I have BPD. A fact I'm horribly ashamed about. But the shame I feel just for having it, is not near as bad as when I involuntarily do something symptomatic, such as randomly crying for no reason, or losing my temper to inappropriate proportions over really stupid things. It happens more often than you'd think. I've learned more about BPD in the last few days than I ever did in therapy. Granted, once I was re diagnosed, I was only in therapy about a month. Anyway I suppose to give you a clearer picture of how I got here, I need to go back to where it started...
It was the summer between 7th and 8th grade the first time I seriously considered suicide. I was 13 years old. And I didn't think things could get any worse. I'm not really going to give you the full version of what happened to get me to that point but I'll give you somewhat of a readers digest version.
Things had been increasingly difficult at home. I won't say why, but things.. really sucked, and what sucked more? No one believed me. My mother thought it would be best to send me to my Aunt and Uncle in Alaska for a while. I didn't want to go, in fact I really needed her. It was clear that she couldn't handle me being around though, and off I went.
As upset as I was over the things that had happened and the actions that were taken, along with the general demeanor aimed at me, I was still dealing rather well. Albeit incredibly depressed, and increasingly angry. I had stayed with my Aunt and Uncle before when I was 7, but not for very long. They had some issues and I ended up staying with my cousin, who was barely old enough to be on her own at the time, much less take care of me. This time, they swore would be different. They were going to get me a bike (there was no car, so bikes were the mode of transport, luckily it was summer time.), and enroll me in school when it started back up, and we were going to do all these cool things, and they would even let me have a dog, something my parents had never let me have. Honestly I was starting to feel somewhat relieved. Things were alright there for a while. They believed me, when I told them about what had happened back home, and that too was a relief. I was ready to just stay there. Things seemed to be looking up, and I honestly was still so angry, I never wanted to go home. And true to their word, I got a bike, and a dog.
About a month after moving in with them, things started to change. My uncle seemed to get mad at me all the time over silly things, and they were always drinking. The first argument my uncle and I had, was over the fact I hadn't made any friends, and I was pretty much always at the house. I did leave occasionally, I had a cousin a year older than me, Alexis, that I spent a little bit of time with, but I was never gone for as long as he wanted me to be gone I guess. There was at least one day, he told me to go find some friends and not to come home until I did. I went over to Alexis' house. Where was I supposed to find friends? I've never really been a very social person. And I got along better with people older than me. Alexis took me to meet some of her friends, all guys mind you, and all older than us. Scott and Dillon (Brothers), Nathan, and Brandon all ranging in ages from 15-18. Alexis was sleeping with Scott and Dillon. I had a bit of a crush on Nathan, he was really cute.. and 17.
When he wanted to be my boyfriend, I thought for sure everything really was going to be okay.
I had a lot of freedom with my aunt and uncle. They were always telling me if I wanted to try drugs, they'd get them for me, because they didn't want me doing them somewhere else (I never did though). I could have friends over, but not when they weren't home. And I could pretty much go where ever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Alexis would sneak out in the middle of the night and come get me, or she'd tell her parents she was spending the night with me. Either way there were several nights we were roaming around Kenai in the middle of the night. Not that you could tell... It doesn't get completely dark in the summer.
Scott and Dillon lived across the street from me, and Nathan lived in the house behind them. Brandon lived somewhere in town I think I don't really remember. We were never ALL together at once. But Alexis and I frequently snuck over to Scott and Dillon's, and one of them would sneak us in. I can't remember if it was Scott or Dillon the first time we were there, I think Scott but who knows. Nathan was there, that was really all I cared about. That was the first time anything ever really felt real to me. Relationship wise. I was 13, and incredibly naive though. I should have known that there would be no way in hell a 17 year old could have ever REALLY been interested in me. I was only 13!!! I barely spoke, and hardly ever even smiled much less anything else. I was stupid. And I really needed to feel like someone, anyone, gave a damn about me.
Scott and Dillon shared a room, so there were two beds in there. Alexis proceeded to be a total whore and well you catch my drift there. The part that got me, was Nathan didn't actually try to do anything with me... we pretty much just sat there and laughed at the effed up noises Alexis and whoever were making. And that was fine with me, because I was scared he would.
The next day he had Alexis call me to break up with me for him because I didn't sleep with him.
All literature you'll read on BPD, states that they pretty much won't diagnose you BPD until you're an adult. But I can tell you, this was the very first full out BPD outburst I had ever had. And it hurt like hell.
