Borderline Personality Disorder:  Consumer Talk

i know NO other people suffering from borderline personality disorder. i feel alone. My name is Joanna and was diagnosed in January 1998 at the age of 17. i was hospitalized 3 times that month, and then february 13 (a friday) i was sent to a residential in Pennsylvania called Kidspeace. I was in denial....or maybe it was fear. i received treatment (medication and therapy). I was told NOTHING of what the disorder was really about. i was told there was no recovery. i felt dead. more depressed than ever. i was released in april of 98. they said there was nothing more they could do, and that i was to stay on medication and go to therapy if i wanted to be normal. I went home.....to a place i didn't recognize. my "great friends that i loved so much" had become druggie in the 3 short months i was gone. i was lost and knew i couldn't stay with them. i felt life was hopeless. then i woke up one day and realized "hey.....this is my life..... i'm gonna take it into my hands" so i developed my own treatment. i stopped all my meds and therapy. i finished high school, got accepted to college, dumped the druggie friends, developed new friends and cut the crap. i felt free. i still had a problem though, but i was in denial. a year went by....i wound up not going to college and taking a break instead. i held down a job, kept my friendships very non-intense and made a basis for a life. this past fall i started college, made MORE friends, and became whole. my happys are not highs....my sads are not threatening. i'm at peace and i'm not dead. Seeing the movie "girl interrupted" inspired me to delve more into my disorder. the more i learn the more i can conquer. i feel we are all victims. we didn't do this to ourselves, but only we can stop it. Don't ever let anyone tell you you can't be treated. and when you decide you want to LIVE, don't ever let anyone make you feel like you are already dead. We AREN'T dead. we are amazing people with amazing stories. don't ever be ashamed. we are all human in this world.

Kicked out

Into a cold dark winter of a cold dark year
Into a cold dark world of cold dark people
A frozen sphere in an ice carved pinball machine
I bounce from frozen pillar to energy impoverished post
Propelled by frosty clappers through hideously hoary caverns I then
Fall down a chilled howling abyss only to reappear
For more torment in a wind shrieked snowy hell

Cast by freezing gales onto the peaks of cruelly crystalline crags
My perishing limbs can find no purchase
I’m picked up by merciless ear splitting winds
Like claws and am plunged through river ice
Carried along by chest crushing currents
Blood hardening in spasming arteries
My dying visions are of people playing on the surface

Dead but not dead
I tap unheard on frost rimed panes
Within cheery houses are happy people
Faces glown with firelight and love
I trudge away through desolate sleeted space
Through bitter night
My appointment to keep at the cliffs of despair

this is a story about she. Of course I hadn't heard about borderline personality disorder at the time of this story. In fact I only was first seen for treatment 3 months ago. At that time they diagnosed me Bipolar and BPD. But I disagree i feel I am just BPD. But that doesn't really matter does it.

-One of the thousand stories of She-

She sat smoking a clove no where to go. The desert does that, its emptiness starts to change you into a vision of its own self. Until you open up to the life that is there. Not in Wal-Mart or cheap coffee shops where she always goes. She was an ocean girl who had dried up. She tried to think but some how couldn't, all she could do was mechanically pull the cigarette to her lips and

Inhale,

Exhale

She never knew where the habit for these sticky sweet scented cigarettes came from. But slowly she found herself always buying another pack to replace the one that she swore was her final pack. She wasn't addicted to the cigarettes themselves she knew she could go days without the desire for one. But some how she found the habit comforting. Even as she knew it was self-defeating to her depression.

"Depression", she said slowly out loud tonguing the word to some how taste its sound. She knew that the feelings for it ran deep inside herself.

Though the final diagnoses was far from complete. She knew deep inside that her problems were tied to the word. The thought of the diagnoses moved her hand to a blister that was on her arm. It was a yellowish brown, an oval shape. She didn't dare to pop the pocket, that sat on the inside of her arm. Instead she fingered it slowly pushing on the injury to move the liquid inside about. She usually ignored the damage after she had done it, but she felt compelled by this one. Even as she looked at it with disgust. She didn't know how she would explain this one. But she hoped no one would ask. People rarely ask you about the marks, they might stare or pretend to ignore them. But very, very rarely would they move to ask you. They either didn't care or found it to rude to ask.

SHE-

To all of you out there that feel like you don't know who you are, and like you are losing your mind:

WELCOME TO THE CLUB!!! Being a BPD myself, I truly understand. Every second of every day I feel like I'm holding on to my sanity and "calm center" by my fingernails. I go through my day at work trying to keep a lid on it. I know that no-one I work with wants to know what's wrong with me, or why I feel the way I do, they just want me to be there, smile, and do a good job. I am in my fourth job in two years, and this time, I will not let my illness take this job from me. It took a lot for me to admit that there was something wrong. I thought I was flying into screaming rages, throwing and smashing things because I lost my only son, at age 3, because I trusted him alone with my boyfriend at the time. I came home to find him beaten within an inch of his life, which he lost a half hour later in the hospital.

