#my bpd is screaming at me that i am unlikable

[gray-ace-space]

oughh i submitted a form to a queer/trans dating thingie.... it may take a while for it to get processed and verified and even longer to get matched w someone bc, this being russia, safety is the priority, but wish me luck nonetheless!!

[confessions-official]

my past abuser who gave me PTSD had BPD. my past situationship treated me like shit, and then became besties with my past abuser (knowing what they did), had BPD. my most recent ex girlfriend who cheated on me throughout the relationship and also abused me had BPD. all of them have used their BPD as justification for their actions and refused to take accountability for what they did to me. it makes me feel like fucking screaming jesus christ.

i hate to say it but my experiences are tainting my view of ALL people who have BPD. im starting to view it as an abusive disorder that weak people use as an excuse so they dont have to face the reality of their actions and behaviors. so they dont have to face the reality that theyre actually bad people incapable of holding relationships or treating someone with half a shred of decency.

i really would not like to get flamed in the notes for this. im confessing this here because A) i know im wrong, and B) if i told this to anyone IRL they would just think im ignorant and a bad person.

i have done countless hours of research on BPD for these two people. just to understand, both retrospectively and in the moment. and i sort of understood. i understand the trauma aspect, all of the mental pain and whatnot they go through, the massive mood shifts, the mania and depressive states, etc. i have researched every aspect of the mental illness that is available on the internet.

but still, i perceive people with BPD to be selfish and uncaring. inherently abusive. i dont know if there is anything i can do to dispel this incorrect belief without just meeting and forming a healthy relationship with someone who has BPD. but that seems like an impossible challenge.

some background on myself: teenager with OCD, PTSD, and Anxiety (some others, but im just stating the three that effect me the most because i think that listing off a bunch of mental health issues in quick succession sounds tacky and is giving "your honor im neurodivergent and a minor". idk. dont cancel for me that as well. i am probably very unlikeable in this confession)

i would love to not feel this way. if anyone has any advice for me, or would like to challenge this, please dont hesitate to. i want to make it clear that i would never EVER express this to anyone with BPD. i would treat them exactly how i treat everyone else, which is what i have been doing. but i may be more wary of them or hesitant to form a close connection because i just dont want to get hurt again.

 

[carolmunson]

unpacking some feelings

I just came across a TikTok of a girl who is experiencing a hypomanic episode which is something I experience as a bipolar 2 (potentially BPD) person. In the TikTok her boyfriend takes her wallet while they go shopping together so she can’t over spend and mentions it’s ‘on the sheet’ because I’m assuming they have a sheet of things he assists her with.

On paper this seems so genuine and nice because how wonderful is it to have a partner that wants to help you while you’re going through it? But for me, I felt sick. I felt repulsed — disgusted.

‘He’s treating her like she can’t take care of herself. Like she’s a fucking baby who doesn’t know any better,’ was my initial thought. She asks her boyfriend in the store, ‘Can I get this?’ and my face soured. Asking for his permission like she can’t possibly just suck it up and do it herself.

But then I had to step back and wonder why my first reaction was disgust. I don’t think it was jealousy — but, sadness, anger. Not at her and her relationship but that I’ve never been offered the same kindness and because of that, I have never wanted to ask for help. I have stopped asking for help all together. I don’t expect people to help me.

My parents never took my moods swings seriously, always chalking it up to pre-teen and teenage growing pains. When even as a child I suffered from really big feelings of inadequacy and overwhelming stress. Even up to my late twenties with a diagnoses my dad described me as always being dramatic.

When I started dating my ex at fifteen, I was never allowed to be sad or to be hurt or hurting. It was always about helping him, especially in ways that I young teenager should not have been expected or required to do.

I got hardened, I stopped letting myself feel it. I stopped asking for help. I just let it happen. I stopped crying altogether. I swallow every negative emotion. I don’t allow bad days, I don’t allow sadness. All of my depression episodes are high functioning. All of my hypomanic episodes were ignored — praised for my positivity, my productivity, my weight loss.

My most recent ex just…didn’t understand it. And by then, I didn’t know how to talk about it. He didn’t know how to help, so he didn’t. He’d tell me to see a therapist; and I did. But I needed his support; just not with kid gloves, I never wanted to have kid gloves

And I wonder if I will ever be able to feel better. If I will not get nervous when someone is kind to me. If I will not feel suspicious or sick or disgusted when a romantic partner puts in the effort. When they are nice. When they care. Because after so much silence, or being silenced (okay Oprah), or forcing myself ti be hyper independent — I don’t really fully think I deserve it. This hyper independence has made me believe that I’m selfish and unlikable; like I’m lying about myself. Like I turn on this fake part of me to make me seem normal and okay and together — but internally I am fucking screaming. All the time. Just screaming and ripping my skin off and setting myself on fire.

And I don’t think anyone can hear me screaming. So I don’t tell them that I am. Because I don’t want them to know that I need someone to kindly take my wallet away when I’m about to over spend at the store.

[katlonslife]

My Faviourite Person

I don't really think that the following is bad but I don't really know anymore. BPD ADHD Autism Mood Flip.

I think I realised last night what I have done to her, either that or I stopped being disassociated for to long and flipped. I kept crying, laughing, shaking and ticking over and over and over and over again whilst thinking about her then I full on cried whilst my body was trying to tense itself up to force me to stop. It was horrible, stupid people kept walking in and I could not get my throat to stop closing up on me so I could barely do anything other than shout go go go go. They left and I kept doing stuff. It probably looked as if I was having a seizure at one point. I couldn't breath properly because my throat kept closing up on me. I started asking for Jayde and Charlie and Paisley and Gabriella, quietly aiming my voice at the wall where nobody was but I could swear that they were there.

I kept unfocusing and staring at random spots not being able to move or look away for a what good have only been minutes but what seemed like days.

Eventually I could stand up and I was asking her to help me. I kept reaching out to her and trying to talk to her, asking her to please help. She wasn't there. She is gone. She is angry at me. I hurt her. I was talking to emptiness, to air, space and steam from the shower.

