Borderline Personality Disorder:  Consumer Talk

I think I am writing because I need an outlet. I have a question: How possible is it that a reputable institution and the doctors in it would diagnose a patient with "major depression" rather than borderline personality disorder (BPD) because somehow or other "major depression" seems like less of a social burden for the patient to have to live with? I am 19 years old in college. Last year I was hospitalized three times. Since then I have seriously started to think I have BPD. For one thing, I was placed on the BPD unit, they asked me to read information about it, and my discharge was contingent upon my agreeing to pair up with a DBT therapist. I later dropped out of therapy entirely. I also quit medications. (I'd gone from Prozac to Zyprexa to 225 mg of Effexor with some amitriptyline.) I always had trouble taking medicine--I'd start to feel it wasn't helping, just wouldn't take it, or, worse, was known to be an overdoser. That was what had hospitalized me in the first place. I had another ER visit this summer. I think the ER staff must think I am a recreational patient-that I come in just for the attention. And then, when I realize that I do like the attention, being worried about and taken care of, I feel guilty--as if they are really RIGHT--as if I AM just a habitual whiner. The odd thing is, so often the physical "complaint" that lands me in the ER in the first place feels real--it IS real. Intense stomach pain. I thought it was an ulcer. The last time they sent me home to take Mylanta. I think they thought I was just anxious. Then I felt really bad, almost wished something more serious HAD been wrong-- just so I wouldn't feel the guilt of having "wasted" the doctor's time. It's reached a point where I almost think if I ever really did become ill I would hesitate to go back to the ER for fear it might be "nothing serious" "nothing to worry about." The more I read about BPD the more I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. because I recognize myself. The feeling inadequate in everything--despite my talent. I've always seemed as though I had my life together--I'm in a very good college, my professors view me as someone with great potential, my family is well, I "have it all." yet so often I feel like a shell. I like the Beatle's song "Eleanor Rigby." Recently I read someone's interpretation of that ambiguous line: "Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice in a church where a wedding has been, lives in a dream. Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door." That jar by the door is probably her make-up jar. I feel that way sometimes. I wake up, put on my face, try to look pretty, for others, but really secretly I think I'm somehow not "good enough." That poor-self image is probably related to my #1 cognitive distortion--the magnifying glass trick. Whatever is good in me, I shrink to an insignificant speck. Whatever is bad--my flaws-- I magnify until they are so large they BECOME me. I obsess. It is so easy for me to fall in love--to think I have fallen in love--with people who are inaccessible to me. Either because they are married or because it'd be unethical--because they work with me in a professional or academic setting. I've been known to fall for my professors. Probably a common phenomenon, except with BPD it becomes so intense I am not even interested in males my own age. I get so fixated, so "devoted" to my heroic image. I think the reason I do that is precisely BECAUSE the relationship could never be fruitful. We could never be close. Thus, there is NO WAY I COULD GET HURT. Except I do get hurt, terribly, emotionally--and all of this is my own doing--I get hurt because I distort and think thoughts such as "He didn't smile at me today, I wonder if I did something wrong." Irrational. Perhaps I have rambled too long. At the moment I am just keeping it together. The therapist I had said I had a huge control problem, that I try to control things. This is true. I also repress, pretend I am fine. I don't know. I wish life could be happier, but even when I do feel happy I just think, this won't last long. I just keep pretending to myself. Apparent competence?

It is a relief to know 
I can't just 'snap out of it'. 

It is a relief to know 
I inherited deregulating emotions. 

It is a relief to know 
I had a right to be unhappy. 

It is a relief to know 
I am not alone. 

It is a relief to know 
There is hope of a better quality of life. 

It is a relief to know 
There are folks out there who care. 

It is a relief to know 
They write books to help others understand. 

Thank You from the bottom of my heavy heart.... 

LuvMe 

Hi, I'm Liesbeth and I live in the Netherlands... I like to say thank you to Mary who wrote a beautiful poem about a dragon. And I like to thank Marsha Linehan for bringing her therapy to my country. I did the therapy for three years and I start to see the things I have to work on. 

Please everybody, see the little girl inside of you. She needs your attention. It will take a lot of pain and tears, but she has to come out of her hiding-place.

