borderline personality disorder · bpd · mental health · suicide · Uncategorized

Que pasa, homies?

Hello my dearest wordpressers. I have been awol for a little as I have been doing something I sort of lost along the way of my recovery – living. Sometime during this year’s crisis period I had a type of metamorphosis. Going to Spain and enjoying almost every moment of it cemented these ideas even more. Yes, stability is fun and all, but my method of stability left little room for me to be spontaneous, creative or to find what my ideal life would look like. I had touched on it in therapy with my psych but we didn’t get to truly uncover it as I would be talking about one guy or another and also trying to stop myself from drowning in the weight of my suicidality. 

Stability for me meant working 5 days a week, going to my 9 – 5, going out with friends on the weekend and doing a little volunteering. Apart from some of the ups and downs that came along with dating, that was about all I was doing. Sounds great right? Not for me. Whilst this lifestyle suits a lot of people, there are also a lot of individuals this doesn’t suit. I just happen to be one of those.

I had initially booked the trip in a move to continue becoming more independent. It was a great idea as it did me a world of good. Getting to the airport, navigating language barriers, travelling to another city once I got into the country and budgeting my holiday as I didn’t have as much money for the trip as I had hoped (due to the time off from said crisis) really helped boost my self confidence. I truly felt like an independent, self sufficient woman at last. My BPD did not get in the way of becoming who I want to be. It never will. 

The interesting thing was my response to my social anxiety. I was attracting a lot of attention in Spain as I kinda stood out. However, after a day or two of feeling out of sorts about it, I realised I could either let it ruin my time, or I could ignore them and continue on with all the fun I was having. I mean what else could I do? I couldn’t ask them to look away and I couldn’t yell at people for being so rude and glaring at me. Social anxiety didn’t get a chance. This has now translated into my life back in the UK. Sure, I could feel nervous and remain a quiet, withdrawn individual hoping nobody so much as glances at them and draw no attention OR I can pay them no mind and get on with the business of living. That is what I have decided to do. That’s not to say it’s magically disappeared – I still have my moments.

The other interesting thing is that I noticed my anxiety is a lot worse here in London. The trains and the commuting specifically. I feel caged on buses and trains and the struggle of avoiding arguments with other commuters and trying to put up with all manner of inconsiderate behaviours. I’m much happier when I’m in open, free places where I’m exposed to nature. I don’t mean going to somewhere with an occupation of 0% of the world’s population (although at times that is SO tempting), I just mean I want my surroundings to bring me some level of calm, not anxiety. I think there is a lot to be said that statistically the rate of BPD occurrence is higher in cities.

I did a mental brainstorm of what would happen if I stopped worrying about my plight of infringed singledom and more about my life as a whole. How would it look? What kind of people do I want in it? How would I be spending my time? Which movements do I want to be a part of? What kind of job would I have, where and how long would I work?

I have made, essentially, changes to all of those questions and all areas of my life. So far this has helped tremendously and I intend on continuing to do just that. 

More on that in the next post as I have so much to say about it – just wanted to update. I hope you are all well and full of joy x

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borderline personality disorder · bpd · mental health · Uncategorized

Please, Don’t do it.

In a bizarre twist of fate, or perhaps it is the way of life, I find myself in a place that feels like pure bliss. I had booked to come to Spain in the New year as part of my self growth but that did not stop me from seriously contemplating suicide just last month.

If you feel that way, please don’t. I have been strolling through a beautiful garden with medieval ruins, climbed stone steps to what looks like dungeons and visited palaces and cathedrals. And yet, the thought keeps creeping up on me

’I wouldn’t be here to see any of this if I had killed myself.’

It’s a surreal thought to have.

I’ve had depression many a time, I may always have my times with depression. But when you seriously think about ending it altogether, the moments that come after can feel almost as if they don’t exist. It’s like a dream. As if I did die and all the good times are just my imagination. But they’re not. That’s the important thing to remember.

life can turn around so quickly.

I am so happy I stuck around. I have been strolling around free in the heat, full of wanderlust, I’m dressing beautifully with makeup so much so that I appear to be a local attraction to the residents. A gypsy called me ‘muy bella’ today. And another read my palm.