I reached the mirror sometimes and kept saying bad, stupid child, horrid girl, bad, no, hurt you, sorry, Katie hurt Jaydey. As I said my throat was being funny so I couldn't form sentences but I was trying to tell myself what I was thinking and what all of the people in my head are thinking.

I eventually got to sleep after about four hours of exhausting myself and when I woke up this mourning and got hurt then when the stupid idiots grabbed me they wouldn't get off and they kept dragging me around. I had stopped. It was scary. I screamed and I screamed and I screamed and I screamed. Nobody ever listens.

But I deserve all of it. She is perfect and I hurt her. Why am I like this. I am such a horrible fucking person. She has never done a single thing wrong towards me unlike everyone else. I ruin every thing.

[findinginga]

Every broken heart has screamed at one time or another: "Why can't you see who I truly am?" (Shannon L. Alder)

I Could Just Walk Away...I Should Just Walk Away...

As I wrote in my last post, it was painfully clear that Ingeborga could not be trusted to produce an honest accounting of her life.  Even confronted with significant evidence of her actions, she resisted the truth as a child might protest a trip to the pediatrician.  After another dustup with Inga, I was again shown a clear exit path.  I owed her nothing.  I had been wronged an was the injured party.  There was no reason to even consider hanging about and waiting for the next blow to land.  

To compound the hurt, the "salt in the wound" as it is said, was the fact that Inga offered no apology.  There were no words of regret or any acknowledgement on her part that she had caused harm.  Her lack of any demonstrable remorse was infuriating but also very curious.  As angered as I was about her attack on my integrity I was also considering the reasons why she was seemingly so oblivious to her own actions.  Shame or embarrassment did not appear to be a part of her emotional armamentarium. Those with narcissistic personal disorder (NPD) have been described as avoiding shame.  Their actions do take a toll on their self-esteem but rather than acknowledging their missteps, they open their NPD toolkits and project, deflect and gaslight in order to avoid introspection.

...No I Should Run Away...

 It did seem that running away was the perfect response as I considered all that I ever heard from folks in the psych world about the challenges working with NPD and BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) patients.  Their pathology can be fatiguing to a clinician.  Long-term prognosis has always been thought of as unlikely.  There are some providers who avoid working with clients exhibiting the sorts of symptoms that are common to these personality disorders.

If you are interested in learning more about NPD, please have a look at this and other videos by Dr. Ramani Durvasula:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IEfS-_a21kk

Why Bother?

If being a partner and a lover had been ruled out by Inga, then I wanted to have my questions answered.  Paramount for me was learning about her true motivations for her actions.  What had happened in her life to bring her to the point where she was so cavalier in her personal interactions.  Alternatively, were she and Denis simply engaged in a scam?

Despite the hiring of a private investigator and the photos and videos of Inga and Denis together, there was no way to really know whether Denis was involved or if he was merely being manipulated by Inga.  There was no way to determine if it was a loving relationship or a marriage of convenience.

There was also the obvious fact that my communications with Inga had taken place on her terms and there was never the benefit of assessing her reactions in real time.  It was clear to me that while I may not be able to answer all of those questions that were swirling about in my mind, I did have to option to meet her, in person, and at the very least gather some impressions of Inga in face-to-face meetings. 

So, time to plane for a trip to Russia!

[chasing-rabbits]

Have to laugh or I’d cry and I’ve had enough of crying for tonight. Having an awful breakdown but hey fuck it right because fuck that right who cares about that. Fuck that I’ve been crying every night breaking down since Sunday in fact last night was the only night so far that hasn’t ended in tears but hey fuck that. Fuck that I’ve been progressively getting worse. No fuck it fuck it doesn’t matter, doesnt matter none of it fucking matters so why the fuck do I keep trying for. I dont care I’m not doing this for me so why the fuck do I care. Why should I keep putting myself through this night after night for everyone else’s sake when I have the answer when I could just give in and stop fighting with myself to make the ‘right’ choices.

Just so fucking tired of fighting just so I don’t disappoint others or upset them. Like yes I am aware it’s a shit coping mechanism and yes I don’t ‘want’ to do it but also I do ‘want’ to do it because a shit coping skill is still better than not having any (at least not any that are working rn). Worst of all is how selfish all this is. My breakdowns are selfish. My BPD is selfish. It is inherently selfish, I hurt so much I am in so much pain it blinds everything else and it forces itself out of the shadows it screams and shouts to be heard it paralyses and puts you in harmful situations. It’s selfish because it’s so devastating it causes such immense pain that it can’t be ignored by those around us and when I can’t control it I require others help. And I’m not saying this in a derogatory way I saw something awhile back that talked about bpd in this way & I was prepared to be like ugh at it cos iykyk but the way it framed it actually made a lot of sense and it wasnt saying it in a shitty or stigmatising way but idk I wish I could remember where I saw it because it made a lot of sense unlike me right now. That being said I feel selfish because I can no longer keep everything inside. I don’t have the strength to do it on my own. I feel selfish because when I”m in so much pain I’ll cling to anything that can take it away. It’s selfish because those around me who love me are forced to take action when it hits because otherwise I’m a risk to myself & sure not literally forced but they love me they’re not going to leave me like that ig I’m saying my bpd is so volatile the breakdowns I get are so bad it leads to situations where they ‘have’ to step in bcos I can’t keep myself safe. I feel selfish knowing that just by being in someone’s life by virtue of loving me they are going to be put in situations where inevitably I won’t always be able to handle my bpd on my own sometimes it’ll get so bad I’ll reach out for help and they’ll want to because they love me & I’ll cling to them like a buoy keeping me afloat in a storm. I’m not a selfish person I know this but sometimes I can’t handle it on my own and idk sometimes reaching out for help feels selfish because it happens so often. because people have to set aside their day/time for me, for my bpd & it’s hard because you’re always told to reach out for help but when that help is so constant its hard not to feel selfish, guilty, weak, a burden. It feels selfish to be honest with people now because if they knew how bad I was doing .