She asked if I was okay and I said I was, hung up the phone, and went into my room. I didn't have a door, so I was trying to stay calm. I didn't know my aunt and uncle well enough to freak out where they could hear me... but I sat there on my bed crying and I could feel full control slipping. I just kept getting more and more upset. No one wanted me. I had already been through hell, already felt horrible about myself, and then just when I was starting to feel better, to feel wanted, BAM. Gone again. What had I done to deserve any of it? I must be a really bad person. I threw things all over my room and screamed and screamed at the top of my lungs. My aunt called Alexis to find out what had happened because I just kept screaming, and I wouldn't answer. She told her, and then asked to talk to me, but I couldn't. I calmed down about an hour later, but nothing was ever really the same. I hated Nathan. And I didn't spend a whole lot of time with Alexis after that but I still did. In fact not too long later we were back at Scott and Dillon's, she was sleeping with Dillon, I'd discovered I liked Brandon, and he was there too. We were laying on the other bed, he was holding me and it was really nice. I felt safe. He tried to kiss me and I would have done whatever he wanted... but I had never kissed before, and I was embarrassed. He took me turning my head to mean I didn't want him to kiss me.. but I did. I was just scared. He was still nice to me though after.
Not too long after that I got sick. I was sleeping one night and woke up to my aunt and uncle fighting. Screaming at each other is actually more accurate. My aunt was diabetic. I heard her tell him she was just going to kill herself. He told her to go ahead, and she ran to their room and shut and locked the door. There was a window in the living room that lead to their bedroom. I got up pretending to get some water. My uncle asked what I was doing up, and I told him to go through the window. He went and looked through it, turned to me and said "well you're aunt just killed herself. She's overdosing on insulin." I started crying and freaking out (justifiably). She came out, and swore and swore she didn't do anything and put me back to bed. I didn't go back to sleep, I laid there listening. She was on the phone with her friend, swearing to her as well that she hadn't done anything... it was quiet for a minute, and I heard her hit the floor.
I ran in there, screaming. My uncle was calling 911 and screaming at me to push on her chest. I did, while screaming SCREAMING at her to wake up, along with "If you did it, I'll do it too, I swear to God I'll do it too." Ambulance got there and took her to the hospital. I had to ride my bike over to Alexis' It couldn't have been earlier than like 1am.
She lived, but she didn't remember any of it. She was in the hospital for something like a week.
Tensions grew tighter between my uncle and I. There was never any food in the house.. he was always mad at me. And I'd grown increasingly depressed. I stopped leaving the house altogether, except when he made me go walk my dog. I stayed in bed until they made me get up. I really wanted to die. And that was the first time I realized it. I couldn't take any more. Things just kept getting worse, and I couldn't make it stop.
Finally one day, my uncle came storming into my room waking me up telling me to do the dishes. I couldn't understand how there WERE dishes, I hadn't eaten in days because there were only condiments in the fridge, no food. I got up angrily and started doing them... him bitching at me the whole time. I was washing a knife and accidentally cut myself, and started to cry. It didn't hurt, it just scared me.. mostly that it didn't hurt. He came unglued. Yelling and screaming at me. I can't remember what he was yelling, only that it was mean and only made me feel worse. I ran into my room, grabbed my pillow and got under my bed. I stayed there for days. Then one day he came in and told me I was going to live with his sister and her husband.
Awesome. You don't want me either.
At this point I'll skip forward a bit. His sister and her husband had a 9 year old daughter, Valerie. They lived in the middle of no where. Literally. It took forever to get there, and "there" turned out to be a broken down school bus. No plumbing....Just a school bus. And an outhouse. I remember very clearly, being on my period when I got there, and I had at least one more before I got to leave. Valerie was really annoying. It probably wasn't really her though that was bothering me. Her parents insisted we stayed outside all day, she talked a lot. I just wanted to die. I had considered running away but figured being eaten by a bear would probably not be a very peaceful way to die. They had a neighbor that would let me get a drink of water from their hose every once in a while. All my clothes were dirty, I couldn't have a shower. And the one time, they took my clothes to wash them, they ended up flipping their vehicle and all my clothes went into the river. What they could get they brought back, covered in mud. I finally had had enough. The only logical thing I could think to do, was call my mother. Surely she would come get me. Surely I had been punished enough. Although I wasn't sure what I was being punished for.. talking I suppose.
