Today I went on search of another blog by someone with BPD, because I felt incredibly alone, and I thought it might help. I found the following things:
1. An entire article on how people with BPD should never have children because those children would have a very high risk of developing a mental illness or PTSD just from being around you.
2. An article on how to stay away from people with Borderline, because, you know, we are clearly the devils work.
3. An article of how to cope better being a friend of someone with BPD. I was pretty hopeful about this one. Until it genuinely described how people with BPD will be emotionally crippled for their entire lives and that you'll have to accept that they'll never be a good friend.
I then thought I would look for blogs about suicide, because honestly, reading the first set of blogs made me heavily question why I bother fighting as hard as I do just to be judged. Every article I clicked on talked about suicide, then gave statistics for people with depression. They talked through depression, described it, and gave a range of helpful tips for dealing with it. Firstly Depression was portrayed in a positive light, but second and more importantly, no where was it mentioned that someone may die from suicide due to another mental disorder.
The thing I find most difficult about BPD is that its all the time; its a constant. At any time of day, I will probably be either overly depressed, anxious or bizarrely elated. Thats the first layer. On top of that layer, I will be scared of the people I need leaving me, irrationally. The next layer is thinking about suicide - I am in constant battle to fight it out of my head, and am reminded of it all the time throughout the day. Whether its trying desperately to remind myself I want to live, or working out how i'm going to die, its there all the time. The next layer is wanting to be alone, because I am exhausted from all the other layers, and can only process them properly in private. On top of that I am paranoid about random daily activities and the people around me, my feelings about people change in an instant, and I am scared that i'm going to die alone, in pain, and by my own hand.
And those layers all have to somehow co-exist, and when I walk near the edge of a high building, I have to have the strength to not jump off it. Because when you have those layers 24/7, the jump feels not so much just temping, but more like a necessity.
So to the people who write blogs about things which you know are going to be incredibly hurtful towards people with BPD, perhaps take the time first to think about whether its worth it. Because to me, being told I should never have children, is heartbreaking. To be told I can never be a good friend, is something I can't cope with. And to think that people need to stay away from me is a cherry on top of all these layers of pain that I am already struggling to deal with on a daily basis. Was your article still worth it?
Friday 10 July 2015
Sunday 5 July 2015
My mind is hell.
Today I woke up and I knew that something was wrong. I
opened my eyes and stared straight ahead, but couldn’t bring myself to turn my
head, that felt like too much. My chest felt very heavy, as if someone was
trying to pull my heart and lungs down into the bed. I rolled onto my side and
curled up, continuing to stare straight ahead, wishing I didn’t have to face up
to the reality of going through another day.
I try and sit up but I realise I am crying, and whenever I try and take a breath, it feels like I am taking on a promise to survive, each second. A promise I don’t feel I can keep, but every breath holds me to it. This makes me angry, my body is forcing me into thing I don’t want. I try and hold my breath , this should be my control, but as my tears catch up with my clenched lips I just end up sobbing, clinging onto my knees, hoping someone will come and take all of this away.
I haven’t been through a break up, no one has died, I haven’t been dealt any bad news. But I do have Borderline Personality Disorder. It’s a disorder which characterises itself through rapidly changeable and intense moods, a lack of ability to hold stability with inter-personal relationships, difficulty holding onto an identity and incredibly strong impulses towards self-destructive behaviour, such as self-harm or suicide, along with a plethora of other painful traits. It is difficult to medicate and hard to treat with therapy, but these are the best options. It is hell on a daily basis, but it is my life.