[presidentrhodes]

It almost physically pains me how nobody pays attention to the homoeroticism in Doctor Strange, or Karl Mordo/Chiwetel’s superb acting in particular. Doctor Strange is one of the gayest, most em-elle-em-est comics, and nobody’s talking about this? Not even people who make their living with this sort of stuff. It makes me feel like I’m crazy! (Well, I have BPD, so… valid lol). Why is nobody discussing all the love interest tropes played by Mordo? Karl is as obviously gay as Valkyrie or Carol!

yep! plus comics mordo is dull and boring and yet chiwetel brought so much complexity and gravitas to the character on screen. the fact that marvel isn't capitalising on his acting chops is a real shame. now they're bloating up multiverse of madness with elizabeth olsen, tobey maguire, tom holland, possibly tom hiddleston too instead of building up the mordo v strange rivalry. it's so damn silly, i am pretty sure i am going to end up ignoring 90% of the movie and rewrite my own canon lol

i really wanted them to explore mordo's backstory but it looks unlikely, given how they're going. i also think it's partly why scott derrickson left because he wanted to focus more on the doctor strange characters instead of wanda, spidey, loki et al.

there are a bunch of amazing people who have been screaming about them a lot longer than i have! @mianmimi @beetle-stans @surgeonofthemysticarts and zen (who is on ao3 as zenkitty555 but doesn't have tumblr!)

[knaite-solo]

My mom’s Top 5 Boku no Hero Characters

She only watched season 1 yesterday so this certainly will change. We’ll started season 2 on this friday.

1 - Tenya Iida

She likes his design and his quirk. Her first impression was that he was too grown up and rigid to be a 15-year-old, but little by little she became more affectionate with his serious nature, finding his sense of justice (and hands gestures) a very adorable trait.

2 - Todoroki Shoto

What she likes most about him is how he can be powerful without bragging about his greatness, unlike Bakugou (a character she hates). Honestly, my mom would kick Bakugou’s ass if she could. She was so happy when Deku and Uraraka won the battle simulation. It was funny to see her saying "get fucked, you little piece of shit".

Returning to Todoroki, she sees an obvious resemblance to him and Zuko (yes, she watched Avatar with me) and is another reason why she likes him.

I asked, "Mom, why do you like Todoroki?" And she said, "Because he is awesome."

3 - Aizawa Shota

My mom is a teacher so she had an almost instant affinity with him. The fact that he sleeps in class, let students do whatever they want as long as they don't bother him and uses messy clothes made her identify a lot. She works with an audience of children aged 11 to 15 years, so it is natural that the routine is stressful and sometimes the desire to don't give a fuck is strong.

Initially, my mother found him kinda rough and very hard on the class, but when Aizawa heroically defended the students and was practically tortured by Nobu, she saw a side of him that she fell in love with. A tough teacher is not necessarily a villain. Sometimes, they take harsh attitudes because they think that is the right way to deal with certain situations and that doesn't mean that they don't care about you.

4 - Uraraka Ochako

In short, my mother thinks she is a kind person and that is something we should all be with each other. Furthermore, she finds her quirk incredible and her cuteness immeasurable.

5 - Kirishima Eijirou

We talked a lot about who would be the last one and she surprised me saying that it would be Kirishima. Honestly, I expected someone like All Might or Midoriya (even Present Mic since she wished she could scream like him), but in the end, she chose Kirishima. And why Kirishima?

He is clearly a manly guy, but with a personality that conflicts with the stereotype that tough guys are insensitive, showing that he is someone who cares a lot about others and is very sweet. Even his smile, with its super sharp teeth, has something special about it. You end up being infected by that joy.

Another thing that my mother loved about him is the fact that he has incredible power, but he doesn't realize it, commenting with Midoriya that he doesn't think that being able to harden his body is really cool and that he probably won't attract attention in the future as a pro hero. He doesn’t see his own potential and that drew her attention to his person.

And... Midoriya Inko!

(I thought she deserved an honorable mention)

My mother and I have a relationship very similar to what Izuku and Inko have. She is the type of mother who cares about me excessively and always tries to cheer me up, even in the silliest way possible. The scene where little Midoriya asks if he can be a hero like All Might and she hugs him while they both cry was very personal to me.

Five years ago I lost all mental instability and three years later I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and I lost absolutely everything. All my work to be the best went to waste and I was abandoned by many people when they realized that I could no longer be what they asked.

I remember the night I received my diagnosis and asked my mother "Why me? Why I was born with a defect?" My mom hugged me in the same way that Inko hugged Izuku in the anime. I just wanted to die and be reborn in another way. I felt guilty for not being the perfect daughter. I hit rock bottom over and over again, but I never gave up on my dreams, just like Deku. And I am grateful for my mother's support. She is an Inko in my life.

I'm so proud of my mom. She's has a really good taste.

So, what did you think of her choices? What’s your top 5?

I’m tagging you guys since you’re amazing BNHA fans and I hope that doesn’t bother you.  

@shoutodoki​ @ourladyofseijoh​ @virtualkeef​

[mamacleo]

BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER: You can't beat it. Or can you?

TW, CW: Frank discussion of mental illness, language

SPOILER ALERT: Triumph.

ADVISO: Long (yeh, surprise)

Everyone reading this who knows me knows about my struggles with mental illness especially borderline personality disorder (BPD). This missive is written because, after an entire adulthood of being its servant and its victim, at last I have a strategy. As of today.

I want to use this opportunity, then, to inform anyone who might not understand BPD. This is going to be an actual article, and I will repost this on Blogger, Medium, and Tumblr.

What I'll do is give a bit of info about BPD for anyone who might not understand it, describe how last night and this morning are typical in ways anyone can understand, and then relate my solution. I do this knowing that this solution is specifically for me. It may not work for anyone else. But you can try it and see if it works.