I have seen the beautiful mosques and cathedrals and I haven’t felt so carefree in so long. There are beautiful flowers, so many of them I didn’t know existed. It reminds me, tells me to stick around so that I can visit more places and discover many more flowers and trees. I feel closer to God and I am awestruck by the beauty of His creation.

Let me be clear, I am not magically healed, I still have bpd, I will still have lots of mood swings. But, life can still be beautiful. We just have to wait for those moments.

If you’re feeling alone and hopeless, please, stick around. Things will change, and if they don’t, there will be happy moments that will make you feel so alive you’ll forget about all the pain.

xx

 

borderline personality disorder · bpd · mental health · suicide

The aftermath

TW: Self harm, suicide, suicidal ideation, eating disorders.

I haven’t been in since my return to work last week. I managed to go in part-time and started eating again. By eating I mean — who gives a fuck whether Weetabix is not that healthy? I haven’t had Weetabix in like, over a year. You know what food is food, and the less I eat the more it feels like my brain pathways constrict and I start to get deeper into the tunnel of rigidity. I decided to free my brain up day by day and now I’m eating again. I’m still underweight but I’m eating, like at least 2 meals a day kinda eating.

Alas, all seems to be going well one would think. But if it’s not mental illness it’s the physical and I came down with a cold like thing in the middle of this glorious summer in the UK such so that I have been waking up drenched in my own sweat every night since, nice? I know right. Lovely. I then have the joys of my hormones kicking in and amplifying my cramps and depression. I have the desire to cry into my chocolate and ask anyone who will give me a hug, for a hug, preferably one that lasts the whole day. I had a splendid, on the outside, kinda day yesterday.

On the outside.

Picture — sitting on the trampoline in the garden on a summer’s day with my cute sweetheart of a niece laughing and smiling. Grilled chicken and chips for dinner. mmmm. The sun’s shining, I’m not at work. I can’t stop thinking about self harm. I call the Samaritans. This guy was trying his best I know, but he wasn’t that helpful. He kept giving me practical solutions like ‘have you told your Dr’ no, that’s not the point, the point is I’m calling you because I need to tell someone and for them to just absorb it because everyone says it’s better out than inside my braincells where it keeps swirling and swirling.

I knew it didn’t really help. I got through the day as best as I could. I felt like I wanted to be erased from life, I want some kind of MIB type pen where everyone could forget about me so it doesn’t hurt them when I cease to exist.

I spent the last hours of the night holding a razor. But I didn’t want to cut. I look at my arms, I like the colour really, it’s kinda a golden brown. I don’t want to do it, it doesn’t help. I know it doesn’t. I go try holding my breath under cold water like DBT said. Nah, not enough. I start jogging around on the spot and stretching in my room to get my blood pumping and hopefully burn off some of this self destructive desire, not good enough.

I lay in bed, razor prepped, cotton pads on the floor. I still hold out for another hour. Eventually, I caved.

Today, I’m much better. But that’s usually the way the aftermath goes. It’s almost as if it never happened. I’m tired, in bed and recuperating but I managed to get out, be productive, email my manager about the reality of my current situation and tidy up around the house. I forced myself to have a healthy breakfast and now I’m going to binge eat, continue crying and watch a psychological thriller. Nothing like a psychological thriller for a mentally unstable sickling.

Ahh…..the joys.

 

 

 

borderline personality disorder · mental health · poetry · Uncategorized

The events

I am a culmination of all of my decisions, the actions I have taken over the years.

Everything that happened, everything that was meant to happen whether I liked it or not, has led me to this point. And who am I now? I wish that I knew. All of the blood, all the tears shed, and all of the tears I wanted to shed but couldn’t as I spent my night heaving in the bathroob tub waiting for a sound but nothing would come out. I am the times my heart sank when my heart was broken, and boy had it been broken, beaten to a pulp by false promises and joy and visions of a hopeful future, of a future where I no longer feel the pain that has plagued me for so many years and nights that it has become almost like an old friend, an intimate companion, one that I never asked for.

I wonder if I am proud of who I am becoming, I wonder if it matters at all. Whether it was my destiny to feel things on the inside that no one on the outside could possibly comprehend.