When I went into therapy two months ago, the doctor knew all of this. I was lucky that he recognized that my son's death was aggravating a problem that already existed. Since then, I have been reading everything I can get my hands on, and having my current partner read them with me. We have a beautiful little boy, two years old now. It is very difficult raising a toddler with this disorder. Sometimes when he does things, I want to lash out at him, and I do a lot of walking away. I would love to hear from other parents as to what they did when their kids set them off. Obviously, a child doesn't understand the way a husband or friend will. What can I do to explain to him that it's me that is being bad, not him? I don't know what to do!!

I'm 30 years old now. I just turned 30 years old 9/26/98. I never thought I would make it to this age. I thought I would be dead by now. I was abused as a child (mentally, physically and sexually) and neglected to the point that I was convinced that I was adopted or that I was an alien. I knew I didn't fit into that family of violence and abuse.

When I was 18 years old, my older brother told me the truth about my family: that my father was actually my stepfather, that my parents had told my real father to never try and contact me, that my Mom had tried to kill herself along with me (3 years old) and my sister (10 years old). He told me so many things, and it was things that I had suspected, but chose to deny. I think this episode is what "broke the dam" and set-off my enveloping rage, resentment, depression and self-hate.

When I was 19 years old, I called my therapist because I was cutting up my wrists again and didn't think that I could trust myself to stop this time. I was upset because an emotionally unavailable man that I was having a sexual relationship with had broken it off with me and I felt totally abandoned and used. My therapist had me check into a crisis center, where I stayed for 2 weeks. While there, the Doctor diagnosed me as a Bi-Polar and put me on Lithium.

I stayed on Lithium for a couple of years with no really remarkable improvement. For whatever reason, they never questioned my lack of progress. Gradually, they renamed me a BPD. I got the help of a very competent therapist who actually liked working with BPD patients! She told me the truth about my illness. She shared with me that many therapists did not tell a BPD that they were a BPD because they thought that it would make the dysfunctional actions worse or the patient would obsess. She shared my view that knowing my diagnosis actually helped me understand that I wasn't crazy or alone. She also formed a virtually non-existent self-help group for BPD patients of hers. Once a week, about six BPD patients met in her office and shared our experiences and problems. It was extremely helpful. She said that the reason therapists don't put BPD's together is because they thought that there would be a lot of competing and fighting. This simply wasn't true.

After going through experiences like being raped (twice), being arrested for a felony drug charge and getting married, I finally got the medications that I so badly needed. I had tried a lot of things since that incident with the Lithium, with not much better results. About four years ago, my doctor put me on Zoloft (200 mg) and Ambien (2 mg, to help me sleep soundly with less nightmares). When I have taken it faithfully, I am a totally different person. As a matter of fact, it is remarkable that I am actually more stable than most people when I am on my medication. Zoloft is "the glue" that holds my mind together.

Before the correct medication, I switched from minimum wage job to minimum wage job every 3 - 6 months. I moved as frequently and changed relationships at least as frequently. I went on SSI/Disability for a couple of years. I was miserable and couldn't see anything but the pain in my life. The only relief I found was either hurting myself or through my greatest talent: art. Through my artwork, I found a way to express the pain from the past and the present and I could do it symbolically so as I wouldn't feel threatened or vulnerable. I did my artwork for me alone. It helped a lot and got out a lot of anger. Most people describe my artwork as "disturbing". I love it when they say that because that means I am getting my message across! The experiences that I put on canvas were disturbing!

After getting on Zoloft, I settled down quite a bit. I stopped hurting myself physically. I felt more "together". I went through a rough period with my marriage, which eventually ended in divorce last spring. But I survived the divorce. When my husband and I separated, I got a really good job that gave me a lot of new skills. I make really good money as a bill collector. I learned to be assertive through my job, which is something that I never was before. I grew family-like roots at my job and learned to not fight authority (like I had so many times in the past). I got medical insurance instead of public assistance. I became a valuable employee. I was recognized by my supervisors and coworkers as a damn good collector.