Again I will thank Marsha Linehan for her work. I reed her book every day and with my therapist I work hard to try to make my life better.

Excuses for the errors of language, but I wanted to say how I feel. Lots of love and courage to everyone who suffers from Borderline.

Liesbeth. 

I'm 30, diagnosed when I was 15. I've ignored therapists since. My Doc at the time was trying to convince me I'd been sexually abused when I was younger, which I knew was absolute garbage. That isn't denial, it's the truth, I wasn't abused, but he was trying to hard to push a diagnosis on me that would "fit". Guess he didn't pay attention to the 25% who felt abandoned as a child... that's where it started, and I know it. The rest of his diagnosis was pretty much right on, but my thought has always been to treat, not delve into the past to have some sort of catharsis... it doesn't work that way, at least not for me. He didn't treat except to give me meds and keep me in a mental hospital, which I detested.

Stopped the meds.. haven't been to a therapist since, as I already stated, and no suicide attempts since, no self-inflicted injury either. Had a panic disorder for a while after someone attempted to rape me, put myself through immersion therapy with the help of a friend, shucked that off too. My thinking is that I REFUSE to be held down by a disorder or a diagnosis or some sort of pre-conceived notion of how I "should" be, based on a set of symptoms. 

I am not merely a bundle of personality traits to be written down and then labeled, I have the power inside of me to change how I react, how I feel. My mother told me to use my intellect (which, this is the first time I have stated publicly, is not inconsiderable... 163 Stanford-Benet, but I normally don't like pretentious idiots who throw their IQ around like it means anything but a measure of accumulated knowledge and swiftness of thought... had to mention it here because it does have some bearing, as I'd bet all of you are also right in that range...) to fight the emotions that threatened to overtake me. 

The stance that "BPDs don't have empathy for anyone else" is pure unadulterated garbage. It is a learned, slow process of training oneself to think of something besides oneself. We are all born selfish and shallow, none of us, not even those diagnosed with BPD, have to stay that way, much as everyone else around us tells us that "that is the way you are". Garbage. 

WE decide how we are. WE decide how we are going to react. The pain is incredible, absolutely.

Relationships are rocky, life is a painful, bewildering array of loss and deceit. The idea is not to immerse oneself in a continuing morass of excuses ("I can be this way because of my diagnosis", or "I am just like this"), but to continually try to better oneself, one small step at a time. And it's one hell of a battle, BPDs I have met are some of the strongest, most incredible people I have met. We are, in the truest sense of the word, survivors. If anyone can take on the battle of bettering oneself, of a slow reduction of pain, of a single thought here and there that might accept the possibility that your loved one can screw up and yet not leave you, that you CAN put yourself in their shoes and feel how they might feel, one SMALL STEP at a time, it is BPDs. 

We are not stupid, intelligence is a factor in borderline personality disoder, as I mentioned above. We can use our intelligence to overcome this as well. Do it your own way, but I promise you, if you hold on, even through the absolute worse, hellish, unreal moments, the small other moments of pleasure, of Heaven on Earth, will be yours. Think of it as I do, if it helps... the most horrible times, the nightmare times at 3:00 am when you are alone with your thoughts and your closet door is unlatched a bit and your friend upset you and you're wondering if your outburst at them will drive them away, all that is in your head... you are on a small dinghy in turbulent waters. Your thoughts are making the boat sway to and fro, you feel as if you might be sick, or cry, or cut yourself, and all is hopeless, HOLD ON. Because, I can promise you, not immediately maybe, but it WILL happen, that big old cruise ship full of food and lights and fun will come to you later... it DOES get better. 

It also helps, I believe, to develop a crutch. A psychiatrist might disagree with me, but I've done this alone for 15 years, with NO SUICIDE or CUTTING attempts, so I do feel qualified enough to say this. Develop your peace crutch. Think of the most soothing, pleasurable activity you can. Mine was cross-stitch. Yours might be something else, just make sure it's not self-destructive. Think of it in detail.. for me, the floss going in and out of the cloth, a soothing, still motion, creating a beautiful picture. Now create that thought into a package, a totem, if you will. When the despair sweeps over you, take out your package and unwrap it. If the anxiety becomes so bad you disassociate, take out the package, and do it, mentally (this prevents you from having to carry your totem everywhere.. you can't cross-stitch and drive, trust me..) It DOES work, but you must, first, yourself, be willing to work and to fight.

