Maggie's Mess

It’ll be two years this summer since I uprooted my life to be with my ex who fed into the worst parts of me. There were really good times and really bad times and that’s pretty much what BPD is. High and lows that affect every aspect of my life. I was riding the rollercoaster of self sabotage and codependency. I didn’t want to go back to Ohio and rebuild again. I didn’t want to live with my mother in the childhood home where I watched my dad die from a crippling disease that could have been prevented.

Like my father, I was deep deep into my addiction. I also picked up smoking cigarettes. I chose the gold American Spirits. My ex used to smoke the turquoise kind, full flavored. I started to go to sex clubs and let strangers touch me but I still didn’t feel good enough. I drank so much I don’t even know how I got home sometimes. Whenever I drank, which was all the time, I would consume copious amounts of food just to feel full.

Because all I’ve ever wanted is to be full of love and purpose and not to need validation from anyone. I want to be able to fill my tank up at the gas station by myself. I want to be able to buy groceries for my house by myself. I just want to be myself and believe that good things are coming and it won’t be like this forever. Right?

Today the moon is revealing the waxing gibbous, which symbolizes healing wounds, setting intentions, and growth. During this time, gratitude is our biggest tool.

I want to hang up my armored suit, sword, and shield, all rusted with blood from battling my own demons. I want to step into my new self and grasp the power of believing in myself. Back when passion for knowledge, and excitement for community, far outweighed the fear of not being good enough.

I feel the need to tell my story but I don’t know where to start. The only beginning I see necessary is the day I was born, which was branded by my mother as: “the day the dog ate the turkey”. I wasn’t born until the following day, which was Black Friday ironically. The holiday for capitalism, basically wasting money on things that won’t make you happy anyway, and me watching tv, and my dad asleep on the sofa. It always comes back to him. I really miss my dad, but the reality is he’s not here anymore and I have to move and adjust to my grief because it will never go away, you just become better at hiding it, or distracting myself between meals and sleeping. I guess my motivation is to keep going so I can at least leave a good mark on this earth before I see my dad again; and when I do, I hope he’s overcome with pride and joy and he belts out to everyone, that his daughter has come home. Home sweet home.

Maggie xo