Let me talk about BPD. It doesn't exist among adults who did not experience trauma in their childhood. Childhood physical trauma can lead to PTSD in adults, and that's one thing, but BPD only comes out of emotional trauma, and bad trauma at that. Kids who were gaslighted, lied to, and subjected to wild, irrational mood swings are the most susceptible. BPD is, if you would like it put simply, those extremes of emotion you might feel from time to time ratcheted up to 11 and happening virtually every day. BPD is emotion magnified and amplified.

Offense becomes anger, anger becomes rage, rage becomes fury. A lot of rage junkies are BPD. It's not just fear of abandonment, it's terror. Shifts in emotion can produce panic, mania, and horror. Love becomes obsession. There's virtually no way to regulate it. Once it kicks in, rational thinking stops. Things that should make sense to most people don't make sense to the sufferer. Logical thinking becomes impossible. People can explain things to you reasonably and thoroughly, but your mind can't accept them. Every worry can turn into a soul-crushing depression. Every fear can turn into screaming paranoia.

No, you can't control it. (Though as you read on, you'll see that this girl now has a strategy.) For my entire life, I have been searching for a key to unlock this straitjacket. When it kicks in, it's virtually impossible to stop. It has to build to a crescendo, a sort of anti-orgasm made of nuclear-fueled insecurity, before something makes it break. Then you return to normal and all you can do is try to cope with the fallout.

BPD people know what's going on. Maybe not in the moment. We can't always see what's happening, which frightens and confuses us more. Like the comedian John Mulaney said, "We don't want us to do this either." We know what happened once it's over, though, but not all the horror, regret, shame, and remorse can change what happened, and it won't stop it from happening again. Sometimes we even see ourselves starting down that road once it starts, but recognizing it doesn't help. Quickly it takes over our thinking, both rational and emotional, and whatever perception we had that we thought could rescue us vanishes. Then it's down the rabbit hole, where nothing makes sense and nothing stops the descent.

I have said and done terrible things during episodes. I have said and done them knowing *at the time* that they were terrible, yet I was powerless to stop them. That is what people do not understand, but perhaps these words will express to the unknowing the misery of this disorder. When I was in rehab for drinking, our facilitator used the phrase, "Somebody else is driving the bus." That is almost exactly it. Most of the time, Cleo is driving the bus, but when an episode kicks in, Cleo becomes an observer in her own head. Somebody else is driving the bus.

It happens in an instant. No warning. One instant it's not there. The next, it is. Nothing you can do will prevent it.

That driver is like a separate entity living inside you. Full disclosure: I also suffer from dissociative identity disorder, which manifests mildly for me, but dissociation is far from unknown among BPD sufferers. In fact, most people dissociate at one time or another. Ever state into space without thinking, then snap out of it? Not know how you got from point A to point B in your car, though you were driving the whole time? Ever "zone out"? That's dissociation.

But dissociative identity disorder, that's a different thing. It's what used to be called "multiple personality disorder," and the full range of the disorder is only recently becoming known. It was thought, classically, to be rapid switching from one identity to another, but it is far more complex. There are shadow areas where multiple identities operate simultaneously, grades of consciousness, grades of awareness... When I use the phrase, "someone else is driving the bus," it can be anything from one identity seizing total awareness to the core identity (Cleo, "me") watching in horror while my body and all its behavior are being "driven" by some other consciousness.

That happens more often than people know. I have had entire conversations with people, watching in panic as things I would have never dreamed of saying in my right mind flew out of my mouth. I couldn't stop them. Screaming internally accomplishes nothing. Pleading internally for it to be over has no effect. I have lost jobs because of it. And worse. Nothing I can do stops it.

Until today. Triumph approacheth.

Some of you have heard me say that I can see through a brick wall in time. I am not normally a fast thinker. The obvious sometimes eludes me. Sometimes it takes forever for me to see a pattern. I'm just kind of slow that way. But understand, that BPD/DID combo, like I said, is almost its own entity. I do not embellish or exaggerate when I say it fights for survival. The fight to stay integrated every day...well, sometimes it's a battle royals. Thing is, though, that entity is almost entirely composed of parts of my subconscious. It knows all the tricks it needs to survive.

That means that this thing I finally cottoned onto today.. The pattern has been there for me to see for a long, long time. Today, for whatever reason, it finally became apparent. If spirituality bothers you, I apologize, but the other night, a 3-day BPD rampage ended with, again, me aghast at my behavior. But this time, there was something--the expression on my wife's face when it hit its peak--that I could clutch onto. I prayed. I prayed to the Goddesses to help me through, as I have before, but this time with leverage. I prayed to the Goddesses to teach me how to use that lever.

Here's what happened. Last night my wife said something that might have been mildly annoying to a normal person, but which triggered the cascade of emotions I have come to recognize as the beginning of an episode. I left the room so I could calm down and try to organize my thoughts. With some success, I came back to bed, but it didn't subside. When I awoke, the episode was still there waiting for me. Then came the usual cascade of what I call, and what my wife has come to dread hearing, "dumb shit." The volume wouldn't go down. The cat knocked my phone out of my hand. Taking off my headphones accidentally flipped my glasses off my face. The episode started building up to detonation.

After calming it down some, I talked with Callie about it. I told her she needed to know what was happening so she could cope with it. Then I noticed something was bothering her and asked if it was me. She said no, but said she didn't want to tell me because it would make matters worse. Then: the spark.

No, I said, tell me. If it has nothing to do with me, maybe this will give me a problem to solve that can take my mind off the episode.

As she told me, the pattern I have been waiting all my life to see finally unfolded before me. Years and years of similar moments came to me. How often, when I am in an episode, one of my kids, or a friend, or a loved one, will reach out to me for help or advice, and I make that problem my own. I focus all my analytical intensity on it. I dissect it. I sort it out. I take it apart, then reassemble it in a way that makes sense. At the end, a resolution.

And the episode is gone.

So for the first time, just today, came the conscious choice to fix someone else's problem in the hopes it would resolve mine. I've done it before, subconsciously, but today I made the choice, and it worked.

IT. WORKED.