That's it from me, a small message of hope here, a real message for real people. And because I CAN feel empathy, I cried for a lot of you, I pray for all of you. You are the strongest people this planet has to offer.

Metamorphosis

For years, I, the caterpillar
crawled throughout the earth,
ugliness and fear
became upon my birth.

I, the caterpillar existed
afraid of each unyielding leaf,
feeding and searching for existence
each new season evolved to grief.

As a caterpillar I often curled up
to protect myself from human's harm,
another child's exploitation
meant more then me on his arm.

Then one day, I, the caterpillar
began to feel some change within,
unsure if I was to live or die
a metamorphosis was to begin.

I quickly built my own shelter
around me, a solid cocoon,
for there inside I could develop
for what I was to change to soon.

Inside this tiny cocoon
I strive for a new image of the emerging me,
from an ugly and frightened caterpillar
to something beautiful which I longed to be.

Inside I was changing
a fearful caterpillar - no more!
my feelings, my body, my spirit - blended
forming this wondrous butterfly I saw!

Now, I the emerging butterfly
have started to spread my wing,
in a world that is no different
except in the beauty that I bring.

From an ugly and frightened caterpillar
to butterfly I have become,
yet the one thing I must always remember
is the metamorphous where I came from.

To exist in the world as a butterfly
I had to change my view on earth,
and have compassion for the other caterpillars
that are still questioning
their survival and self worth.

I, the beautiful butterfly
now fly proud amidst the earth,
beauty and understanding
from a livelong process comes rebirth.

This is my first time reading anything off this website, and I am here researching both into my own borderline personality and for a project for school, where I am studying to be a drama therapist. For the past two semesters, I have heard teachers and students say that borderlines are the most frightening cases to work with, that ice flows into their veins when they come in contact with one. They just...KNOW! Today I broke the news to this group of individuals that there had been...GASP... a borderline in their midst all this time! :) I think they are now re-thinking their attitudes! I was angry when I was first diagnosed. I already knew that I had addiction issues, self-mutilation, depression and problems with rage. But borderline? "Borderline what?!" I demanded. My therapist sent me to the library to check out some literature. I found one book that was helpful (I think it was called Shattered Selves). At least, the cover with the broken mirror pieces was aesthetically pleasing! Anyway, after feeling trapped in relationships that aren't good for me for so long, I have finally risked my fear of abandonment and dumped this last one. 

I am scared to death of being alone, but I had to take that step sometime. Seeing the support of this board helps me feel good and not want to slash myself all up instead of doing my paper. I hope everyone out there is feeling well this evening.

"My Armor"

I have another side of me,
one which I'm scared to show.
It's covered in a heavy coat,
Its size you'll never know.

I have a mask I wear,
But only around you.
I wear it around people
Who would betray me, too.

I have some shoes I wear
That let me fly away
If people get too close to finding
That I'm not O.K.

Although I have this outfit,
I wish that I did not.
I found myself left with no choice,
Although I kicked and fought.

So now I wear this armor
Because no one will care.
If somebody could listen
I would more than gladly share.

I am a 52-year-old female BPD. Academic. Mother of 5 more-or-less grown up kids. Married for 3rd time. Between jobs and waiting for a disability pension.

Wrote these 2 small poems for a creative writing course I did at university a few years back.

********

A Borderline Primer in Philosophy

The shroud of this sunny day
Enfolds and intensifies the clinical glare
Of the operation lamp
Staring at the emotional hemophiliac pinned to
Life's dissection table.

It's OK to cut.
Take a chunk or two.
But please, keep your incisions neat;
Cut gingerly.
After all, we're mutually beneficial:

You get a layer of the onion and
I get closer to the truth.

*****

Handy Household Hint for Borderlines
What do you do when you feel yourself
Stepping out of your self,
Feel your flexible features transforming themselves
Into a baked clay death mask?

And how about when this other - alien but comfortingly familiar - self
Sits down beside the newborn stranger,
Desperately searching for the nearest
Exit?

What? It's never happened to you?
(But if it ever did, you'd call the desperate seeker Betty
And next time, you'd
Leave Betty at home.)