thought it would take me to be “un-mental” enough to stop seeing him.  He said it took him almost two years to plow through his junk.  So I’m looking at seeing him for another year.  I asked him how long he could stand seeing me when he was basically hearing and saying the same things over and over.  Then, of course, we got into the “why don’t you ask the question you really want to ask” issue and I refused to ask the question straight out because I don’t think he would tell me the truth, so we ended up abandoning the discussion.  He thinks I’m in a “good spot” right now; I absolutely hate where I am.  Who wants to spend months in the desert with no hint of when they will get out?

We stopped by and saw our daughter and grandkids before we came home.  I honestly think holding my one-month-old granddaughter is as good a therapy as my snarky therapist is.

I have chewed the inside of my mouth to shreds.  Don’t know why that nervous habit started so late in this desolate, aching year, but I can’t seem to keep from it now.  The fight to keep myself level is exhausting.  I’m tired of not having any money.  I truly need a vacation–not anywhere fancy, just away for a while.  But that’s not in the cards, or, rather, the checkbook.

I dread summer coming.  Last summer was so horrible; emotionally, mentally, physically and environmentally.  Last summer was miserably hot for weeks and weeks with no rain.  The earth was scorched, as was my heart and soul.




Running through my mind…

During the two weeks I took a sabbatical from this blog, many questions about God have run through my mind, some of them two or three times a day every day.

I was pondering how difficult it is, at times, to believe God is everywhere and mindful of every person on earth. (Typing that just now makes me think how unfathomable that is.)  But I believe the evil one is everywhere and mindful of everyone on earth.  satan always has time for me, so why do I doubt that God does?

How can God have always been?  Where did He come from?  That idea is not logical.  But then neither is the idea that there is no intelligent design behind the earth in it’s orbit, the incredible awesomeness of flowers, trees, mountains, oceans, a newborn baby’s fuzzy head on my shoulder, rainbows, Golden Retrievers, laughter, music, snow, and chocolate.

How can God love me unconditionally and delight in me when my heart is so selfish and downright wicked? But God loved David (adulterer and murderer), Jacob (conniver and liar), Moses (murderer), Peter (hothead and “with a friend like this, who needs an enemy” deny-er.

And how can I still struggle after all these years to believe?


Now I’m Spooked and Sad

Last night, I had a dream about a friend of mine that committed suicide a few months before he turned 21.  I never get to see his face when I dream about him, and the dreams are rare.  This morning, I looked at the date on my computer and realized May 14 was the date that they believe he died…35 years ago.

I haven’t shed any tears today about him; it’s the first time in about 25 years that I haven’t.  The older I got, the more I mourned his death.  In 2010, I wrote two novels based on my friendship with him and his death.

I don’t know why the tears haven’t come today.  Maybe it’s because I’ve cried so many tears for other reasons that a 35 year old death is not as painful as it used to be, especially with all that’s happened to my personal life in the last 11 months.

I guess my subconscious remembered the date of his death and that’s why I dreamt of him last night.

He would have been a great dad and granddad.  He was a precious friend.