The Beast of Borderline
Borderline Personality Disorder, a mental disorder characterized by unstable mood, behavior and relationships. Although the cause of Borderline is not well understood, many who suffer from this disorder have experienced some form of repeated trauma in their life. Since May is Mental Health Awareness Month, it felt like a good time to discuss this serious and difficult mental illness because for many, hearing “Borderline” or “BPD” will cause them to cringe. Why? We are labeled as monsters. Emotionally unstable, vile beings who should be segregated from society. To this day, many still think this way.
I’ve been diagnosed with BPD for fourteen years and although the knowledge has grown and evolved, the overall reaction to the disorder has not. I’ve seen countless instances like the following: someone is being verbally abused, name called and abandoned for being “crazy”. Therapists abandoning their patients, or refusing to work with them period. Mental hospitals overmedicating and sedating patients to treat their explosive emotions; I know that one very personally because I experienced it.
Many therapists and psychiatrists don’t even know how to deal with BPD. I spent several years being heavily medicated for Bipolar Disorder, when I do not have Bipolar. I was diagnosed with both disorders, but I did not fully understand BPD. The symptoms of the two appear similar in certain aspects, or at least they did fourteen years ago. That’s not to say that you cannot have both, because you most certainly can. However, I knew after months of research that I did not have Bipolar. There was so little research done on BPD for so long. If you were diagnosed and you did not have an experienced psychiatrist or therapist, you would be left reeling with confusion like I was.
I was eighteen when I waltzed into a psychiatrist’s office. I had recently hightailed it from my mother’s angry, abusive nature after being raised in Scientology. For those who aren’t aware, Scientology is against psychiatry in every possible way. I had begun to experience symptoms of mental illness at the age of five. That is a very long time to suffer from mental illness. To scream and beg for help, and being told that there’s nothing wrong with me. To be told that I need to “Get over it.” and “There couldn’t possibly be anything wrong with you. Don’t listen to your friends, they don’t know what they are talking about.” When I finally had the opportunity to seek help, I didn’t do it because I wanted to help myself. I did it to spite my mother. I spent so many years thinking that it was all in my head, I no longer believed that anything was actually wrong with me. I wanted to see the hierarchy of evil, according to Scientology.
To say that my experience was less than enjoyable was an understatement. I spent an entire hour with a psychiatrist who looked me over like a fly that had to be squashed. The woman asked me many questions, hardly allowing me to finish my answers, and instantly labeled me with Bipolar I with psychotic features, and upon seeing the fresh self-harm scars on my arms, said “Yup, you’re Borderline, too.” The entire time I sat in that hard, plastic coated chair, I looked and sounded like I had had thirty cups of coffee. I was also labeled with “severe” anxiety and was immediately put on a mind numbing amount of a medication called Gabapentin to quell that anxiety. To this complete stranger, I was incapable of functioning like a normal human being. Her prognosis was that I would one day wind up in a long term mental hospital. If the disorders themselves did not incapacitate and disable me, the medication to “fix” them would.
From that moment on, for several years, I went on and off medication, went through doctor after doctor, therapist after therapist. I was labeled as incurable. I was turned away from therapists several times. I was hospitalized many times in government funded facilities that should have been condemned long before I arrived. For a solid ten years of my life, I believed them when they told me that the prognosis for a decent, normal life was not good. How could I have known? The file containing my disorder information was longer than a nutrition label on processed food. Bipolar I with Psychotic features, Borderline Personality Disorder, Severe Anxiety, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and the list goes on and on. Although as I mentioned before, I did later find out that I did not have Bipolar Disorder.
Why am I writing all of this? Why am I putting myself out there like this? The repercussions of writing this will surely backfire in some way, but I refuse to hide anymore. I spent my entire childhood and adolescence being told that nothing was wrong with me, when I was stealing, lying, disruptive in school — when I even bothered to attend, self harming, contemplating ending my life every single night. Even after I was diagnosed and quickly learned that something was wrong with me, I still tried my best to parade around as “normal” to fit into society. With all of the medication in my system, I’m pretty sure that I was doing an absolute terrible job of pretending, but I still tried. I would put a mask on every single day, and by the time the world fell asleep around me, I took that mask off and became a different person. Behind closed doors, I fell apart. I would scream, cry, hit the walls, break things, self-harm, anything to release the awful emotions spilling over.
