#Bpd is 'my parents shamed me out of being able to deal with my emotions in a healthy way and they made that

[crush3dmary]

I would not wish BPD on my worst enemy.

[futurefrenzy]

I generally try to keep this blog as positive as possible, excluding my general hissy fits at Crash or the odd sadboy aesthetic post or whatever, but my mental health has been declining lately and I feel like it’s too overwhelming to’ve not crept on this blog over time.

This post is gonna contain mentions of self harm, suicide, disordered eating, dysphoria and possibly drugs? Just a warning.

I started self-harming when I was about 13-14. It was originally a punishment type thing if I felt I’d done something wrong (e.g, gotten into an argument with my parents, got an answer wrong in class), and the number of cuts would like, reflect how bad I thought the situation was (anxiety/depression n just general teenage loneliness didn’t help)... but for a majority of high school and college I was clean, like, I’d only do it in very dire situations near the end stress-wise, and I thought at one point it’d be all in the past and I’d never have to deal with it again... and then this year happened.

Earlier this year I was with a partner who was quite abusive, really intense mood swings at the drop of a hat, just escalated everything etc, one time he even argued with me for hours then decided to block me and consider breaking up with me just because I made a dumb joke about a typo he made. It filled me with a lot of anger and frustration when I wasn’t able to speak to him during those periods, and I found myself harming again to channel those intense emotions somewhere. I feel like I’d much rather inflict it on myself than accidentally lash out at someone else because they don’t deserve it. He’s very much out of my life, but gradually through this year I’ve had a really volatile headspace. There’s been good and bad days, but on a long-term scale I’m pretty sure things are getting worse.

It’s getting to the point where I’m pretty much living off eating bread once a day, thinking of eating anything more frequently than that makes me feel bloated and sick, and the very little hunger cues I have are numbed by caffeine from coffee that I drink all the damn time, so I intentionally don’t eat just for the fuck of it cuz of low self-worth, or maybe cuz my body doesn’t feel like mine, or maybe it’s gender dysphoria, or something subconscious, idk.

I self-harmed like 2/3 weeks ago cuz I was in a state where it felt like my meds weren’t doing anything, there was no soft cushioning with any situation at all and I was just hit full force again. I spoke to my psychologist that week and he told me it’s possible I have Borderline Personality Disorder. He said he’d think on it, but I don’t see him again till late November and since then I’ve felt like my symptoms have peaked. I’m like, hyperaware of every little thing I do in case it’s associated with BPD, like trying to back off when I think I’m being too overbearing, getting frustrated with myself for panicking over dumb shit, which, in turn, has made the cycle worse.

Thursday night, I was feeling like this tenfold, I hated myself for not being able to cope with things, to just leave my friends alone, to not be so clingy and obsessive, to just hate my inner being and my past trauma to the core for making me like this. I harmed myself again, this time like an association affect kinda thing - like when a smoker tries to quit cigarettes, they might snap a rubber band against their wrist when thinking about having a smoke - I hurt myself whenever I thought about liking one of my friends/being obsessive about it, hoping that it’d stop. Just... feeling so much anger and shame at myself, and needing a release. My chest started aching and my heart was on the fritz so I took 12 hours worth of codeine, told my two only friends what I did, and told them I’d go to hospital the next day. I was waiting in there for two and a half hours, and was there for 5 and a half in total. It was recommended I see a general nurse for my cuts, but they weren’t concerning in the slightest apparently, and then I was referred over to a psychiatrist. I told her about the night before, a bit about my life, and mostly my past, and after a while of filling out her form, she told me she believes I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and she sent a letter to my doctor about it. Since then things haven’t really been better or worse, but I do feel pretty broken. It’s clear at this point that anxiety/depression is not all I have, and it makes me pretty worried. I feel broken... and just, day-to-day life doesn’t have much real-life sensation for me besides stress, I’m mostly just trapped in my head or totally zoned out. I don’t really know what to do besides just following up with my doctor. I am grateful for my friends but... it’s just not enough. I know ultimately, I have to be the person that helps me get better, but... it just doesn’t seem possible. Atm, my life seems fine; I’m in a safe home, I have supportive friends, I have two programs where I can go and do my art, nothing is really bad atm, so idk why I’m like this.