Borderline Personality Disorder · Depression · Inspirational · Love · Writing

Stop the World and Let Me Off!

Sandi Staton

If you could unzip my skin, you would see my wounds. But, unless you’ve walked a mile in my shoes, you will never know how much it hurts.

Sandi Staton

I have episodes when I feel that everyone I love has died. The feeling is so overwhelmingly dark and painful, that I just want to curl up and die. Sharing those feelings with my medical doctor a few years ago is when he diagnosed me with BPD (borderline personality disorder). I had never heard of it before, so I went online to see what it was, and discovered that he was right. And, for the first time in my life, I had a better understanding of my anxieties, fears and phobias, and noise intolerance. Why rejection feels like my heart is in a wood chipper. Why depression never goes to sleep. No matter how hard I try not to go there, I get sucked into the maddening cycle of ups and downs, of feeling okay for a few days, sometimes weeks, then falling back down to the pit of hell, and clawing my way back out again. It’s murderous! A never-ending torment of feeling good and then bad, and then like a demon from hell. I’ve been like this all my life. Social gatherings are sometimes so painful that I avoid them. It’s true, my home life was as dysfunctional as the Hatfield’s and McCoy’s. But through my own blood, sweat, and tears, I am crawling towards recovery. I dove into the murky river of lies and deceit in search of the truth, and a more functional way of life. It took guts. It tore my world apart. It opened my eyes to the brutal, emotional abuse that I endured. And there, in the deepest parts of my battered soul, I saw God. No judgement. No finger pointing. No demented glaring eyes. But, rather, I saw arms open wide, eyes filled with tears, and a smile bigger than the universe. And sobbing in His embracing arms of steel, I felt the depths of His warm and tender love.

I still struggle. I’m still learning and growing. I still take three steps forward and two steps backward. But I will never give up! I know God didn’t create me this way. God doesn’t maim, He heals. God doesn’t hate, He loves. God doesn’t laugh when I fall, He cries and picks me up. He brushes off the dirt of the world, takes hold of my feeble hand, and walks beside me every wavering step of the way.

Isaiah 48:17 NIV
This is what the Lord says . . . your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel: “I am the Lord your God, who teaches you what is best for you, who directs you in the way you should go.”

Candy · Humor · Inspirational · Writing

Did You Really Have to Go There?

Sandi Staton2 Comments
Daily writing prompt
What’s your favorite candy?
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Sugar runs through my veins. Not blood. SUGAR! I’m a sugar junkie. Malted Milk Balls? I never eat just one. I eat the whole box in one setting. Milk Duds? Caramel Chews? M&M’s? Gummy Bears? Please, stop! Give me a truckload. No, a dump truck load, and I’ll scream for more. If I were a hoarder, my house would be bursting at the seams with candy! Am I diabetic? Nope! I’m just an insane, full-blown addict!

And, since Christmas, I’ve added hot chocolate to the list. Covered with marshmallows. So yummy. Then I ran into a problem. A big problem. I got hooked on the marshmallows! My brain wouldn’t shut up about it. Every time I started doing something, I’d hear, “Sandi. Come and eat us,” till I ended up eating two whole bags full.

I only wish my body liked candy as much as my taste buds do. But, it doesn’t. It suddenly got too big for its britches. Between the bloat and neuropathy, my feet and legs swelled like road kill on the verge of bursting open. I complained. I moaned and groaned. My poor body was suffering, and my brain didn’t care.

I had to make a decision: keep up the insanity, or straighten up. I chose to straighten up. Since this is not my first rodeo, I knew what I had to do. DETOX!

I dislike water as much as I love candy. And intermittent fasting is almost as bad. But, because I’m an all or nothing freak, I do better at eating nothing than going on a stupid, calorie-restricted diet that never works for me. Fasting is a beautiful word compared to the evil, diet word.