I felt like more of a monster every single day. Eventually, I isolated myself and told myself that the doctor was right, I would never have a normal life. During this time, I was in a long term relationship that was far from healthy. I am incredibly grateful for that relationship, because I was able to escape the toxic home life that I had to experience my entire childhood. However, it was not healthy by any means. Unfortunately, he was a punching bag for the BPD but he refused to leave. He had told me that everyone else had abandoned me and treated me poorly, and he refused to leave. That decision was detrimental to his own mental health. That’s not to say that people with BPD can’t have healthy relationships. That’s far from the truth, but I didn’t even understand Borderline for years. It took most of my twenties to understand what I was doing because no one ever helped me. No one wanted to help me understand who I was and why I was like this.
It wasn’t until I joined several support groups on Facebook for Bipolar that I began to put the pieces together. When someone would ask how long manic episodes usually last, I would read the comments. Many would say a week, maybe two at most and when I would say “Yeah, mine don’t really go away.” I would be met with surprised reactions. The defined symptoms of Bipolar mania were a fairly constant feeling for me. I was reckless with money, sexual actions, and even medication. I was having nightly hallucinations — what the doctor had labeled as “Mania with Psychotic Features”. It was happening all the time. Although I had this BPD label on my file for many years prior, I still didn’t realize that all of those symptoms of mania were hallmark symptoms for BPD. I dived so deeply into Borderline research, I’m surprised that I ever found my way out. Suddenly, it all made sense. Everything made sense.
It was too late by that point. I had ruined my entire life by that point. At least, that’s what I assumed. People hated me, my husband at the time was cold and emotionless, I had several health issues from taking psychiatric medication that wasn’t suited for me and I was too disabled to even have a job. What was left for me? I was, and still am, fairly young, according to my peers, but I had experienced enough for an entire lifetime. I was exhausted and ready to give up. I had very little hope to continue forward. Even if I had just discovered the reason why I was this way. I felt like I had just received the answers I was looking for, but I was ready to give up. I hadn’t experienced any joy in life, I had never truly been in love, I had never had a career I loved or a place that I felt at home. I didn’t feel as if any of that was obtainable anymore. I had wasted my twenties in a pool of misery, medication, dumb mistakes and I was labeled an emotional monster. What could I do?
Then, suddenly, it all changed. I found a hobby that sparked joy. It wasn’t much, but slowly, I gained some sense of hope. After years of feeling helpless, scared, out of control, I felt peace for the first time in my life. The further I pursued the hobby, the more passion I felt. I didn’t go to sleep with tears in my eyes for the first time in my entire life. I won’t lie and say that I no longer have bad days, because I do. I have had quite a few days when the symptoms try to desperately take control, and I have to fight like hell to regain control. Sometimes, it wins and I have a total breakdown. I’m not perfect, and I will never claim to be. I am someone who has suffered a great deal of trauma and I try desperately to give myself grace when needed. It is a lifelong battle, but it doesn’t always feel uphill anymore. Metaphorically, I felt as if I never had a shield, or a weapon in this strange battle. I was being beaten alive day in and day out and thought at any moment, I would die on the battlefield. And then, one day, I gained flimsy armor, and then a rusty sword. It couldn’t do much, but it did the job to keep me alive. Eventually, it felt as if I gained more durable armor. Every armor will have flaws at times, of course.
If you gained anything from what I wrote, I hope it is that you know that you are not alone in this journey through mental illness. There are so many that suffer from Borderline, and other mental disorders. Even though society tries so hard to silence us, and make us out to be monsters, we are here fighting this battle and we are just trying our best to survive. If you’re fighting and feel hopeless, as cliché as it might sound, it does get better. Things will be easier one day. Maybe not tomorrow, or next week, but one day. It will be worth it. Everything that you’ve been through will be worth it. You will feel peace and it will be such a reward after that uphill, armor-less battle. Remind yourself that you are not some emotionless monster. You’ve been through hell, and you’re working through to the other side.
If you’re going through hell, keep going — Winston Churchill