It seemed like I'd walked forever before I found a house (the people that lived close to us weren't home). But finally I did find one. It wasn't a much better situation than what I was in, but I hoped with all my being that whoever lived there was home and had a phone. He was, and he did. He was a little bitchy when I asked to use it but I swore I was calling collect and he wouldn't be charged. I tried to call my mom, no answer, and with collect you can't leave a message. Alexis had been mad at me but she was the only other person I could think to call, so I tried her. As mad at me as she was, she was shocked to find out where I was... I begged and pleaded her to call my mother, collect even, just to keep trying until she got her and tell her where I was. I don't actually know if she did or not. But it wasn't long before they told me that my mom was coming to get me.
I later found out that, every time my mom called to talk to me my aunt and uncle were telling her I was out with Alexis and she finally got suspicious when she'd call them, then Alexis, then my other cousin Angie, and I was never with any of them and they hadn't seen me in a while. So she flew up to find me. She'd been sending them money to take care of me... they were spending it all on drugs.
When she got there, I was dirty and muddy, and smelled horrible because I hadn't showered in at least a month, if not more. She watched me pick my clothes out of this pile of mud that was what was left from them going in the river. We got into a cab and went back to my aunt and uncles... where the fridge was packed with food, and they acted like nothing was wrong, I'd been there the whole time. It was bullshit. They'd gotten rid of my dog, and my bike. Mom and I went home.
Things were just as shitty back home. And I had started cutting and trying to come up with a viable way to kill myself. I can't even describe how much pain I was in, on a constant basis. I felt like everyone hated me. No one was really talking to me, and I had never felt more alone. I felt like there was something seriously wrong with me and I didn't know what to do or how to handle it. It really seemed like everyone hated me and I finally got to where I didn't blame them at all. I hated me too. I don't remember the different things I tried to kill myself. There were a lot. Cutting, mostly. It didn't hurt at all, somehow it kind of made me feel better. Not even just the feel of razors, but even the sight of my blood made me feel a little better. Like, I was bleeding out the pain inside that was suffocating me. I tried to drown myself and hang myself a few times but I couldn't go through with it. Finding time was difficult as well, I was no longer allowed to be alone by myself. Even though up to that point, I hadn't even threatened suicide, except to my aunt when she almost succeeded.
At 15, a suicide attempt landed me in the hospital. By this time I was allowed to be alone, but not for a long time. My mom had to be out of the house by 5:30 every morning for work, so she'd wake me up and I'd get ready for school. I had about an hour and half before the bus came (on days I took the bus) to get ready for school and I spent that time alone. I'd get ready for school and then get online for a while. That particular morning I was on the Internet chatting with Jon, who is now my husband. He doesn't remember talking to me that morning, but he was. I told him I was going to take a bottle of pills. I had missed my bus and planned on catching it somewhere else. I ended up taking two bottles of diet pills. Lame I know, but they were all I could get hold of and I was bound and determined to make it work. I wasn't even really upset about anything in particular that morning, I just wanted to die. I hated my life. Everything about it, nothing was getting better, I still felt as if no one loved me anymore. I just didn't see the point of living. I felt totally empty and pointless. I took the pills, and went out to catch the bus. I barely remember the ride there.
Once I got to school, I went out to the hall to sit with my friends. I was sooo thirsty, and I felt so out of it and weird. Jon came out to see if I had actually done it. There was no way of mistaking that I had. I could barely stand up. He told my friends what I had done, and a few other people. I can't remember who it was but someone went to the office and told them what I had done and I got called up there. When they asked why I did it, I started crying and said I wanted to die. And it was the truth. It's still the truth. They took me to the emergency room, but they couldn't treat me until my mom got there.
I wasn't there long before my mom and Amber showed up, they worked an hour away but it didn't take them even close to that long to get there. By the time the ER started to treat me, I was going into shock. I was dependant on an IV. I was in the ER for 9 hours. Awake. They kept taking blood, and changing out my IV. I kept having to go to the bathroom, where a nurse insisted on watching. They spent quite a while trying to find a psychiatric hospital that would take me, being IV dependant. There was a good chance I was going to end up in a different state, but I didn't. Timberlawn in Dallas took me.
It was there I was diagnosed as Bipolar. It was also there, that my mom told me my aunt in Alaska, was dead. We still don't know exactly what happened. There are theories but I think she probably committed suicide.
