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Please be advised that some of these letters can be a trigger. Story #6 I'm a twenty year old male whom has had his first tastes of psychology within the last two years. Somehow I made it through high school without taking a single class. I got curious about taking it after I suffered a year long nervous breakdown after getting in my senior year in high school. Some would be argumentative and say that it's relatively normal. However, it had been building from the last previous two years at least. By school's end I was in a state that I threatened to commit suicide at least once every two days in some form or other and even had a few plans as to how I would attempt it. But it never truly seemed real and I clung to idealistic images of types of ritualistic suicide. Something just became the last straw, the last thing before I couldn't take it any longer once I graduated. To sum it up I started to open up and within myself I found yet again another layer to open up. I talked mainly to different supporting groups online mainly and only sought professional help once. But I had butted heads with the counselors and such before in my past as a child and consequently I don't trust them that much. In the beginning I almost liked my counselor, but like I always change, I didn't trust her any longer and wished to 'fix this' on my own and so I quickly stopped seeking help. I've taken a foolish route, but a route that I like to think has worked so far. I'm not too successful in school, nor do I have a very good job- in fact I'm about to lose my job. But I have a great relationship with somebody that lives in Canada now. This actually being the first time I've attempted to have a relationship with anybody. Even with friends, I push most away. I haven't been diagnosed with any types of problems mentally nor physically, but then I didn't stay with therapy long enough, I suspect, to be diagnosed. I didn't want to be seen as a hypocrite going there although the pain was very real. Most of the symptoms described about BPD seem to match me. Even down to the doubt of whether or not a bad thing in one's life is real or not. I have real bad phobias about groups of people or being alone with somebody. Consequently I almost can't go into public bathrooms, they are one of the worst experiences. And gyms are the other place. I had this phobia for a long time before the nightmares started, but scattered through out last year I had four nightmares about being raped. That topped with the fear that already existed started to make me fall apart further after I had managed to 'put myself back together' some. It reversed the healing cycle for a time. I don't know what is wrong with me and I don't think I will ever know when it comes to that. It drags up feelings of hate and despair at times when I dwell on it and other feelings from my past. So far the only thing I've discovered now that I can feel that I'm good at and that I can escape into seems to be writing and so that is where I am deciding to finally go. It is the only genre that I can use my problem to my advantage- the fact that I 'shift' and feel things from different view points from time to time. They say everybody seems to do that but I don't see anybody else suffering from it at times. It is funny that I remember to say this last, but I don't worry about this so much now that I met my girlfriend. I've suffered from anxiety from my phobia- thinking that I might be gay or a "fag". But ironically it is in the very nature of this phobia that I generally respond with disgust at first around gay men. I usually adjust to their personalities and attempt to ignore this first feeling and generally it will go away unless their personality clashes with mine. I site my phobias of large numbers of people, men that are bigger then I am, and fear of being alone with somebody as being some of the main reasons why I've gone through such dramatic changes, "red lining" or "bordering" back and forth between extremes. Story #7 My name is Lisa. I am a 37 yr. old female now residing with my mom in Orlando, FL. the "happy" family town. Well I am not happy and never was. I was diagnosed along time ago with border-line. I was also diagnosed with many other things in the same category as borderline. I am sure this is the correct one. When I was growing up I was considered to be the "black sheep" of the family. As far as I can remember I was always abused by my mother (mainly), my father and my sister. I have a younger brother but I try not to be angry with him (I guess I somehow want to protect him). My mother and I always fought. I remember my household being a "war zone". We were raised upper middle class people but behaved like "trash". My Dad was hardly ever around. I found out later he was cheating on my mom because she was overweight & with a big mouth. He was a businessman in the small town we were raised in and I think he was very embarrassed of us all. My sister was always mean to me too. She turned out to be just like my Dad. There was a lot of blaming, neglect, criticism, control, lack of discipline and fear when I was growing up. My mom was too busy chasing after Dad but I always blamed mom for Dad's absence. When I turned into a teenager I began to hit my mother back. I was quite the handful with boy trouble, friendship troubles, stealing, and lying. I don't remember too much about school but that I had grown to acquire a horrendous reputation. I remember feeling soooooo much pain that I cried a lot alone. I hated my life, I hated my family for hurting me, I hated other girls that seemed "normal" and I really hated my mother....I can't remember hardly anyone being nice to me really. I do remember my grandmother (mother's mom) and how she once told me "I was her favorite". I grieved a lot when she died for years and years. My only escape was boys to men. So I began to chase them. I had lots of crushes when I was real young and still can remember those feelings as if it were yesterday. My first real sexual experience was when I was snow skiing (which a lot of kids in town did at the nearby ski hill) and I had a crush on a boy (whose name I won't give out) asked me to touch his ----.I was only 11 