Oh, and one other thing. I started walking. Since I quit jogging after seventeen years (another stupid thing I did), I’ve gained weight and lost a ton of muscle strength till it’s difficult walking up just a few steps. And I fall. A lot. And I’m old. Real old (77). But, that’s okay. I can’t fix that, but I can fix what I do with it from here on out. I must admit, though, that since my legs refuse to support me at times, I feared falling in the middle of the road and getting run over if I started a walking program. My son, an insane hiker, marathon runner, and body builder, told me about trekking poles that athletes are using today. I bought a set, tried them out, and fell in love with them. It took me a few walks before I got the hang of it, but I won’t walk without them. Ever!

The moral of my story is this: If you value your body, no matter what your age, take care of it. It’s the only one you have, and it ain’t gettin’ younger! Trust me!

THE END!

Bella · Digital Art · Humor · Writing

Bella! That’s Enough!

Sandi Staton
Bloganuary writing prompt
If you could make your pet understand one thing, what would it be?
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She barks at everything, chases anything, trips all over our feet, and nearly rips the skin off our legs while attempting to jump over them on the bed. She’s clumsy as a newborn calf, and stubborn as a mule, but, if I could make her understand one thing, it would be to STOP LICKING! The floors, the blankets, the furniture, the beds, me, my husband, Pepper, and herself! For once and for all, I wish I could make her understand that her licking is bad for my health!

America · Writing

The Red, White, and Blue

Sandi Staton
Daily writing prompt
How have your political views changed over time?
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One Sunday afternoon, a few years ago, the family was sitting around the dinner table laughing, and just goofing off. Suddenly, our oldest grandchild, Brandon, marches through the front door with our flag across his shoulder, working up a sweat to keep it off the floor.

At first, I thought, what on earth is this silly boy doing now? Then it all made sense when he explained, “Gideon (his then six-year-old) accidentally pulled on the flag, and it fell across the bush. It didn’t touch the ground, papaw, I promise!”

Every family member knows how my husband feels about the American flag. He fought for it. He risked his life for it, and nearly died for it while fighting the fire for thirty-six tumultuous hours on board the USS Forestall. https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwjzvYWZk7ODAxUMTjABHfKtC3YQz40FegQIDBAK&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D4CzS7gHLuLM&usg=AOvVaw2N9Sd_bnDMh1sODOzLV9Gz&opi=89978449

Now, more than fifty years later, he still cries for those he put into body bags, some of which only consisted of a wedding band, or a pair of glasses.

PTSD they call it. I call it a living hell. Blinded by grief, my husband can’t see that I’m on the receiving end of his rage, and grief, anger and frustration. That, like a vacuum, he sucks me on the ship with him, where we battle each other because we’re the only ones there. The only ones burning. The only ones trapped. Between the ghosts of yesterday, and stresses of today, our marriage of fifty-one years began to sink before we finally put it in God’s hands.

So, you can only imagine how explosive my husband becomes when he sees murderous mobs spitting, and stomping, and burning the American flag. It reminds him of how people spit and cursed in the faces of the men and women who went to hell and back to keep them safe and free. Instead of receiving a standing ovation of honor and respect, they were crucified, and crowned as women and, baby-killers.

Politics was my worst subject in school. Too complicated for my realistic, black and white thinking. I just trusted our leaders because I always felt they had America’s best interest at heart. But, today, I see a government consumed by recklessness, selfishness, and greed. And we, the people they promise to serve, are freezing to death in their cold-hearted lies.

Who can we trust when the government fails, when it sleeps with the enemy, when its main interest is in its own political gain? We can trust God. He alone has the world in His hands. He alone has our best interest at heart. He alone has the power to hold, to keep, and to save. He alone knows exactly how the story ends. So, I put my trust in Him.

John 16:33
In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.

