Throughout my life I have grappled with a range of distressing issues that I somehow thought were unique to me.
I struggled to make and keep friends, suffered tumultuous emotions as I went through various circumstances that included severe bullying, physical, sexual and emotional abuse, low self-image and never feeling happy with anything I’ve done. No matter what I accomplished, as soon as it was achieved, I would start looking for the next thing to achieve, hoping that it would bring me some joy and feelings of self-worth. But I am still waiting, and hoping.
Terrible nightmares have dogged me since childhood, and no matter how hard I tried I always seemed to find myself in unhealthy relationships, romantic and platonic. I started to think that I somehow attracted these kinds of people along with bullies and control freaks.
I thought the perpetual feelings of emptiness that plagued me were due to clinical depression, which I was diagnosed with at the age of 16.
I hid my scars with shame; shame that I did what I did to escape the pain, and to release the immense tension trapped in my frail body. Alcohol was a great comfort too.
Trapped inside me
Truth be told, I thought that something was wrong with me. I couldn’t get why people behaved in the way that they do, so harsh, selfish and cold; and I often felt misunderstood, and judged harshly by the world. I consider myself enigmatic, but I see the world in the same light. The feelings of confusion that beset me at the age of 5 when my mother severely beat me in front of neighbors for allowing an older bully, at least 7 years my senior to steal my lunch and almost choke me to death, continued to follow me through life.
It wasn’t until my late twenties that I was diagnosed with Complex-Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). The first I kinda got as the psychiatrist explained, but I had never heard of BPD before. I am still trying to make sense of it, all I knew is as the psychiatrist outlined the symptoms, it sounded like she was talking about me. It explained why I always felt homeless, like I didn’t belong in this world.
It’s taken me a long time to write this post because for several months I felt so alone in this. So alone. And ashamed.
Every day I might experience conflicting emotions but each is genuine, strong, and how I feel at the time. One minute I can be humming tune, then the next, I am in tears.
Everyday I struggle with living.
I am used to blogging about living with fibromyalgia and depression, but I was scared to come out as someone living with BPD. Afraid of being judged, or it being used against me. One person had accused me of being ‘paranoid.’
Many times, it feels safer to stay in my shell, hiding away, but I have met very caring, empathetic people who have given me hope that there is still good left in this dark world.
I don’t know if any of this makes sense, but I hope it will be the first of many posts on life with BPD, as I navigate these uncertain waters, looking for redemption and healing in the war against BPD.
Gentle Hugs:) x