yrs old and I did it. I was scared to death but my idea was he "liked" me. That lasted for about 3 yrs. We never had intercourse but we did almost everything else. He used to tell me not to tell anyone. If I did (I always had a big mouth) he would deny it. I used to get beaten by my mom and Dad for trying to tell them this story. They never believed me so on top of all the pain I had already felt they abused me. I know now that was sexual abuse. At 13 yrs. old I met this wonderful boy and he became my boyfriend for almost 3 yrs. I never trusted him and I used to torture him so much by abusing him ( I always hurt the good ones). I began to become very paranoid thinking he was cheating on me and I would become very, very, violent. I dream of him now and feel so bad. His family were poor people and I still hurt him. He had 2 alcoholic parents and he always tried so hard to be good (he was my real first) .Well, I broke it off with him to "find" myself. I know now I was running from my life. I still felt tremendous anger, rage and pain all the time. I always felt rejected by so many people. I was now 15yrs. old and I ran away from home. This started the rest of my life up until today to become an emotional roller coaster. I moved in with a man 8 yrs my senior. He was good to me too but I pushed him to his limit also. We lived together for about 5yrs.and we were physically abusing each other. I always started with him. Again I was "insanely" jealous and began to cheat behind his back with at least 150 men!!!!! Oh by the way I had dropped out of school in the 11th grade to run away from home. I was an average student from what I recall. When I was living with this man, I "partied" a lot. It was the 1970's and everyone got "high". I also was called a lot of names and still had a horrendous reputation. Most men I cheated with used me and ran from me. My man had to leave me. This brought me soooo much more pain and I tried to change my image. I cut my hair and changed the clothes I was wearing (I was a hippy rough cut type). I thought if I could only be different maybe people would love me and stay. Well, my family still couldn't deal with me and talked amongst themselves to have me move to Florida. It was 1982. My family never ever wanted to love me or help me or understand me. So they shipped me to Miami Florida. I was in another relationship with a guy I was friendly in school with. I tortured him too. We were doing a lot of drugs. I was still cheating, lying and stealing, and still made enemies wherever I was immature, ignorant, wild, not caring, irresponsible and suicidal. I had already made a few attempts to die but mainly to get the attention I so deserved!!!! Still I was a burden. Me and mom were still abusive to one another when ever near each other. Sometimes I started it and sometimes she would. We still "hated" each other. My siblings were just fed up and Dad was still very absent on his second marriage. Well, the Florida relationship lasted a couple of years and I came back home to upstate N.Y. Now it's 1986 and got into drug abuse recovery there. I began to learn and stayed involved for 8 good years. That is when I new I had "other" problems. I was told plenty of times by close friends and counselors. All the jobs I ever kept were waitressing, tending bar, babysitting and etc...I hated work because I couldn't stand bosses ( still cant). My emotional problems where the biggest priority anyhow. I was always irresponsible with $$$ anyway. I think I was afraid of the stuff (still am a little). So I got some help and then I insisted on continuing bad unhealthy relationship patterns. I was a lost cause at this point in my life. Everyone had friends, seemed to get on with life and I was a mess. I was still rageful, moody, paranoid, blaming, scared, shameful, guilty, depressed, needy, and all the stuff that goes along with this wonderful disorder. I started lithium and it sort of worked but my relationships still stunk. I was then diagnosed with this. Now what I was told I was a helpless case particularly. My mom lived in Florida and I only had Dad to rely on mostly. He would give me rations of $$$ and boy the "life" struggle really was hitting me. I was hospitalized a couple of times and on SSD, section 8 welfare, Medicaid. and food stamps for years. I then met my love of my life. He was pretty ill himself but I wore blinders. That relationship threw me through a loop for 4 years. I was the laugh of the town because of my "actions". He always came out smelling like a rose when he was the object of my insanity. I was still sober and never cared if I drank or drugged again (that's how I knew I wasn't alcoholic). But I had to move back to Florida and that's were I am today. I haven't been in a relationship since the last. I have been without a man for 4 years and I fear being back in a relationship. I have NO desire right now. I hope someday I will be but my self esteem is so low. I have a lot of financial problems and that's my goal now. I want to "better" myself and have trying for 13 years. I am doing "a little" better but I think it's age and I am tired!!! I still don't get along with people well and I still can't hold a job for along time. I never accomplished a thing in life and I still have a lot of rage. I am on 100 mg. zoloft and 500 mg of depakote. Hardly works. I am still on SSD and have "crappy" insurance. I still argue with people on the phone mainly. Yes, I am living with my mom. Big mistake but boy she really really is trying. Our fights are only caused by me and my demanding an apology for those hard years. Sure, she still pushes my buttons at times but if I was "normal" I would be able to handle it. So I am trying to start my own pet sitting service and have had a few rage attacks really bad. I still think people hate me and I just want to love them. I hardy have friends and the ones I do have live far away. It's better like that for now. I am very overweight and hate that too. So that's my story......I hope someone can relate to me and I bet you will. Thanks for reading this.......Love, Lisa Story #8 The Story Starts Here: i can't believe i'm actually doing this. when i was young i was the favorite. my father's obsession with me, his hands bruising