Now, at long last, I have a strategy. I have to know I am in an episode. It has to be an actual issue. No brain teasers, nothing without consequence. It must be real, vital, and complex, and it must be someone for whom I care. But it can be done.

This year will complete my 59th and begin my 60th. I have been borderline since my early adolescence, maybe before. That is how long I have been searching for a resolution. It took until now to find it. Years of therapy, years of shadow work, years of medication. And it took me this long.

Triumph at last, and a euphoria not unlike gender euphoria. It's bittersweet, though. I think of all the hearts that wouldn't have hurt without it. All the damage done. The friendships lost. The loneliness. The guilt. The helplessness.

At least my remaining years have promise that none before did. Some people never get this far. My egg donor didn't. She never approached this. Until her last breath, she thought all her moods were justified. What I have is rare and precious. I am sorry my wife ever had to endure a moment of it, but she now knows she has my eternal gratitude for leading me here--and she has the promise that the future will be brighter, kinder, and calmer.

I'll take that. Eight days a week. Twenty-five hours a day.

[ps2graphics]

.

[rememberingpunday]

Just gonna do a little scream into the void right quick while I know no one's online

I can't sleep bc my brain won't shut up. Everything going on in the world is stressing me out along with work and not seeing my bf, like, ever. I literally run out of spoons the second I wake up it feels like. When people text me I want them to leave me alone. It's money anxiety and BPD anxiety and oh shit everyone hates me bc I'm like this anxiety and my brain is always at work even when I sleep I have work dreams. I can't escape it! So also work anxiety. I feel like if I could get a better job (one where I don't have to work with children, or rely on the public for my income), then I would be in a better headspace. Getting a new job is much easier said than done, though. I found one that would be perfect, but my resume isn't sending for some reason and the company has to have it before 10am today, so that is beyond frustrating. It feels like I'm in a bad dream. Like, no matter how hard I try nothing is ever going to work out, or make sense and I'm just going to be angry, frustrated, and unlikable forever. I hate feeling so powerless to my emotions. I hate that my brain doesn't want me to keep living. It keeps telling me to give up. And all of the content I read online, where I go to escape reality, is "youre a piece of shit if you don't spam everyone with this content" "if you don't solely consume this content, then go ahead and unfriend me because you're scum" listen, I'm tired. I have a shit ton of problems in my own life that I'm already working about and now I am bombarded with content that makes me hurt and mourn and cry at every moment of every day and I don't have the energy to be the young spritely activist that everyone seems to have become over night. And according to their posts that makes me racist. And then I get worried about that!! "Am I really racist?" I ask myself even though just yesterday I shouted with passion in defense of black people that couldn't even hear me just to educate another white person that was ignorant. "Am I racist because I can't go out and protest because I have to go to work to keep a roof over my head and barely feedyself with what's left over?" All of my friends would say yes. Is it ignorant for me to believe that black voices are what should be heard right now? What I have to say on the matter is unimportant. As an ally, I believe that I should actually be silent unless I'm amplifying a black voice, or stay silent until I need to educate another white person, or stay silent until someone needs my help. Every morning I wake up and scroll through tumblr and facebook to look at memes and some educational content to start my day I'm a good headspace. And now all I see is content showing me police brutality, protestors being gassed and shot, black people dying, white people denying everything they see and being ignorant af, other white people shouting that everyone that isn't sharing the content should burn in hell and they're obviously superior to all other white people and I now start my day stressed and crying and unable to do anything. Idk maybe I am a pos for feeling like this. I recognize that black people don't get to go about their lives and ignore racism and that I have privilege to not have to think about it everyday, but I'm not mentally strong enough to have zero escape from my stresses and also take on the stresses of an entire group of oppressed people. If someone did read all of this would you be able to explain to me more of the point of view for those posts about not being a true ally unless you share everything. Or maybe tell me I'm allowed to feel this way. I promise that if this comes off as racist that it's from a place of ignorance and not intentional plus I'm very tired yet unable to sleep

Thank you

[livingwithbpdsince1997]

A Day With BPD

It’s 5am. I still haven’t slept from the previous day. All my thoughts of the day, and the following day, and the day after that, and a year from now, and 5 years from now, and 20 years from now, are cycling around my head. What if I’ve left it too late to have kids? What if my mother disapproves of the choices I’ve made? What if my partner is not the one suited to me, and I’m just settling because it’s mostly good? What if my therapist disapproves of my choices? What if I’m really unlikable and nobody ever actually likes me, and instead just tolerates me because I’m useful? What if I turn out just like my mother – narcissistic, abusive, unloved by her children, disapproving of every action they take? What if I die alone? What if I die in my sleep tonight? And that’s just the common ones. There's so much more I could list here.

It’s 2pm. I’ve finally woken up. My dreams were all nightmares, or just manifestations of my shame, guilt and anger, so I’m not even well rested. And I’m already hating myself for wasting the day. I’m already hating the fact that I’m still exhausted, and I don’t have the energy, because I should be normal, right? It’s just a mental illness, not a physical one, right? And now I feel like crying because I’m so dysfunctional, I can’t even take some well-deserved rest on a day I’m not doing anything without beating myself up about it. Now my bladder is screaming at me, and the bathroom seems so far away. That makes me angrier and more upset because I can’t even get a two second break from my bladder.

Once my bladder is sorted, I think about eating food. But no! BPD doesn’t want sustenance! It marks all the places I’m flabby and pokes at my stomach as if to say “Are you sure you need more food? You’re already overweight anyway...”, and when I go to brush my hair, I can see it in the mirror. The chubby face, the stomach that hangs over my pants, the thighs that wobble like jelly when I walk, the faint stretch marks that seem to become darker and darker the longer I look. Why should I eat? I’m big enough as it is. Maybe not eating will force my body to break down some of the fat.

