Genuinely frustrated with the recent downturn in my mood, and having yelled at my husband for not understanding my disease – going as far as to have accused him of lying about having read books on the subject – I decided it’s time for me to get busy understanding my disease… and for real this time.
I’ve been sitting on “Sometimes I Act Crazy: Living with Borderline Personality Disorder” (written by Jerold J. Kreisman, M.D.) since I finally decided to entertain the idea that I most definitely have a problem for which I lack understanding.
I’ve read the first chapter – and first chapter only – several times over the years. Though it’s meant to be helpful (and perhaps hopeful), it’s actually extremely overwhelming and somewhat dreary. I underline passages (always finding a new one that I failed to underline the last time), and take notes with unbridled enthusiasm… and then think: What this book is basically saying is, “My God says you’re f*cked.” in a thick, Braveheart-esque Scottish brogue.
Not one to enjoy being judged by my books, I slam it shut, and then ignore it for another couple of months.
I picked it up again today, and decided to set a timer for one hour. To read the book for one hour only, and to stop when the timer rang. (When I start a task, I’m always in a mad rush to finish it in order to impress… well, I never know who it is I’m trying to impress. Just that I’m damn sure going to impress them!)
When the bell went off, I wasn’t happy with the progress I had made (I haven’t even finished re-reading that damnable first chapter), but I did close the book! I even tried to tell myself in a pseudo-cheerful voice, “It’s more than you had under your belt this morning… moping on the Wall of Thought with the Peanuts gang.”
My next (rather monumental) task is to keep that particular book closed until tomorrow. That might sound absurd; but I assure you, it isn’t.
The book will call.
The voices in my head will whisper, If you don’t read straight through, and finish it now, you’ll never finish it.
My skin will feel like it itches from the inside.
I will click my nails against the chip in my right front tooth, until my husband can no longer suppress a sideways look of exasperation (at which point I will stop for approximately 25 seconds, before subconsciously resuming said annoying action).
I might not be able to eat.
It may even interfere with my ability to get a good night’s rest.
It is, however, my next task… and I am going to accomplish it!
Then tomorrow, I am going to set the timer, and do it all over again.
With the book, and the ninety posts in ninety days (without deleting anything)? It’s going to be a very trying week.
Silver lining? Day one is done.