my arms if i didn't kiss him goodbye in the morning. i watched him drag my sister up the street by her hair. he knew what a brat i was, but he loved me so much he would keep it a secret if only i loved him as much as he loved me. otherwise i would be alone all my life and NOBODY would ever love me. and my mother said once, on one Catskill mountain sunshine afternoon that i would grow up to fat and friendless. i don't remember the context. does it really matter? so anyway, here i am. i'm only 19. i am so lonely. i got "shipped" around a lot. i was always so painfully aware of my illness. i knew. i knew i was sick right from the start. it all began when i moved to NC at the age of 12. uprooted. i felt everyone had left me. how could life go on in NY when everything was stopped dead for me? i remember being 14 and actually sitting my mother down and saying "please help me i am so very afraid.." and she laughed in my face. i got sent to my sisters house in TN. uprooted. that year i attempted suicide. in a half-assed way. for days i crushed up 200 aspirin in a big bowl. one day, walking to school, it scared me. all of those people hated me. no one knew, cared to know, how could they how could they all hurt me so terribly!? i only wanted to be loved. that's it! is it so much??? i ran home. i mixed my concoction up in a glass of crystal light. i drank about half.. i began to sputter and cry. i didn't want to die! i wanted only to kill my anger, sadness, fear! i ran to my sister, i showed her. no hospitals. back to the therapist. he laughed too. said i did it just to get out of school that day. i puked for an hour. to make sure i learned my lesson, he and my sister made me go to the last period of the day. i had to sit in class. she couldn't deal with it, my sister. i don't blame her. and a week later, nora died. why are friends always dying and leaving? i lost it. i really lost it. EMERGENCY ROOM. the ER doctor laughed at me. made a nice story up about how he had sent my sister home (he really had) and to teach me a lesson about trying to get attention, he was going to have me placed with social services to a foster home. that was to get me to stop whining. because if i was so miserable, i was saying my sister was a bad person. i never thought that! and my sister consented. it took a lot of convincing him and her. he got up in my face and told me "NEVER WASTE MY TIME AGAIN LITTLE GIRL, OR YOUR SISTER'S EITHER!". all alone. no matter what i did. no matter who i told. i actually told my therapist i was afraid i'd hurt myself. i still have scars on my arms. i didn't feel a thing. they lighten with time. they told me to stop trying to get attention. shipped back to NC. kicked out of my house. all alone and homeless at 17. no "imagined abandonment" here. it was real, i promise that much. quit school my senior year. i was so smart. i could've done so much. it just kills me. quit my job. stole food and slept on couches until now. a month ago i actually signed a lease. even as i type this i'm playing hooky from work. i'm even up for an asst. manager position. probably quit first. it scares me. i'm always telling people i'm so happy, so much better. i've got it together. see, i've figured out the trick. if i'm more normal and i shut up, they will love me. i have lost all of my friends to this. my rage i turned on them in anger. angry that they might leave me. yelling at them to spend time with me. falling in love in one hour. trying to make them be as "dedicated" as i was. no one ever gave enough- not as much as me. i know now that they gave more. i loved them so much i couldn't bear to be apart for a second. couldn't understand why they weren't as "passionate". i'd really die for them. the people i love. i dream about them all the time. re-read letters from a year ago. pretend it's yesterday. i never get letters or phone calls any more. but al i did was love! funny how it drove them all away. yet i live on, sometimes i really do think i'm better. when i was raped. they really left me then. thought i was lying. the whole damn town. i had to leave for a year. I HATE TO BE ALONE BUT I WON'T EVEN GO OUT! so now i'm too broke to go to a doctor or get meds. i work all the time but i blow my money on things for all of the imagined friends that should love me but don't. people i barely know. i stopped all of the drugs! that's a plus. i adore my boyfriend of 2 years, but he told me recently that i'm becoming too much for him. i cheated on him 4 times. 5? if he leaves me, i've said, that'll be it. i'll really do it! i don't want to. my life has become his responsibility. it's not fair, i know it. i'm tired of people being afraid of me. "psycho" "bitch" my violence, seconds later my needy tears. get out, no stay, fuck you for leaving me! even thinking about it. i just want to get better. it's become very clear i never will. i only wanted to be loved. i swear i'm not a bad person. the sick person in me does terrible hateful things. but it's ME that sits back and just watches and cries... this isn't what it should've been. this isn't what i should have been promised. but my mother knew it then, and my father i never talk to him and i guess he told them how bad i was. Story #9 From
the day I was born, I was physically abused. My father was your
typical alcoholic, and my mother was not a big fan in stopping
him....although she ended up being the very person who did. And
my mom is termed as a nymphomaniac, (I hate that term) So you
could say I came into the world with two strikes against me. Eventually,
the physical abuse would stop, due to my parent's divorce, (at
the time I thought it was my fault) and my mom would marry again,
only months after the divorce....by this time I was still only
five. Even this early I hated the abandonment I felt, my
stepfather was so demanding of attention from my mother that I
felt alone all the time, and when I found out I was kind of a
failure at making friends, I made up some of my own. At 13 I knew
something was wrong...I was sleeping with anyone who I could,
just to feel some kind of emotional connection, and the only real
person who cared about me was my to this day best friend Tony.....I'd
have to say without his help I wouldn't have made it this far.