It’s 3pm. I should shower, brush my teeth, and at least put clothes on. But I don’t have the energy for that. My boyfriend isn’t coming around. I’m not seeing anyone today. I’ll get away with it for today. So, I let my BPD win... for now. I wash armpits and face with a baby wipe, put antiperspirant on, brush my teeth quickly (because 2 minutes seems like hours, and 30 seconds-1 minute is better than not at all). And then the shame starts. “You can’t even keep yourself clean, you failed as a human, you should be in the shower getting clean, you didn’t brush your teeth for long enough, you’re still not dressed, your dressing gown isn’t clothes, why are you doing this to yourself, your boyfriend is going to think you’re disgusting...” my thoughts whisper to me, a constant background noise.

Now it’s 4pm. Yes, just getting myself “clean” and in a dressing gown took me an hour. My TV goes on. But I can’t concentrate. Nothing captures my attention. My life is just constant boredom, looking for any relief. And at the moment I finally lose myself in a game or TV series? The shame comes back. “You’re wasting your life, staring at screens, consuming content by binging, rushing through video games, all so you don’t flip out and break things.” Because that’s the flip side to boredom. Stay bored too long, and the anger comes out. I get angry that I can’t concentrate, I get angry that nothing is good enough to keep my attention, I get angry that I can’t do video games, I get angry that nothing on Facebook is interesting today, I get angry that all I do is sit in my room because anything else is too taxing.  

It's 5pm. I hate that I can’t live a normal life. I think about the working week, when I’ll have to go to therapy, and I want to cry. I have to quit because getting up at 7am after not falling asleep until 5am is too little sleep, and the 45-minute train costing £8.30 is too expensive and too loud and triggers me to have sensory overload, which leaves me at a risk of disassociating in public. Then the 20-minute walk makes me want to cry. It hurts too much, and I go further into sensory overload due to the traffic, and the sounds of the shops, and the smells, and the constant, constant chatter of people. Then I’ll arrive at therapy and everyone is crammed into a small room, and there’s chatter, and several people are trying to get my attention, and.... it’s not even worth it. Constant sensory overload for 5 hours is not going to help, no matter how useful the therapy will be. And now the shame starts again. “What if you’re just being lazy? That’s what they're going to think. They’re going to think you’re lazy and just don’t want to do it because the sensory overload and lack of sleep makes you exhausted and you still haven’t bounced back from it nearly 5 days later.” But I know it’s the right choice, and of course that increases the shame. I feel ashamed that I’m making a choice for myself, and not for what other people want and think. I’m ashamed that I can’t attend the appointments because it’s too difficult for me. I’m ashamed that in order to be better, I have to not attend therapy and find a different way to go to therapy.

It's 8pm. I realise I got lost in my thoughts. Maybe I disassociated, I don’t know. I still haven’t eaten, because I don’t want to get fatter than I already am. My stomach rumbles, but I try to ignore it. I look at the TV and just keep staring at it. I change to a music channel and attempt to do physical things, like read a book, do crochet, do puzzles. But now I’ve noticed my stomach, it’s all I can think about. So, I make food. Just a small amount. Oven stuff, because if I attempt to stand and cook, I’ll just end up criticising myself, putting myself down because if I can do it today, why don’t I do it every day? Oh, yeah... because I don’t have the energy. Once the food is done, my anger comes back. Why can’t I just live normally and make food everyday like everyone else does? I could cook pasta, or curry, make my own shepherd's pie, instead of living off frozen shite every day. I pick at my food, not really hungry anymore, because I know it’s not helping my weight issues.

It’s 9pm. I realise I’ve not spoken to anyone today, and maybe social time would be good. So, I message my friends, message my boyfriend. 5 minutes passes. 10 minutes, then 15 and 20. No response. Now the abandonment creeps in... “I told you they don’t like you, they’ve read your messages and not responded, they’re obviously too busy for you, they don’t want to hear about your sad pathetic life where you don’t do anything and you’re constantly upset, who wants to hear you go on and on about your sad life that’s going nowhere? Not a single one of them wants to hear it, and that’s why they don’t like you... You’re sad, pathetic, and destined to be alone.” After about 10 minutes of this, one of them replies. IMMEDIATE EUPHORIA – Of course they like you, they want to be your friend, of course your boyfriend loves you! But after a brief conversation, you’re being ignored again.

It’s 10pm. Everyone is either working, or getting ready for bed. More mindless Netflix/YouTube binging or playing video games. Show after show after show after show after show. Video after video after video after video. Battle after battle after battle. Quest after quest after quest. 11pm comes and goes, as does 12am, in the same boredom induced catatonic state of repetitive things.

1am arrives. Now the paranoia starts. What if someone breaks in? Did I lock the door? Should I lock my bedroom door? What if I get food poisoning? Did I cook that food long enough? What if my life is really going nowhere? What am I really attempting to do? And then the existential crisis comes. What is our purpose on Earth? Why do we live? What is the purpose of life? Why do we only get so long on Earth? What happens when we die? A circling thought process, doomed to repeat for a couple of hours.

Now at 3am, I’m ready for sleep. But my mind just won’t shut off. So, I take my medication, or I smoke a joint and get high and just wait. And the next two hours are hell. From 3am to 5am, I get into my comfy positions, I listen to meditation app, I relax and try to fall asleep. But my mind just won’t stop still. My thoughts keep racing, and suddenly...

It’s 5am. I still haven’t slept from the previous day. All my thoughts of the day, and the following day, and the day after that, and a year from now, and 5 years from now, and 20 years from now, are cycling around my head. What if I’ve left it too late to have kids? What if my mother disapproves of the choices I’ve made? What if my partner is not the one suited to me, and I’m just settling because it’s mostly good? What if my therapist disapproves of my choices? What if I’m really unlikeable and nobody ever actually likes me, and instead just tolerates me because I’m useful? What if I turn out just like my mother – narcissistic, abusive, unloved by her children, disapproving of every action they take? What if I die alone? What if I die in my sleep tonight? And that’s just the common ones. There's so much more I could list here.

And that’s just one day in the life of someone with BPD. Imagine going through that every single day.

[shmkxx-blog]

Untitled.