One of the things I find most painful is knowing that I can’t actually let anyone know how bad it is without overwhelming them. I allow myself time scales. Maybe once a week, once a fortnight, I can be honest when a friend asks if I’m alright, and I can tell them the truth. But every other day I act as if I can actually cope. When I am out, I take regular ‘toilet breaks’ which are actually me having a panic attack or sobbing silently in a bathroom. I pretend to be busy on days where I am too scared to leave my bedroom because paranoia has overwhelmed me, and every month or so I make sure I let people know that I am doing better, so that they don’t give up hope even if I have done. Nothing in my life feels natural, because I can’t let anyone in to know the true depths of the hell I am in. It is carefully planning my next move, because if I burden someone with too much, the guilt will take over and I would probably overdose. Yet if I stay silent as tell no one, I would feel so alone that I would probably overdose. But if I strike the balance right, I feel as if I am manipulating people around me, which makes me hate myself, and want to overdose. It is a never ending cycle of not feeling like I belong in the world but being terrified of death, despite being completely over-ruled by the idea of it.
There is no way I can let someone into my world and let them see what it is like. As a person I am not sure of many things, I doubt almost everything, but the one thing I don’t doubt is that my situation is far worse than even I am willing to accept. For many people, a suicide attempt is the lowest point in their life, and something which makes them see the light and make a change; something that they move on from. For me, suicide is a life sentence.
If you love someone who is struggling with mental illness, take the time to ask them what it is like, and try and understand what they are actually going through. Understanding is surely the first step towards being able to support them through it. And if you’re in it for the long haul; I am sure they’d appreciate a reminder that you don’t plan on giving up on them, because I know that’s a reminder I would appreciate.
I try and sit up but I realise I am crying, and whenever I try and take a breath, it feels like I am taking on a promise to survive, each second. A promise I don’t feel I can keep, but every breath holds me to it. This makes me angry, my body is forcing me into thing I don’t want. I try and hold my breath , this should be my control, but as my tears catch up with my clenched lips I just end up sobbing, clinging onto my knees, hoping someone will come and take all of this away.
I haven’t been through a break up, no one has died, I haven’t been dealt any bad news. But I do have Borderline Personality Disorder. It’s a disorder which characterises itself through rapidly changeable and intense moods, a lack of ability to hold stability with inter-personal relationships, difficulty holding onto an identity and incredibly strong impulses towards self-destructive behaviour, such as self-harm or suicide, along with a plethora of other painful traits. It is difficult to medicate and hard to treat with therapy, but these are the best options. It is hell on a daily basis, but it is my life.
One of the things I find most painful is knowing that I can’t actually let anyone know how bad it is without overwhelming them. I allow myself time scales. Maybe once a week, once a fortnight, I can be honest when a friend asks if I’m alright, and I can tell them the truth. But every other day I act as if I can actually cope. When I am out, I take regular ‘toilet breaks’ which are actually me having a panic attack or sobbing silently in a bathroom. I pretend to be busy on days where I am too scared to leave my bedroom because paranoia has overwhelmed me, and every month or so I make sure I let people know that I am doing better, so that they don’t give up hope even if I have done. Nothing in my life feels natural, because I can’t let anyone in to know the true depths of the hell I am in. It is carefully planning my next move, because if I burden someone with too much, the guilt will take over and I would probably overdose. Yet if I stay silent as tell no one, I would feel so alone that I would probably overdose. But if I strike the balance right, I feel as if I am manipulating people around me, which makes me hate myself, and want to overdose. It is a never ending cycle of not feeling like I belong in the world but being terrified of death, despite being completely over-ruled by the idea of it.
There is no way I can let someone into my world and let them see what it is like. As a person I am not sure of many things, I doubt almost everything, but the one thing I don’t doubt is that my situation is far worse than even I am willing to accept. For many people, a suicide attempt is the lowest point in their life, and something which makes them see the light and make a change; something that they move on from. For me, suicide is a life sentence.
If you love someone who is struggling with mental illness, take the time to ask them what it is like, and try and understand what they are actually going through. Understanding is surely the first step towards being able to support them through it. And if you’re in it for the long haul; I am sure they’d appreciate a reminder that you don’t plan on giving up on them, because I know that’s a reminder I would appreciate.
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