Also at this point I had quite a bad temper, but people thought
that was normal since my father had one also, but mine wasn't
just a temper, it was the ability to go from happy, to depressed
to angry, to giving myself a concussion on a brick wall just to
feel better all in the same couple of hours. Everyone calls me
"Crazy" and sometimes I feel that way, but I keep trying to tell
myself I'm not. I've spent the last two years studying Psyche
to find out what was wrong, and I couldn't think of anything,
it couldn't be depression, because that was only part of what
I was feeling....then I came across BPD, I almost passed it up
because I thought it was for depression wannabe's, but then I
looked into it and realized that the people that recounted their
stories sounded just like me, and then I read off the "symptoms"
to Tony and some other people, (teachers guidance counselors)
and they agreed that it sounded like me. The one thing that I
don't have in common with everyone else is my second personality,
It's like who I blame the bad things on, like when it screws me
up so bad I just push everyone away or change my entire personality
or something or just fly off into a rage....I'd just stand back
and scream inside my own head at what's going on, but all I can
do is watch as he plays with my life. I get into car accidents,
go into heroine induced crime sprees, and sometimes I go back
to sleeping around (although not lately, I don't want to cheat
on my g/f) I just lie awake in bed at night for hours thinking...I
don't know what to do. I wrote this poem as sort of an apology
to my friends after one of my rages. Story # 10 Hi. I am not an open person. The last thing I would ever do is let out my deepest, darkest secret. But I am making an exception. Bear with me. This past year has been a very emotional, and life threatening ordeal. Earlier this year, I started to get very sick. I couldn't keep anything down. As the days turned into weeks my mother grew worried and she brought me to the doctor. We thought maybe it was an ulcer, so he gave me very strong antacids. A few days of taking those and nothing changed. More weeks past and after every physical test possible was done on me, there still was no answer. You can imagine by now I looked very ill and I was very weak. They wanted to hospitalize me for dehydration, but I begged not to go. With not a thing wrong with me physically, they were worried maybe my problem was emotional. I was practically drug in the office of the therapist. I was not happy to be there and I let him know. After talking with me no longer than 5 min., he called my mom in the room and kindly informed us that I was suffering from bulimia. It was not easy to except but we weren't really left with a choice. My therapist told me that if by next week I had not cut my vomiting down by at least half, he would commit me to the hospital. That very next week I had managed to limit myself to vomiting just once a day. As the months drug on, my BPD became more pronounced. (Remember, we still didn't know if anything else was wrong with me). Eventually I began hurting myself. Making deep cuts into my arms and legs, beating myself with large rocks. At one point my entire left arm was completely black and blue. I eventually told my therapist that I was hurting myself. I didn't know how to explain the feeling I would get when I did it though. I would be sad or angry, it didn't really matter; and my mind would chant back to me, "Hurt yourself, hurt yourself, hurt yourself!" I would of course obey the voice. But while I was doing it, I would feel like I was really just a spectator watching someone else. It felt like another person had taken over my body and I had no control of what it would do. It was very scary, but I would get a rush from doing it and so I continued. It eventually became difficult to hide me cuts and bruises and my therapist noticed. He once again told me that if we could not get it under control he would commit me to an institution. This is when I was diagnosed with BPD. In therapy we were finally able to pinpoint my dad's role in all of this. My father is a very manipulative, controlling and selfish person. But he would try to make up for it by material things. Even though our relationship had always been very hurtful, it didn't seem like it was serious enough to give me BPD. Later on in my therapy I started to remember being molested. I do not wish to say who it was, but it turns out my memories were true. We confronted the person and it turns out it went on regularly until I was 7 years old. One day out of the blue I met a guy and agreed to go up to his hotel room. (yes I know, what was I thinking!) After getting into some very heavy stuff, I left and I never saw him again. My therapist was ready to murder me, and I was even more disappointed in myself. I fell back into the habit of hurting myself. It became a part of my routine at night. Wash my face, brush my teeth, hurt myself. I used it as a way to handle everything that was going wrong in my life. I admitted it once again to my therapist. He wanted to commit me to the mental institution, said I could have my own padded cell and everything! We compromised, and decided to have my mom start sleeping with me. That way I wouldn't be able to hurt myself. Many times I wondered if I was going to live through it. At times I feared I wouldn't. Even though my mom listened to me, she still couldn't understand, no matter how much she tried. I would have given anything to talk to someone who had got through it...alive. So I could see living proof that when I got well I could have a happy life. It would have helped me so much to hear someone else with BPD to say, "Yes, I know exactly how you feel. Even though it hurts like hell now, believe me it will get better." That is the only reason why I would reveal this much about myself to anyone, in hope of helping someone. Guess what! It has been 74 days since the last time I hurt myself! I still of course have my ups and downs, but I am feeling better than I had dreamed was possible! I am learning how to deal with my dad and I feel things are improving slowly. I continue my medication and therapy. Did I mention I am only 17 years old? I hope that I didn't bore you with my life, but I do hope that it helps at least a little; to hear someone say to you "It will get better, all you need to do now is survive and let tomorrow take care of its self." I send all my love to you and I have a strong feeling you are going to be okay. Story # 11 Now
that I am here I don't know where to begin...... For the last three years I have actually been really under control. And then I met a person that totally destroyed what small grip on a normal life I had. He is not a bad person....only it is very hard to remember that some days. To not think in the good/bad pattern. We are human. Simply humans. Anyway,
most of my problems lie with my relations to others. I do not
attract people, quite the opposite...I do my best to make sure
they can not get to me. If they cannot get in, I can not be hurt.
