Coffee with a Borderline 1.3

Ronin PDX  - Faces of Portland

Hello, I’ll have a tall mocha; no whip.

….

{You and I are the same. We love and care for things on a deeper level than others in view. That’s why we split and flip the switch to off. We close ourselves off because we love you. Please leave me alone; because I love you. I hate you; because I love you.}

Coffee with a Borderline.

I absorb and, as a result, reflect perceived personas. If you’re not like me, you’re probably nodding your head in confusion. To relate, imagine the times you’ve been out partying with friends or colleagues. At any time, can you recall changing your accent a little to reflect those around you? Immersing into your surroundings, for no other reasoning than social continuity. That’s similar to what we feel like—every minute of every day, less distractions.

Parenting.

My Ex-wife doesn’t seem to understand that there’s a clinical issue at play, not a social choice. She has since been living out of state with my daughter and does everything she can to not let us have our time together. Our court ordered phone time is never easy. I wish it to be an organized, even staged, event. Such as having her in the same, or similar, spot for our hour-long conversation time. I try to provide a courtesy text an hour in advance every time to better assist from thousands of miles away; still she pushes me away. I strive for the high-rode. I think only how this will affect my little girl, I plan for my success so that she will have someone to look up to. Someone who will be able to guide her through American life. Credit, relationships, and highly probable genetically passed down B.P.D. Considering it’s a lot more common for women to have/pass down B.P.D. than it is for men. I feel as though I can at least provide some guidance. I love my daughter, but I know she will endure the harsh realities sooner than the rest of her peers. I can’t think about the “rest” of them now, I can only focus on my current goals and her well-being through this. At minimum, she will have a book of sorts to refer her queries to when I’m gone. Since I think about suicide as often as others think about chocolate, I must leave something for her. I’m not a bad person, I’m a great person with issues. I feel as though I’m only a spectator in the game of life and like a ghost I can only get through to others on limited occasions. For now, I keep a stack of books to read to her whenever she might call. I have my computer charged so that we can write stories together, so we can talk about robots, and computers, and being a scientist. I want to tech her that life is about sharing knowledge, and being good to others, especially when they don’t deserve it. I wish to guide her through the life she has, knowing she’ll have to encounter many unpleasanties, many heart-aches, many nights filled with tears. Maybe I view my relationship with my daughter as I do the rest of the World; they need to be saved.

In my head, I’m well organized, informative, and kind. When I speak, I feel as though I’m transmitting a signal through the galaxy to my current self from far beyond. I feel as though I’m not real, that I’m borrowing this body, or have it out on lease. I see the pain and suffering from everyone, but I also see that they cause it all themselves. I wish I wasn’t privy to the ways of Humans. I wish I had more control over myself. I wish I could remember more.

Memory.

It’s my belief that we all share another commonality when it comes to memory. I believe in subconscious learning. That is, we learn and retain all that we see, hear, etc.… I believe we can damage and destroy memories, however, I firmly believe we “record” everything and that it’s more probable, dare I say pragmatical, to assume the record button is on forever, rather than when “we” decide. That being said, it may be that we have more of a problem with recalling the memory than we do making it.