Right, so I need to sort my shit out. I don’t think anybody can live like this. It feels like a million thoughts rushing through my head at the same time. It becomes unbearable and they are all just that; thoughts. I need to break the cycle, before it breaks me.... before it breaks us. It sounds crazy, but for the first time in my life, I have met someone who sees under my mask without taking it off, and yet I am still afraid. I say that I’ve moved on and that I have gotten over everything that I have been through so far in my life, but I’m starting to think that I’m lying to myself. I need to get to the bottom of why it still affects me and why it still has a hold of me. Perhaps I need to start from the very beginning and work my way through my timeline, despite how painful this could be to bring to the surface. I suppose the more that I bottle it, the more the pressure builds, and that’s why I experience these emotional outbursts, so let’s try something new, something completely different.  Growing up, I had a pretty happy childhood, it just took me a long time to remember those types of memories because all I seemed to hold onto were the ones that make me freeze, that make me fearful and scared and unable to trust. My dad had a temper that often got out of control and as hard as it is for me to write this, I was no stranger to physical violence from him. I think he has blocked out that time in his life too, because the dad I had then, is a completely different person to the dad I have now.  My house was constantly filled with screaming, shouting, crying, the sounds of slapping, hitting and hyperventilating.  My parents went through a very unamicable divorce when I was 10 of which I was thrown in the middle. My dad and his family turned very nasty towards me. It’s sickening thinking of everything that they did to me. They criticized the way I looked, would corner me with a hand raised, threatening me. They swore at me. I was told on several occasions that I was a mistake, I was never wanted and that my mum should have got rid. This went on for 4 years, and by the time I turned 14, I was depressed. I started having anxiety attacks at school which would involve frequent visits from paramedics and trips to the hospital because I would lose consciousness. At this point, I cut contact with my dads family including my siblings and suddenly felt very alone and unloved. I think being at a pinnacle point of my life where hormones and emotions were flying around, it was one huge mess. Just as I got rid of my bullying family, I started getting bullied at school, physically, verbally, emotionally, mentally. I remember looking at myself in the mirror and seeing someone I didn’t recognise, like I was in there somewhere but it was so deeply hidden it was barely visible. I remember getting some nail scissors and cutting myself. It wasn’t deep, I knew it wouldn't scar, but I found that physical pain was easier to cope with than the emotional pain I was feeling inside. This bullying went on until I finished sixth form. It was never-ending for another 4 years, despite intervention by my mum and stepdad and also teachers, it carried on, even outside of the school gates. I grew too exhausted to fight it and just pretended it had been sorted.  When I was 18, I went off to university. It was supposed to be such an exciting time for me, I was starting my career as a childrens nurse, something I had wanted to do for a long time. I felt like my life could suddenly take off, but the euphoria was short lived, as the bullying started all over again. Even worse that I lived with them in the same student flat. Every night was spent in floods of tears, I had my belongings defaced and destroyed, the kitchen wall tiles were covered in marker pen, horrible names, mockery, disgusting drawings of me that I would have to clean off. They would bang constantly on my bedroom door chanting at me. Once again I looked in the mirror, and the person staring back was ghosting. Finally after 6 months, I went to the doctor who diagnosed me with severe depression and anxiety and I packed up my belongings, packed up my course, and returned home. I lost a lot of weight, i suddenly became obsessed with my weight and started making myself sick and taking strong laxatives. I started self harming again but this time it was intense and noticeable. I started smoking and drinking heavily. I became somebody that I never thought I could. I got into my first lesbian relationship, and it wasn’t me. I convinced myself that it was, but I wasn’t gay, I just tried to make changes in my life, anything that could bring some happiness where possible. I was searching in all the wrong places for all the wrong things. This girl encouraged my depression, she encouraged my self harm and even spoke about assisted suicide where we would take an overdose together. I became very emotionally disturbed to the point I started having seizures. They were psychological. My brain activity would get too hyper, my anxiety would flare, my heart would race, and I would find myself on the floor fitting.  Then I ran away. Well not exactly, I didn’t just up and leave, I needed a new start. I got myself a new job in Sidmouth, Devon and I moved down here nearer to my grandparents. It was a place I had been holidaying to since I was 6 years old. It was like home. Life seemed to be getting better, days seemed easier to manage. I was sleeping better, eating better, but the problem with running away is that your problems follow you wherever you go, because they’re inside your head. I met David. At first everything was amazing. He was loving, kind, supportive and he gave me the confidence boost I needed. He appeared when everything started going down hill again. I had started getting my seizures again, even whilst at work. Hospital became my home from home. Finally I was diagnosed with PNES (Psychological Non Epileptic Seizures). In short, my body cannot hand certain levels of stress and anxiety, so it shuts down. David was there through it all.  We fell pregnant twice between Aug 2011 and March 2012, both ended in miscarriages which were even more destructive to my mental health. During this time, I was finally diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. This means that you have to have at least 5 of the following behaviours (I had all): Extreme reactions to feeling abandoned. Unstable relationships with others. Confused feelings about who you are. Being impulsive in ways that could be damaging. For example, spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, and binge eating Regular self-harming, suicidal threats or behaviour. Long lasting feelings of emptiness or being abandoned. Difficulty controlling your anger. For example, losing your temper or getting into fights. Intense, highly changeable moods. Paranoid thoughts when you’re stressed. The way I am isn’t my fault, I was born this way. It just needed some trauma to trigger it. What causes BPD?

‘It is not clear exactly what causes BPD. There are different factors that can lead to someone getting borderline personality disorder (BPD). The main causes seem to be the following’: Traumatic childhood. You might have experienced difficulties in your childhood. This could include neglect or being abandoned by a parent. Or physical, emotional or sexual abuse. Brain problems. You might have slight differences in your brain. Genetics. Some research shows that BPD may be passed on through genes. But there is no clear evidence that there is a gene that causes BPD.