I faked my way out of the hospital. I stayed as calm as possible, was nice and followed directions, even the ones I thought were stupid. Kept my mouth shut, and talked about whatever they wanted me to talk about. After about a week I decided I'd had enough, told my doctor I was feeling better than I had in a really long time, thanked her, and asked to go home. I got to leave the next day. It was a total lie. By the time I got to the car, I was already planning my next attempt. Turned out the meds they put me on only made it worse. Every other month they'd have to change my prescription because nothing was working. I'd take them for a week or so, then hide them and store them. When I thought I had enough saved to succeed, I'd take them all. My family knew. But they never took me back to the doctor or anything. I was in mandatory therapy for a while after I got out of the hospital, but when that was up, mom took me out of it.
About 2 years ago, I was living in Wyoming with a boyfriend. There was a place that offered discounted therapy, and I was having a hard time controlling myself. I was getting mad all the time over stupid things, and blowing them way out of proportion. I cried nearly everyday and my moods were changing so fast, and being so mixed up, I couldn't tell what exactly it was that I was feeling but it hurt. Bad. It was like feeling every single emotion in the world as intensely as possible.. all at once. And I couldn't take it. I started going to therapy, where she informed me that I am not in fact, bipolar. I have Borderline Personality Disorder.
For years all I've heard is how this is all in my head. I shouldn't be so sad all the time. It's selfish to want to end my life. I'm just overly dramatic. I just want attention. It could be worse. There are people that have way worse lives than I do. I need to stop pitying myself and get over it. I need to stop being so crazy all the time.
Well, the thing is, I can't. I want to be loved, yes. But I don't know how to accept love. I'm not even really sure it exists. There are people that tell me they love me, my mom, my husband, my sister, cousins..... But I can't believe them. I find it hard to believe anyone could ever love me. How could they? I don't love me, I hate me. I'm afraid of everyone, because everyone always leaves. My mom left me at one point, boyfriends have gone, friends have moved, my sister is about to move. I'm married now but he doesn't understand. And one day he'll leave me too, because eventually everyone leaves.
And then theres the pain. There doesn't necessarily have to be a reason for it, sometimes I just really hurt. Sometimes I cry and I don't even know why. Little things that don't matter at all send me into a total rage, that's like watching it from a 3rd person point of view. I hear all the awful things I'm saying.. I see the bad I'm doing.. but I can't stop. All I know is that it hurts, and I'll do anything to make it stop. And if you're too close when I break, I will hurt you. Whether it be mentally or physically it doesn't really matter, but I can't stop until the pain does. I don't want to hurt anyone, but I do.
I'm incredibly impulsive. I cannot plan for things, because planning doesn't work. So I make a decision and do it right then. No matter what it is. I don't even think about it. I just do it, even stupid and reckless things seem logical sometimes. And I hurt people with my impulsivity as well. Without much regard for how they feel. Because I don't understand that I've done anything wrong, or I don't see how it was wrong.
Over the last few years, I've gotten to where I don't want to do anything. Nothing holds any real interest for me at all. I don't want to go anywhere, I don't want to do anything, I don't want to see anyone. I hate me. And I'm sure everyone else does too. I see people when I have to be out of the house, and I can see them judging me. I realize that it's irrational, but I can't make it stop. I just know everyone is thinking horrible things about me. There are days I can't leave the house at all. Not even for work. I just wake up feeling so bad about my life and everything I can't even function. And then there are times, when I don't feel anything at all. I don't feel good, I don't feel bad, I don't care about anything, or really anyone, I just.. don't feel. It usually doesn't last more than a few days, but I know it's wrong. I know I'm wrong. If I'm not horribly sad, I feel empty, unimportant, worthless, useless, hopeless. I'm just wasting space. Wasting time. Like everyone would be much better off without me.
It's total hell. If I feel, I'm scared all the time. I don't know when I'm gonna just snap. I don't know when the pain is going to just overwhelm me. I don't know what is going to cause it, or who I'm going to hurt when it happens. It doesn't take anything at all to make me break. A wrong look from someone, a certain word or sentence, sometimes songs or smells, or sounds. I don't know what will trigger it, but I know something will and it's terrifying.
I spend my days so sad. And there is not a day that goes by, that I don't want to die. I haven't actually put forth a real effort to die in six years, because what's the point? It never works no matter how hard I try. The only thing it accomplishes is making everyone even more pissed off at me, and thinking I'm only doing it for attention. I'm not. I'm in a lot of pain. All the time. I don't want everyone mad at me. And I'm not being selfish by wanting to die. I personally think it's selfish of other people to guilt me into staying here, when my very existence is excruciating. I feel really guilty for the pain I put everyone through. But no one understands how much pain I'm in. I can't just NOT feel this way. And making me feel bad about feeling, only makes it worse. I beat myself up constantly. I feel bad about myself already. I don't need any help with that. I can't even make plans, or commit to 15 weeks of bowling with my husband, because I don't think I can do the same thing every week for that long. I hate that I'm disappointing him but I don't want to leave the house as it is, and forcing me to do things when I don't want to only makes it worse too.