This was always my philosophy. But it can lead to a very empty
life. So every now and again I try to reach out, even though I
expect from the beginning to get hurt. And I usually am. Is that
their fault or my own? That I cannot answer. Story # 12
I
HAD A GREAT CHILDHOOD.. WONDERFUL PARENTS. NICE HOUSE. FRIENDS AND
LAUGHTER.. LOTS OF LAUGHTER AND LOVE.. AND THAN WHEN I WAS 13 YEARS
OLD, NOTHING. I HAD THE PARENTS THE HOUSE ETC. BUT MY NICE HOUSE
BECAME MY ESCAPE AND MY PRISON. I DIDN'T SEE FRIENDS, AND I COULDN'T
REMEMBER HOW TO LAUGH ANYMORE AND FOR 2 YEARS I LIVED LIKE THIS.
ALONE. AFTER THE TWO YEARS I DECIDED I WOULD REACH OUT OR DIE. SO
I TRIED BEING AROUND PEOPLE AGAIN. I TRIED AND UNFORTUNATELY FOUND
OUT THAT WHEN I DRANK ALCOHOL, I WAS THE LIFE OF THE PARTY AND I
WASN'T SO AFRAID TO MESS UP. I THOUGHT AT 15 I FINALLY HAD FOUND
THE WAY.. DRUGS AND ALCOHOL. I WAS SOMEWHAT HAPPY AS LONG AS I HAD
A DRINK AND A DRUG.. OF COURSE THAT LED TO VIOLENT OUTBURSTS WHEN
I WASN'T DRINKING. MY POOR PARENTS. I AM SO SORRY FOR THEM. I WOULD
DISAPPEAR FOR DAYS AND RAN AWAY TO CALIFORNIA AT THE AGE OF 15.
LIVED ON THE STREETS AND IT DIDN'T REALLY MATTER.. I WAS OUT OF
IT. WHEN I FINALLY WENT HOME, THINGS WERE WORSE, I WENT BACK TO
THE ISOLATION AND DIDN'T WANT TO SPEAK TO ANYONE. THE PAIN WAS SO
BAD I COULDN'T EVEN SPEAK OF IT. SO I DIDN'T SPEAK AT ALL. THAN
MY BROTHER TOOK ME OFF TO AN AA. MEETING. THAT WAS MY FIRST
GLIMPSE INTO THE REST OF THE WORLD. SOME JUST LIKE ME. SOME NOT.
BUT ALL TRYING TO BE WELL. I HAVE BEEN CLEAN AND SOBER NOW FOR 4
YEARS. THE HARDEST THING THRU THIS WHOLE ORDEAL IS THAT I WASN'T
DIAGNOSED UNTIL 3 MONTHS AGO WITH BPD.. I WAS DIAGNOSED WITH PTSD,
BIPOLAR DISORDER, YOU NAME IT, I HAD THE TAG. NOW I HOPE THAT I
HAVE THE RIGHT TAG. SOUNDS DUMB I KNOW, BUT I NEED TO NAME MY ILLNESS
SO I CAN LEARN TO LIVE WITH IT. I STILL DO NOT WORK, I AM AFRAID
MY CHILDREN TWO GIRLS-9 AND 11 STILL HAVE A MOM THAT SITS THERE
AND FRIENDS THAT ASK.. WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOUR MOM. MY
SON WHO IS 18 LIVES WITH HIS DAD NOW AFTER 17 YEARS WITH ME. ALL
THE UNREAL THINGS I KNOW I SAID TO HIM BUT CANT RECALL. I WISH I
COULD TAKE IT ALL BACK BUT I CANT. I STILL DON'T HAVE FRIENDS I
STILL CANT TALK ABOUT THE PAIN BEING SO BAD. BUT I TALK NOW
MAYBE SINCE I KNOW THAT EVERYTHING I READ ON BPD IS ME, I CAN NAME
IT, STUDY IT , AND LEARN TO LIVE WITH IT. MAYBE ONE DAY I WILL WALK
INTO THE SUNSHINE AND NOT THINK ABOUT WHAT COULD GO WRONG OR HOW
AWFUL I LOOK OR BE ANGRY OR AFRAID.. MAYBE ONE DAY I COULD WALK
IN THE SUNSHINE AND SAY TO MY SELF "LORD, ITS A BEAUTIFUL DAY
TODAY" I WANT THAT SO BADLY. EVEN IF I COULD BE NORMAL FOR
JUST ONE DAY. NOT FOR ME MAINLY, BUT MY KIDS, TO BE ABLE TO PLAY
AND LAUGH AND CARRY ON WITH THEM WOULD BE WONDERFUL. I HOPE ONE
DAY I CAN LEARN TO LAUGH AGAIN. BUT UNTIL THEN I WILL STILL TRY
TO EMBRACE THE LIFE I HAVE , ONE DAY AT A TIME. Story # 13 I am 15 years old and have just been diagnosed with BPD. I live in constant pain, pushing family, friends, and loved ones away. I have attempted suicide twice. Its frightening when you are young and don’t understand why you trash your room over some trivial argument or purposely harm people for no reason. I understand now why I did these things, but my boyfriend and parents didn’t understand before I was diagnosed. I use to love saying cruel things to people, but afterwards I felt horrible about it. I dropped out of school in 9th grade, I smoke cigarettes, and I had a serious addictive personality. I was smoking marijuana every day for at least 6 months to escape from reality. Now that I have been diagnosed with BPD, I can see that there is a reason for all this. I can see that my reactions to minor events aren’t because I am insane, it is just because I have a chemical imbalance that will be fixed with the proper medications. I encourage all those who have been diagnosed with BPD not to be afraid of it. 10-14% of people have this disorder, and it doesn’t make you any less normal than the 90% that don’t have it. BP’s are just like everyone else, and with the proper medications, we are able to control our mood swings and lead a healthy life and healthy relationships. Just remember that there are people out there with the same condition as you, and with the proper medications and help, the emotional scars will fade.Story # 14 i have been wanting to write my story for a very long time... somehow i kept getting off track... but after reading about other people’s lives... there are many things i see that we all share...and i feel a bit safer... and i would like to write now... <deep breath> my parent’s marriage was unhealthy... at the age of four (possibly earlier) my mother decided to take me along on her indiscretions... the longest lasting affair was with john... one night i was sitting with my father watching the wizard of oz, which i was excited about, when my mother approached me, "Are you ready? come on... let’s go... we’ll get you something good to eat..."i knew what that meant- she was going to see john... i didn’t want to go... i said so...i was about five and a half at the time... this was perhaps the first time that i had refused her... she gave me That Look, as she snapped the gloves on her tiny hands... the moment she was out of the drive, i told my father where she was going.. all he said was, "i know.."neither of us looked away from the