The End

Writing

My Dream, My Space

Sandi Staton1 Comment
Daily writing prompt
You get to build your perfect space for reading and writing. What’s it like?
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wallup.net

In the cold of winter, I step outside where waterfalls sparkle like diamonds beneath a clear, blue sky. The grass tickles my bare feet as I glide across it. Nothing of the outside world distracts me here. It’s not allowed. It confuses me, judges me, condemns me. Here, I’m at peace. Perfect peace with just the sound of my heartbeat and waterfalls and birds and the gentle, whispering wind. Now, I can write, I can read, I can dream and meditate without the roar of the world blasting my ears. This is my space, my creation, my happy place for as long or as short as I want. And today may turn into night before I leave.

The End.

Borderline Personality Disorder · Digital Art · Writing

Message From A Birdhouse

Sandi Staton

Perfectionism is a self-made prison of never-ending feelings of hopelessness, failure, and regret.

Sandi Staton

As I gazed out of my bedroom window this morning, I noticed the birdhouse still hanging upside-down on the old maple tree. The same birdhouse I wrote about months ago. (https://wordpress.com/post/sandistatondigitaldesigns.com/13022).

This past Summer was the most stressful, frustrating, anger-filled Summer my husband and I have ever gone through. From beginning to end, we were at each other’s throats, like the Hatfield’s and McCoy’s. A constant feud that I thought would never end. What’s happening to us? Why, when we need each other the most, are we tearing each other apart? Is this what retirement does to people? Is this what getting old does to people?

Then, something happened. We decided that life is too short for us to be angry and frustrated with one another. That the things happening around us with the house, yard, and trees having to be cut down were out of our control. No matter how stressful it all was, there was nothing we could do to change it. So, instead of fighting against each other, we decided to slay our toxic attitudes and start working together. And with God’s help and gentle guidance, miracles began to happen in each of our lives.

By allowing God to open our eyes, we began to see our selfishness, blaming and excuses we’ve been making for ourselves. His PTSD and my BPD are not the blame; we are. We were letting our disorders rule and control our lives instead of manning up and taking charge. When we’re feeling down and hopeless, it’s so easy to blame our thoughts and actions on our disorders. It’s so easy to blame anything and everything going on around us rather than blame ourselves.

That’s not living. That’s pride and stubbornness and unwillingness to change. It’s lack of faith in ourselves and each other and God. As believers in Jesus Christ, we don’t have to live that way. We don’t give up. We keep fighting the good fight to the bitter end. And it’s tough. But God never promised us a rose garden without thorns. He promised His peace and joy and love when we trust and obey Him.

Healing comes when we surrender our will and embrace God’s will. When we get so sick and tired of who and what we’ve become that we scream: enough! I don’t want to be this monster anymore! That’s when God intervenes. That’s when the sun begins to shine in our hearts. That’s when we begin reading and studying His Word with seeing eyes and listening ears. That’s when we forgive ourselves and others. That’s when peace flows like a river through our troubled, restless souls.

It’s been months, now, since I’ve had a BPD episode: https://www.talkspace.com/mental-health/conditions/articles/bpd-triggers/ I’m thrilled about that because I used to have several a week. I gave up hope that I would ever break free from that monster living in me. No one on this side of heaven could help me. If I wanted freedom once and for all, I had to throw away the emotional crutches and trust God to teach me how to walk without them.

So, looking out my window this morning and seeing the upside down birdhouse made me smile. Striving to be perfect in everything I do isn’t my drive, anymore. By changing my thought process and lowering my expectations, I am slaying the beast on my back. It still has a heartbeat, but it’s getting slower and slower. It may never completely die, but I’m feeling more alive.

So, I’m leaving the birdhouse upside down. As a reminder of the commitment I made to myself, to my husband, and to God. As a reminder that I am an imperfect human being living in an imperfect world, and that I should never expect more from myself and others than God does.

Christmas · Digital Art · Digital Photo Painting

8 Days Till Christmas

Sandi Staton

Isaiah 9:6
For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

The prophet Isaiah

Free Facebook Covers: Christmas
Image Source: Free Public Domain
Digital Art by: Sandi Staton