I have this need to be around people. I get way too attached to people entirely too easily. I'm constantly setting myself up for bad things to happen. I married my husband after 6 months of dating. We got married on October 1, 2010. Today is August 8, 2011 and I've tried to leave him about 8 times. I just get SO mad at him.. for usually really stupid things, like him making a annoying noise, or saying something annoying. And I get mad and it festers, until every horrible emotion about anything I have EVER felt, comes CRASHING in on me. And I yell and scream and hit and throw things, or get really really depressed and threaten to kill myself which according to something Jon read, is 4th degree domestic abuse. Or even a combination of both. And when It stops, I apologize and beg him not leave me, whether he was planning on it or not. I honestly don't know why he hasn't left me yet. I put him through total hell all the time. I don't want to hurt him, I don't want to hurt anyone. I say such hurtful things to him when I'm mad, and I realize I'm being irrational and crazy, but I can't stop.
I discovered in the last few days, that about 90% of the things I do, say, and think are symptomatic. My life is almost entirely run but this disorder. and I literally don't know who I am. It seems all I am is this, horrible girl with a broken brain. For the longest time I couldn't figure out why I could feel SO bad ALL the time. Why I couldn't even go into a store by myself without my brain screaming awful things at me, about me. Telling myself I'm horrible awful and evil, and everyone here thinks so too. I'm just a fat worthless excuse for a human being and I don't deserve to live.. and it's right. The worst part is, everyone else can get away from me. But I'm stuck with myself until I die.
I used to have these awful nightmares. I still have a lot of nightmares but the possession ones are fewer and further between. The dreams were always different, but the same. By the end, I was possessed by a demon, and it terrified me, but at the same time it felt good. It was how the beginning of an "episode" feels. This massive buildup in your chest and stomach... chest feels tight like it could explode, stomach feels sick, arms and legs kind of tingle. And in the dream, I would start to change, my eyes would gloss over, and I'd start to scream this awful horrible scream a human could not possibly make. And then I'd be this violent screaming demon, hitting people I loved and hurting them however I could. The difference between the dream and reality, is when I'm having an episode, the building pain doesn't feel good, it just gets more and more painful, and even when it starts to calm, it isn't a good feeling. In the dream, once it starts to build its almost a euphoric feeling mixed with pain, excitement even. And it was horribly terrifying, but good at the same time. They only made me feel more evil. More afraid of myself, as if I could actually be capable of really hurting someone, and not feel bad about it. Sometimes even when I'm not asleep, I feel incredibly evil. As if something just takes over.
The reason I started this blog, is because I'm hoping it will not only help me, but also help the people around me understand. My husband thinks I can just, calm down and be normal if I wanted to, but I can't. I want to, trust me I do. If I could make the pain go away, I'd do anything. But I can't. I tried to find a therapist, but there are only two close to here that treat BPD and I can't afford them. A lot of therapists, won't treat people with Axis II disorders because we tend to be violent and uncooperative with treatment. But I'm telling you right now, if I had a way to get rid of this, that I could afford, and someone was willing to help me, I'd do whatever it took to stick with it and cooperate as much as I possibly could.
I joined this group type thing on facebook. BPD Recovery. Which was actually kind of pointless. It doesn't help at all. But I did make a new friend from it. Lindsay, shes from Florida. I was talking with her a few nights ago, and she told me some pretty interesting things I didn't know about BPD. She told me the average age of death for people with BPD, is 32. She also showed me this video that her doctor made, and it was actually sort of helpful.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBOIlF7a7fo
In other words (if you watched the video) there are times, when parts of my brain literally don't work. And that sucks. I'm sorry this was so long. I didn't mean for it to be. But hopefully you have a greater understanding of me. There are times when I have clarity. Unfortunately those times are relatively few and far between. I have a hard time even watching movies or reading books, simply because they make me feel like I'm not real. Or I'm envious that other people can be that happy. I don't know what happy even feels like. And that's truly awful. So there's a peak into my personal hell. The never-ending nightmare that is my life.
Brandi Evans