It’s summer now, I can feel the sun, I used to love how it felt, how it warms my skin, tanning my already tanned skin. Now I feel nothing. It simply is, the sun is shining. But it doesn’t matter. It never did.

I lie awake at night and contemplate my state. The slow realisation that this is it. Life, what a fickle thing. People rush, rushing to do this, rushing to see them, rushing to escape their minds, running away from their real problems. They don’t really know what they want from life, and that’s scary. I’m just honest enough to admit it. I know I’m crazy, I know I think too much, but what I’m thinking about isn’t a lie.

I want to know, I need to know where I go next. I want to know the point. My fragile existence is crumbling, under the futility of it all. I let go of self-gratification a long time ago. It doesn’t feel right, allowing myself joy in the midst of all of my pain. Dishonouring what has happened to me.

I have grown weary of men. I am exhausted by culture. Ideas based on pride and arrogance have cost me, cost me greatly. Especially when the price becomes love lost.

 

borderline personality disorder · bpd · Mental health culture

Until I exhaust all options

So yesterday I talked a little about how crappy my psych appointment went. I feel like the systems failed me, despite the best efforts of the nurse who was really kind to me. I understand telling my story means going back to the trauma. I think I want to try a new way.

I have decided to get back to taking care of myself and doing what I can to feel at peace. I haven’t given up hope just yet. Not until I’ve exhausted all options. For that, I need money, so I will try to go back to work next week and see if I can find a therapist specialising in EMDR. I started CBD oil vaping also, at 100mg. It didn’t help but I’m going to up the dose and see how I go from there.

I wouldn’t recommend this but I upped my dose of Sertraline further to 150mg and will see how that goes for 2 weeks.

Today I have a lovely trip with my sister and niece to take her to the aquarium. A part of me wants to bail but I know it will be good for me to get out and enjoy myself. I’ll post pics later 🙂

borderline personality disorder · bpd · mental health

Triggered phase.

Alas, I am returning once again from my little cave of insanity to vent a little. I look back at my writings and I can see that here too, I try not to talk about my emotions. I avoid talking about feelings because I’m afraid that will tip me over the edge. You see, I had my psychiatrist appointment today, for the first time ever I was referred to one. It sucked. I think she was a little rubbish to be fair. I told her about my anorexia, I told her about the codeine use, my mood bursts, my depression, my suicidality, history of self harm etc. but I told her in terms of dates, treatments, therapies used. I explained to her that I have a background in psychology so I’m aware of all of these things. I thought she wanted the low down, that she’d give me meds and I’d be on my merry way trying out new medications. Specifically, mood stabilisers. 

‘Tell me a little bit about you’ sigh. Why does everyone insist on me regurgitating my past? I told her a little about who lives with me (another question they insist on asking about) and then started to talk about how we left my dad at 16 due to him being undiagnosed mentally ill. But, then we stopped all of a sudden and started talking about steps forward. Therapy. She said she doesn’t know if I would be eligible for free treatment referral to the personality disorder unit although I have a personality disorder (lol how does that work?) but that doesn’t mean I can’t get therapy. I’m to stay on Sertraline and that’s it. 

Wow, that was a waste of time. I’ve been in therapy for 2 years. ‘Yes but it may help to break away from all of the technicalities and start from scratch’ ‘it would be a chance for you to tell your story’. I don’t know maybe this will help, but then maybe it won’t. I have, in bits and pieces told ‘my story’ to 3 different therapists. I’m not saying it didn’t help, because it did, but here I am. Still struggling. I fail to see how talking to yet another therapist is going to help me, minus the fact that it will be free. I like my psychologist, he cares about me and he listens to me and he always gives me suggestions. I don’t want a new therapist. 

So let’s start here – how do I feel? I feel overwhelmed on the inside. I feel like everything I did know has been stripped away. I was rejected for further study, my job isn’t permanent and because I haven’t been in I’ve been broke. I feel fragile, like a piece of glass that could shatter under any more stress. I feel like while my days are spent seeing the joys of my family, I’m left out from it. 