television... my brother and i were riding our bicycles around the neighborhood sometime after that incident... we were carefree... racing...laughing... until we saw both of their cars heading towards home... we rode hard and ran inside... i jumped onto my mother’s lap, scared... and asking, "So, you get me, right?" she lowered her head and said that i had to go with my father... i screamed and cried throwing myself into the back seat and remained silent all the way to our grandparent’s house... that was it... the divorce.. i was 6 and my brother was 15 months younger... he didn’t seem to take it as hard... but when she telephoned us at grams, she would never ask to talk to him first, i had to prompt that... when she did talk to him it was for a short time... i felt saddened by that... soon after the D, my father met someone... his new fiancé got to see my mom and john show up and grams with guns... my grandfather got out his...i guess my mom was drugged out and stopped over unannounced for a family visit? the next thing i knew, we were leaving for florida... my grandparents (dad’s side) hated mom, and my mom’s mom "mama" drove us like a bat out of hell to our new destination...she was so angry the whole while and cussing about her whore of a daughter... we had no idea we were moving for good... the 7th year of my life in florida was the hardest, i think... i was not allowed to ask questions about my mom, write, call, or visit her... from 8-14 my memories are sketchy... i had abandonment issues...when i turned 15, i was allowed to visit her... all the horrible things i had heard about her.. N lover (for marrying john), whore, druggie, that she hated my brother and i...etc... i was a nervous wreck.. i thought the meeting and stay at her house went well (although i had walked right past her at the airport)...but... later i learned that she had called back home to say that i was spoiled, lazy, rude, etc... Spoiled? we were dirt poor, and if anything, i was Seriously depressed... And i was on eggshells, which she misinterpreted ... how could she label me- she didn’t know me!! i had only been at her house for a week...i only saw mom a few times after that.. we never hit it off.. she displayed symptoms of anxiety, depression, and probably bpd, but when i tried to talk to her about this (save the bpd which is a recent diagnosis) she responded with, "nothing is wrong with ME... i am tired of reliving my past...get over it" she did ask about my brother but he wanted nothing to do with a N lover...plus i heard stories about how she neglected him by leaving him sitting outside on the porch in a thunder storm while she had sex with john at our house in ohio...who knows what is true in my family--(i use that term loosely) he was brainwashed and neglected and hurting and Silent... my relationships with dad, step mom, brother, grandfather and grandmother (dad’s side) and Mama were strained at best... no one understood me- ever... i was called lazy, spiteful, hateful, ignorant, and so forth... good support system, right? no one suggested that i get help even when i was anorexic- no one noticed that! i do not even know my brother... he called a few months ago to tell me my Gram was very ill... and i listened to his message but did not return the call.. she died and i have not cried... my grandfather died in 92, and mama in 95 (?) i cannot mourn over people who treated me badly...but if a friend’s pet dies, i cry like a baby... i have great relationships with pets... personal r-ships have not come easy.. i am moody, violent, intense, dislike being touched sometimes, and require a lot of space...or i am insecure, and needy... i have been in a same sex 4 year relationship that is not trouble free.. i have bipolar, anxiety, ocd, borderline, and all the other problems... now... it fits perfectly, and i suspected it for some time... life has not been easy living like this.. there is so much more, as you all can probably read between the lines... i often get a longing to *go home* when i know there is no home to go to.. hasn’t been since childhood ...my dad is an alcoholic ... he cannot be around me... my mother is in denial and blames me for.... what? asking questions? having some anger towards the lack of nurturing, support, flexibility? well... from coming here and reading everyone’s stories, little by little, things fall into place a little more.. like how i was used by my mother all along- a cover... how my father remarried so soon and i was not given attention when i desperately needed it-confusing times!! how my grandparents who raised me for a while had the poorest of coping skills... how i was not ignorant, and proved that in college... to myself anyway... how my anger was from so many things, betrayal, abandonment, neglect, people causing me to doubt my own perceptions... yet They Blamed Me!! well, thank you for reading this... i hope you are all finding ways to make yourselves happy... we missed out on soooo much growing up.. it is time for US!Story # 15 I was never diagnosed as "clinically depressed," or with "borderline personality disorder," but I know that I have had or have both. If I had gone to see someone years ago, I would have been diagnosed as "clinically depressed," and if I went to go see someone now, I would be diagnosed with "borderline personality disorder."I’m not sure when I just started to lose hope in everything, it just