It gave me some clarification in understanding myself and why I was experiencing the emotions I had. I was put on a medication called Quetiapine, which would help with the anxiety and keeping my psychosis under its peak. Not long after I went on it, we fell pregnant again in August 2012. It had been something we both wanted and we were very happy and excited especially when we had, had the 12 week scan to show everything was as normal and it was highly unlikely that I would miscarry. I still had the pain of losing my 2 previous babies, I still do now to some degree. It becomes more manageable.  My pregnancy had a few complications, but overall was a smooth, happy and exciting time. I couldn’t wait to be a mother. The day that Oliver was born, was the best day of my life. After losing two babies, I finally had one that was warm, and crying and suckling against me, and he was all mine. The first few days were an incredible experience. David was a fantastic hands on dad, he would help me with the night feeds, he would watch Oliver so I could get my head down. We were a happy family and then on day 4, my brain switched. I’m not sure what triggered it, but I was suddenly unable to be anywhere near my child. I couldn’t look at him, I couldn’t do anything for him, I couldn’t even be in the same room as him. I became severely mentally ill. I was sectioned into a psychiatric facility and then moved on to a mum and baby unit. I was self harming and attempting suicide. On discharge, I was put under social services and Oliver was a child in need. I had to work hard for him not to be put into foster care and adopted. This drew a huge wedge between me and David. He was having to look after a newborn baby on his own, and I knew he was bitter. I started group therapy. It didn’t seem to help at first, but after a few sessions, I noticed a difference, I started recognising my triggers, and learning to accept the bad days when they came around. I started being able to bond with Oliver. I started being able to give him a quick cuddle, and then I started to give him a bottle, then change a nappy. They brought in a care worker to work with me and help me with my relationship with Oliver. When Oliver turned 6 months old, I had worked so hard to repair everything that social services closed my case and I became unsupervised and able to be a responsible parent for my own child. It was the best christmas present I could have asked for. As my relationship with Oliver improved, my relationship with David deteriorated. He didn’t want to be involved with either of us. He would rather go out with friends, sleep and game. Yet still, I decided to marry him on 7th June 2014. I immaturely thought that it would make things ok again. At first it did. Our relationship was great, and then as the honeymoon wore off, all of our problems just reared their ugly heads. I started finding conversations to other people about how he didn’t want to be with me anymore, I found emails to other girls, off of craigslist and porn sites wanting to meet up for casual sex no strings attached, I then started finding bags of powder around the bedroom and snorting equipment. I wasn’t stupid, I knew what he was doing, and I felt that I only had myself to blame. I would ask him, and he would fob me off with stupid excuses, often getting verbally abusive with me, which would then cause me to shut down and apologise for my behaviour. Seems crazy really when I knew what he was doing. I was apologising for challenging his infidelity and drug taking. Things became a lot worse between us, the abuse became more frequent as was his sickening behaviour. The abuse became more frequent, it became verbal, emotional and physical, and he started to blackmail me. He would also throw in my face about me being a crap mother who couldn’t even touch her own baby or look at him. Something I was trying to get over. It all came to a head in September 2016 when I returned from America. Oliver was being quite difficult and causing me a lot of stress trying to get to bed. I could tell that David had, had a few drinks and I thought he had probably taken something... he had pushed me and grabbed oliver by the neck of his clothing and started screaming in his face, Oliver started crying and saying he was scared, David then grabbed him and threw him across the bed, his head narrowly missing the wall. All I can hear in my head to this day is ‘daddy no, daddy please don’t, daddy im scared’ over and over. David then thumped him, right on his back and growled to the side of his face like he was an animal. At this point I was in floods of tears, trying to get my child to cuddle him, but David was snarling at me. Then the doorbell went and the neighbour had come round concerned. He saw the look on my face, he had heard oliver’s crying and fear, and he wanted me to leave and get rid of David. So that night, I did, I waited until David was asleep, packed our bags and Oliver and I were greeted by my parents in the car as we snuck out the house. There was no looking back after that. I felt alone, and unloved and deserving of all the pain and suffering because it was all I had ever really knew.  On top of this, my granma who had been my support and my rock, passed away when Oliver was 2 weeks old from an aortic anerysm. It was sudden, and it turned my life into deeper turmoil. 

My biggest fear is it happening all over again, even though this time I know that it won’t. I’m scared of trusting, I’m scared of being loved, because it never usually works out for me, but if I want to be happy, I have to put all of this aside and move on. I can’t keep revisiting this as a setback, otherwise I will never learn to be happy. I can’t keep holding onto what I went through. I can give that advice to other people, but when it comes to taking it myself, I have a hard time digesting that information. The truth is, I CAN be happy now. I have a beautiful relationship with my son, which I was scared wouldn’t happen after our experience. I have a roof over my head, and I provide for both of us. I have the most loving and caring boyfriend a girl could ever ask for. I am so very lucky that he is in my life. I have a loving and supportive family unit who will always be there for me. My relationship with my dad and his family is even fixed. I have a fantastic best friend who is like a brother to me, and we have been there for each other through thick and thin and I know he’s not going anywhere.  Ultimately, I have so much going for me, that some people could only dream of. I need to start accepting and appreciating what I have and stop looking back to what I didn’t. So that’s what I’m going to do, this passage was a way of me getting everything down and off of my chest so that I can move on from all of this. So that it doesn’t have a hold over me, so that I can start to enjoy life and see everything as a learning curve. I wish I wasn’t as sensitive as I am, but I am and I can’t change that, it’s part of my personality, but what I can change is my outlook on everything. I need to be more positive and wake up each day feeling lucky and happy. Ryan says I have nothing to worry about and nothing to fear, so I’m going to start trusting him, and not fearing it, because I love him. I love him more than I’ve ever loved anybody in that way. We have a beautiful connection and I would be an idiot to break that and throw it away, all because of insecurities that are based on past events which I can’t change. I can’t change the past, I can change the now, so that’s what I’m going to do, change the now. Because the now is where I want to be, building a future with Ryan, Lilia and Oliver. That’s all I want. The simple life. Just us. Because having that, makes me the luckiest girl in the world.