I’m just stumbling along, but I feel anxious all the time. I feel so sad inside that if I sit with it, I am constantly on the verge of tears. I am afraid to feel the mix of sadness, despair, loneliness and fear because I’m afraid I will spiral if I do. I hate talking about my past to people, one because it makes me relive the scenario, again, cry about it, again, and then a couple of hours or days later, I feel the same. I’ve done the journalling, the talking about it all, already. I don’t know, I think she was stupid. 

She did give me one or two snippets of advice, that might just get me out of this funk, one being that I need to occupy myself positively, in whatever way that might look for me. I finally felt this for a couple of minutes today when I was taking care of my flowers. I love flowers and if I had my own garden I definitely would be a gardening today. I think hobbies like this might just help me improve. 

borderline personality disorder · bpd · mental health · suicide

Hey.

The past few weeks have been…colourful. I  have had highs, anxious nights, crashing lows filled with tears. It’s been a rollercoaster. The insanity running rampant in my mind has only started to cool down the past 3 days of which the first day I ran to my mums room to announce ‘I FEEL NORMAL!’ it was amazing, really, I didn’t think I’d ever feel that way again. Things had been so intense I was suspecting I have Bipolar on top of BPD.

There was another day of having a lot of energy and I started to suspect I would crash later. Sure enough around 10pm I was crying, suicidal, thinking I should call the crisis team or go to A&E. I managed to stay in my room. I scratched my arm with a nailfiler instead of a razor. I wanted to take more codeine. In the end, I lay alone on my bed, pills in hand, crying out to God in pain until 3am. In that moment, I had no one.

I had gone up to 50mg of Sertraline and at the time it was difficult to tell if it was the medication or the crisis making me that way. Everything was a blur. I had appointments almost daily, and an assessment by the mental health team. I will be seeing a psychiatrist hopefully next month. I am really hoping it helps as I have tried the therapy route for a long time and the self help route, this is the only other thing I can think of to help me.

Some things have become clear to me admist all of this chaos, that I still need to work on my recovery particularly when it comes to feelings of abandonment. I also cannot ‘force’ myself through my depression as I have been the last year. I have to admit it’s a thing. I do not want to spend the rest of my days struggling to get up to go to work, or motivating myself to complete an application, or to pretend to smile. I want to do those things. I want to want to live.

Ex-love totally blocked me out of his life. He had reconsidered a relationship with me but admitted he wasn’t ready. He also said if I was healthy he would be with me but because of me being suicidal he couldn’t handle if that were to happen. That hurt. That really really hurt. I couldn’t understand it. ‘So basically because of an illness that wasn’t my choice I get to miss out on being with a person I love?’ he just kind of sighed and said that wasn’t it. It is though.

I reached out to him during this crisis period. I left a voicemail asking him to call me back because it was about paying for psychiatrist fees (I would never ask normally but he had already offered to help me pay for therapy as I’m not working atm). No reply. I text him again, that it’s not OK to blank me again like he’s done before. Still nothing. A few days later I still caved and said if he just wants me to block him I will but if he wants to talk, to call me. Still nothing. I wasn’t even worth a reply to just say ‘I don’t think we should talk.’ Anything. It hurts that he’s done that when I’m so vulnerable. When we actually split up February last year, he helped me through it, I was able to use my DBT skils and I had the ‘healthiest’ break up ever. This year? He dropped me cold. After making an effort to see me with roses. It’s so confusing and abrupt.

I think this relapse has happened because I had 2 people cut me off and in a short span of time. I now have no ‘close’ friends that I share my intimate feelings with, the ‘real’ stuff.

Both of my sisters are pregnant. I love being an auntie. I got my niece painting in the garden yesterday, she did her first ever handprint which my sister loves and wants to frame. Played with her on the swings, she was so happy and I was giggling right there with her. Took her to the shops in the sun, stopped to let her see some flowers on the way. I have moments of joy in my life. But I just, didn’t expect to be here. I never imagined struggling so much.

I was contemplating whether I could even blog again, after doing so well, or kinda well, for so long, I was right there in full BPD mode, and worse than the initial event that led me onto the recovery journey in the first place. How do I come back? What do I even write about? But, I want to continue. I have to get back to normal. This blog has become a part of my life and part of my ‘normal’. I chose life, in those nights I wanted death. So I will write to show that that is nothing to hide or to feel ashamed about.