kinda built upon each other. It wasn’t like on major event changed my life. It was somewhat gradual. Elementary school children can be cruel. I learned that the hard way. As a child, I was a little over weight. It wasn’t that I didn’t have any friends, it was that I never felt like I belonged, except with one. Of course, being an over weight child, I was teased constantly. Looking back on it, I know that the names they called me sound corny and unimportant but they had a huge impact. I see myself now, as "fat," although people say that I’m not. I can’t believe them, though. I don’t know if I will. As I child, I was taught that I was fat and that image has stayed with me. My mother was also an issue. Even though she tried to be helpful, I always felt like she was setting my goals beyond my reach. She raised her voice when I didn’t get the grade that she deemed appropriate, which was fairly often. It wasn’t that I was completely stupid, I just wasn’t as smart as she wanted me to be. I always felt a lot of resentment to my sister, who was 4 ½ years younger than me. She always got the better grades and was always "mommy’s little girl," where I was not. I was always afraid of getting poor or even fairly good grades, for fear of seeing that look of disappointment on her face. Junior High was not so bad in the beginning. I made a new friend and a first, we were extremely close. We had the same interests and the same likes and dislikes. However, at the end of 6th grade, she told me that she was "sick of me and couldn’t stand being around me." So yeah, that hurt. I really didn’t know what to do or say at that point. I ended up just trying to forget about it. Unfortunately, we had the same group of friends. In this group, however, everyone had a "best friend," but me. I felt like I was on the outside, looking in, like I was always running to catch up. 7th grade was when most everything started. In the beginning/middle of 7th grade, I became extremely depressed. Everything was always "eh," or "just ok," never "great," or "good," not even "pretty good." I started to think about death a lot. I thought about what it would be like to no longer have anything to deal with. I got to the point of pressing the scissors to my wrist a couple times, but whenever I pulled them back, I never found the courage to press down hard enough. Since I could never find the courage to go through with it, I turned to self mutilation. I saw it to be the only way out. It helped me to deal with the feelings of isolation and disappointment, rejection and failure. I always felt better when I was able to take a little piece of skin off of my hand or arm. If you look at me now, I have scars running up and down my arms and onto my hands. It never used to bother me. By the middle of 8th grade, I was more content, not as depressed, for one reason or another. I don’t really know what happened, how or why I changed. High school was interesting. As a freshman, I became involved with a guy who was a year older than me. I told him everything and we were so close. He was my confident. During our relationship, I found no reason for the scissors, so they stayed away. Unfortunately, all things must come to an end, as did our relationship and our friendship. Because we were no longer talking, I had no one to talk to and tell my problems to. I closed off, convinced that I would never trust any one again. The scissors came back out and eventually changed to nail clippers, which were stronger and could do more damage. Later into my freshman year, around the end, I was again involved with another guy. I told him about my problem right off to give him a fair chance out if he wanted it, which I expected him to take. He surprised me though, and didn’t take it. I was so glad to have the feeling of being wanted and loved again, that our relationship went fairly far, physically. I didn’t open up to him much, because I didn’t want to be put into the same spot that I had been put in earlier that year, alone and with no one to talk to. Eventually, we split up, but we still remained friends. I began to trust him and I opened up to him. I trusted him, and still do. He is a very special person to me. However, during all this time, I never did stop with the cutting. At one point, I cut myself so deeply, that now I have a horrible looking scar on my hand. It pains me to look at it and is difficult for me to now live with. It’s the worst one that I have and I cover it up so that I do not have to face it. It’s what has stopped me from doing much more. My friend, my second ex, gave me a writing assignment that a friend had to do on "borderline personality disorder." It’s fits me, which scares me. I never thought that I could or would end up like this, but I have. As I write this, I am only 15 years old, soon to be 16. Because of what I’ve been through, I mask myself. I put on the persona of being care free and happy when in reality, I have much more on my mind. I turn attention away from myself so that I don’t have to face who I am or what I’ve become. What a lot of people don’t know, is that I can relate to so many different problems on one level or another. I try to take care of others first because I don’t want them to turn into what I’ve become, because what I’ve become scares me, but I don’t want to sit on a couch and babble incoherently to some complete stranger about my life. Since 7th grade, I’ve