Life: My Therapy Session

What happens when nobody listens or cares? It’ll be too late? Most of you won’t read this post, but it’s okay. 

I showed up ten minutes early.

I clicked on the light switch to let her know I was there and waited anxiously on the couch. As usual, soft elevator music was playing and the room was dim as if to invite calmness. I looked at my watch to make sure I wasn’t late. I wish I had canceled. I heard the door open and I saw her smile. I felt bad. Was she ready for what I was going to tell her? I took a deep breath, walked in, and sat down.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked.

“A lot of things.” I said. My mind was racing. I didn’t know where to start. From the beginning of dinner, after the bar, or during the drive home?

After a few seconds, I began to tell her my story.

“I saw my ex again.” I said.

“Oh” she replied. She knew our history.

I continued, “He invited me to dinner and I accepted. We ate, laughed, and I thought we were starting to move past our issues. I told him that I was going to go to a bar to meet a potential friend and I was excited because I hadn’t had a friend a could talk to in a long time. He said he was happy for me and that he may even make an appearance.”

At that moment, I stopped.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I thought he actually cared,” I said, “I met my friend and we were having a good time. I told him about my best friend and school  and he told me about his life and childhood. We related, but I couldn’t help and think about what my ex had told me. Was he really going to show up? A couple hours later and he did.”

“What happened then?” she asked.

I said, “I went up to him and he pretended not to know me. All of a sudden my world stopped. To think that someone who hours before invited me to dinner and who I shared personal details about my life acted as if I was a stranger.”

“That must be hard, what did you do after he told you that?” she replied.

I responded, “I only remember glimpses of that night. I remember feeling depressed. I remember telling the Uber driver that I had enough. And I remember taking all the pills I had in my drawer. 30 Trazadone, 23 Prozac,10 Propranolol,  and 12 Xanax. The next thing I remember was waking up on the floor at the police station. I guess someone had called and they thought I was drunk. The police officers didn’t know I had taken any pills and just took me away. They released me a couple hours later and I remember entering my room, laying myself on the bed, and sleeping for hours. I spent the weekend at home with a fever, my body shaking uncontrollably, not being able to pee, and feeling alone.”

I paused. All this time I had been looking down on the floor that I forgotten my therapist was there. I looked up. Her eyes kept from crying, but her face looked sad.

“I’m very grateful you’re alive to tell me this story,” she responded, “that you’re able to tell me me what happened coherently. Not everyone gets lucky enough to make it.”

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked.

“Nothing is wrong with you, it’s your inability to regulate your emotions that we need to manage,” she replied quickly.

“Can I ask something?” I said, “have you diagnosed me with anything?”

“Yes,” She replied.

Her response scared me. I wasn’t expecting her to reply with a yes. But for some reason, I knew this day would come. My life was full of pain. Full of traumatic events that I somehow managed to live through.

I looked up again. “What do I have?” I asked.

“Bi Polar and Borderline Personality Disorder.” she answered.

The rest of the session went by slowly. We discussed my feelings and I ended up with the idea that my life needed to change. The next days were full of mental evaluations and appointments. That was the last time I saw my therapist. Not because she wasn’t good. But because I couldn’t afford it.

And that’s were I come in and ask for help from you.. I am asking for donations to go back to therapy. I plan to make a different page just for my writings on sessions and my progress. I want to go twice a week, but each session is $80. 

Dealing with BiPolar and Borderline Personality has been difficult. Thoughts of suicide and depression have been the story of my life, but somehow I have been able to be fortunate enough to come out alive and write about my experience.

Any type of donation would help. Even a reblog would be appreciated.

My name is Eddy and I have Borderline Personality Disorder and BiPolar, and I am alive to share my story. Thank you.


Donate Button with Credit Cards

My Dating Life

I am destined to be single. End of story…Well kinda.

I want to talk about my dating life.

I’ll start by telling you that I have a bad past. When I first started coming to terms with my sexuality, I was having a lot of meaningless sex with guys I met on gay dating sites or Craigslist (go ahead and judge). I met these guys discreetly. I was just a random hook up, a mediocre at best and a lousy one at worst. See, back then the idea of being in a relationship was hard for me to understand.

After a few years of discreet hook ups, I met my first boyfriend (at least, that’s how I would like to describe our relationship). We met, had sex, and continued talking on-and-off for two years. The reason being, he was in an on-and-off relationship with his boyfriend of five years (I found out nine months into our relationship). I have a bad habit of getting myself into bad situations. We stopped talking months ago and now I’m officially single.

To be honest, I’m scared of being alone, but aren’t we all? I just don’t want to go back to the meaningless sex. I never want to feel like an object to be used for sex ever again.

I have gone on a few dates. Each ending with the guy being recently single and not ready to start a relationship, only wanting sex, showing no interest, or living too far from me. I’ve been using Grindr, OkCupid, Adam4Adam, and Jack’d, but I can’t seem to find a “single” guy in Orange County who wants a relationship. I don’t know what to do anymore.

I have condensed my search to taller, older, nerdy, white guys. I can’t help it. I think they are just the cutest! I’m attracted to their sense of entitlement, pale skin, travel stories, and vastly different ways in which they grew up compared to me. It took many years to develop this preference. And many heartbreaks. But I’m a bit closer to knowing the type of guy with whom I want to start a relationship.

My best friend once said that I’m smart, funny, caring, and genuine. And I believed her. Until I realized that there isn’t a guy out “there” who wants to be with me. I guess it was just her job to lie in order for me to feel better.

I’m not sad or depressed. I’m actually in a very exciting point in my life. I would just like to share these moments with someone. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Are guys really only interested in looks? I guess I’ve never been “sexy,” “hot,” or physically attractive enough for this gay world (or the world in general). I forgot that’s all gay guys want in the end. I don’t mean to sound so negative. I’m normally not. Honest. But lately, I’ve just given up. And I’m tired of trying.

I mean…I have dreams. I have goals. I have a job and on my way to having a great career working with adolescents and children. I have ambition. I want kids in the future. I want to get married eventually. I’ve never cheated. I find the idea of an open-relationship morally wrong. I don’t care much about looks (heck, I have a hard time knowing what pieces of clothing match). Are my values just different from many guys? Why can’t I find a guy who wants what I want? I guess I’ve just been trying too hard to find Mr. Right.

I just want a guy who will like me as much as I like him. One we is curious to know more about me and will ask me as many questions as I ask him. One who will randomly call me because he wants to talk and will stay awake late at night to text me even though he has to wake up early for work in the morning. One who enjoys going to the beach or staying home to watch a Batman movie. One who likes to cuddle and kiss. One who isn’t afraid to share his feelings and doesn’t hesitate to hold my hand. One who laughs at my corny jokes and tries to make me laugh. One who will let me into his life. But who am I kidding? I’m just being unrealistic.