Today, I am a much healthier person. I am currently enrolled full-time at a state university. That job that I got that was good? I still have it 1 1/2 years later! They like me so much that when I told them I would either have to work part-time or get a new job, they let me be a part-time employee (they only have about 3 part timers out of about 500 people) and earn the same money that I did when I was full-time, plus keep my medical benefits. I come and go as I please. I work about 24 hours a week. Last month I was asked by our Divisional Manager to be one of two representatives for our division on a task force to meet with Vice President of Operations and make important decisions about how our job is done. This was a landmark for me! I never was asked to input my opinion in anything growing up. I found it amazing someone actually found my opinion valuable enough and rational enough to voice it for the entire company! Then, the first of October, I qualified for another honor: I was inducted into our company's Presidents' Club. This is a group of about 30 collectors (the best in the company) and the company gives you a gold ring with an onyx stone in the middle and it is personalized. I am extremely proud of my accomplishments. Not only am I doing well at work, I am doing fantastic at school! I expect to get A's in all four of my classes!

My therapist tells me all the time how far I have come since she met me four years ago. I think that I have, too. But she is careful to remind me that I am not healed yet. I know this, and try to keep it in mind so that I don't "feel cured and go off my medication". I have went off my medication many times, usually because I run out & don't have time to get it refilled. Once, back in the spring (when I got my divorce papers in the mail), I was off my medication and I felt so numb and dead. I branded myself with a metal cross. It still hurts me to this day and is not healed. The most painful thing, though is having to lie to people about what happened. It is a huge, ugly scar. I usually tell people that I got it from working on my car (I DO work on my car, but the scar is diamond shaped, so most people think it is a little suspicious, but do not pry).

I am in a relationship right now with a good guy. He grew up in a pretty dysfunctional home, but was strong enough to survive, too. The last time I was off my medication (about a month ago), I was overwhelmed with things going wrong e.g.: my car was stolen, my best friend at the time did something awful to me so I stopped being her friend and she ended up getting fired because of some stuff she did to me at work, then she spread around my work that I have herpes, which I do have from being raped; a bunch of bad stuff was happening all at once, all when I was off my medication. So, my boyfriend told me he was still friends with this girl from my job (he used to work at my job)...they were just friends, which I know to be true because my boyfriend loves to talk and has a ton of friends; well, this didn't sit well with me because I think this girl is totally ignorant and I didn't understand why he should want to be her friend. It didn't occur to me that just because I didn't find her of any value as a friend, that he would anyway. It wasn't okay with me for him to still be her friend because I thought she was ignorant! (This is typical irrational thinking when I am off my meds)

I called him up at his job, yelled at him, told him that I wasn't happy in the relationship and maybe we should end it...blah blah blah. Even as I was saying it, I knew I didn't mean it and I didn't want to say it, but I couldn't stop myself! I hung up the phone after thoroughly making him mad. I called back about 5 minutes later and explained that I was sorry, that I have been off my medication and all the things that have been going wrong lately were taken out on him. He said it meant a lot that I apologized, that he thought I must have been experiencing something from the past, and he reminded me that he is not the enemy, then he said "I need you to be my best friend now." I felt so horrible! How could I be so mean to such a good guy? I didn't deserve him! He then said, "I'm not going anywhere. We are going to work through this together." It's amazing....as unexplainable as being a BPD is, he seems to know exactly how to react and what to say every time I freak out!

I think the things that have helped me the most are:
1) The right medication
2) A good therapist
3) Surrounding myself with POSITIVE, HEALTHY people
4) Realizing that nobody is going to save me but me
5) My artwork as a form of self-therapy
6) Time time time----this could be the biggest thing besides #1 & #2, I have been a BPD for 11 years now.
7) Realizing that I am intelligent, pretty, creative and a good person, I just have been through a lot of crap, but I WAS STRONG ENOUGH TO SURVIVE.
8) I am a firm believer in Karma. So, instead of getting revenge on someone that hurts me, I move on and let karma get them! I don't waste valuable energy on bad people anymore!

I realize how far I've come every time I see someone that is as messed up as I was. I see them all the time. I find it hard to believe I was ever like that. I am not trying to brag, I just want everyone to know that it IS possible to have a successful life, just like you could if you didn't have BPD. I am sort of mentally challenged, like someone that is in a wheelchair or can't hear or any other disability, but with some patience and lots of effort on my part, I can be the person that I've always wanted to be. And you can, too. Believe in yourself and know that everything happens for a reason. You are a strong person, much stronger than most people. And I respect you for surviving. Have patience.

It's easy to be gorgeous if you're wealthy,
it's easy if you're gorgeous to be strong
it's easy to find wisdom in that confidence and strength,
and it's easy to find friends if you happen to be wrong.

But it's harder to stay strong when you are weeping,
it's harder if you're hurting to be wise,
it's harder to locate the faults and fix them
and it's harder to stay sane amidst the bitterness and lies.

Life is never easy for the lonely,
it toils the soul, but can make it true
Just never give up fighting to be human
and you'll do the things you never thought you'd do