become a lot better. I try to look for the good things in life and usually, things are "pretty good." I slip back into my depression at times and I still think about taking to the scissors or nail clippers but I know that I need to find another way. So far I’ve been better and more controlled but it is still a difficult path to take, one that I wish upon no one. Story # 16 struggling with life and death as we speak...am 26 year old female...i was recently diagnosed with borderline....and as i read these stories.......i can relate to these feelings....the rage, the hurt, the pain, etc........Feeling no one understands me.......i have no family......and 9 months ago I ended a relationship with a man..i thought wanted to marry me ....we were together almost 6 years....he would constantly make up excuses....finish college....then we’ll live together..he complained about my job, my friends, basically me. i could go on and---my depression had hit me months before i had initially broke up with him........crying all the time, couldn’t concentrate in school, stopped caring about life in general......i went from a 3.83 g.p.a.----to barely passing.....i walked my self in the E.ROOM....after seeking advice from a friends mom......oh ya and drinking varnish remover the week before......since have been hospitalized to a respite program...then sectioned twelved to a psyche unit. then back to the respite program....i have since been struggling 3 months with life now......this is going on my 7th day of being out of the hospital environment.. which i absolutely hated other than the meds i am on now-----which eventually will be changed because of this disorder...i am living in a not so good situation with three others (roommates)....who yes party a lot.....am still out of work barely making it by financially....still sad, depressed, and lonely.....that’s all i would like to share for now.....hopefully will be able to write back soon....when i can handle these emotions better.....thank you for the opportunity to let me share...i actually have to call to check in with crisis team at this moment---that i am still involved with...if not they will be out looking for me....until the dbt program they would like to get me in (3-4 weeks)....i still don’t feel 100% safe....pretending to the few friends i have left at this point.....trying to function day by day....it sucks to feel this way....thank you......for letting me vent....."The Ventor"Story # 17 I
am fifty four and hope that by relating "My Story" that it will
help someone, somewhere and that it might inspire you onto greatness
by sharing with you my inner secrets, agonies, and rejections
of the past. I would like to add at this point that I have 6 grandchildren
and two adult children. Story # 18 I'm a borderline that no one listens to a borderline that no one sees. Every day I deal with problems that seem normal to everyone but me. I am unworthwhile as problems go- I really have it all together, totally capable in any way. No one can see me incapacitated by my own anxiety immobilized by fear and stress hidden underneath a sheath of everyday. I took some Prozac to feel better. A nice band-aid to cover the spot of internal bleeding. It worked. but I'm still losing jobs and I am still imploding relationships like too many seagulls on alka-seltzer. But at least I can better achieve the glossy, high- quality fakeness that feeds everyone's expectations.
They made me president of a club. They made me captain of the team. They made me super-counselor at camp. And editor of the paper. They believed I could do it. I failed every one. And someone else stepped up cleaned up the mess I left behind. Somehow I fooled every one of them into thinking that I could do it. After two months, I quit my job at the beach. After four, I quit the paper. I lasted two months at the Nile, and a whole eight weeks at camp. A single month as a janitor of the second floor. A whopping seven months at the department store. And Last but not least, after two months I was fired from fine dining. I've never had a job I've liked- or been able to keep. And I was really trying at the last one. I told Dylan, Scott, Chris, Ben, and Dustin in whispers so sweet "I'd love them forever." "That this time was different." I'm the most amazing woman. I'd convince them, each in his own language. And when he was finally convinced, I'd run away, and abandon him at love's door, with nothing more than an intense desire to escape NOW fueling my getaway. Me, the borderline. Living every day my life meter switch stuck on "survival." Through periods of anger I have several mementos. Three punched holes in three different walls. A scratched, dented car. Scratched, cut skin. A piercing. Many miles of gasoline used up in silent crying, destination- "anywhere but here."
Smoking cigarettes, smoking weed. Drinking my health to the floor.
Impulse purchases- blades, clothes, bags, books, and twenty different
bottles of shampoo. Screaming obscenities at people I love, building
a firewall of hate for no reason. Insensible as it all is, I sit
here, a borderline, this is my everyday. My relationships are a mystery to me- something I will never understand. Anger and depression are doors I try unsuccessfully to hold closed. I am nothing but a fake- hoping to somehow achieve normalness by convincing you that I am.
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