"My Story"
Personal Stories

No new stories will be added to this section. However if you would like to make a contribution to the Sanctuary, you can send in your story to to be included in my new book about the borderline personality disorder.

Please be advised that some of these letters can be a trigger.

Story # 19

My mother has always been hypercritical of everyone and everything around her. She never even has a kind word for herself. Once I learned to talk, I grew defensively sassy and "asked" to be slapped in the mouth almost daily. My father suffered under her tongue, but he was gone more than home during my childhood. He almost died of cancer when I was 12. My mother’s older sister was bi-polar manic-depressive with schizophrenic episodes. This aunt spent the weekends in our home almost my entire childhood. I had to sleep with my bedroom door locked. My parents had no social life. I had no example to follow. All I ever wanted was a playmate. According to my classmates the first twelve years of my schooling, I came from too rich a family to attend public school. I was ostracized. My parents transferred me to a private high school. We didn’t belong to the country club. I was ostracized even worse. I was one of those cringing kids always begging to be accepted. I didn’t know who I was or where I belonged.

I began drinking when I was fifteen. If I drank, I drank until I passed out. I bought my first real best friend, my horse, when I was sixteen, with babysitting money. I got my first boyfriend when I was seventeen. Within a month, he pressured me for sex. My previous only sexual experience was molestation at a party. He said I had to do it to prove I loved him. I loved him so much, depended so much on his companionship, that I gave in. I lost what little self-respect I ever had. I drank more. I became addicted to pot. I went away to college and slept around, just to feel someone’s arms around me, a gentle kiss, some indication that I was lovable. I ended up in a relationship with a guy who broke up with me every one or two months for over two years. The first half was punctuated by his drinking. The second half was in perpetual search for nightly AA meetings. He asked me to move out to give him some space. I took that to heart and moved out of his life.

I went away to grad school. Not all areas of my life were dysfunctional. I was using pot and acid socially. I continued to sleep around. I knew I was pursuing a permanent relationship, but on the outside it just looked like I was sleeping around. I got married to a disillusioned Catholic boy. His parents and siblings acted like they could never make up their minds about me. I hated going to mass with them and watching while everyone else took communion, and I knew ultimately that I would never be accepted unless I converted. My then husband developed a cocaine habit, so I divorced him. He had used violence a few times to scare me, though he never struck me. I hated myself toward him anyway. I could hear myself bitch just like my mother used to.

I got a boyfriend less than six months after the divorce. He turned out to be a serious substance abuser with all the symptoms of BPD. That is when I became acquainted with the disorder. Little did I know how much more intimately I would become acquainted with it. For almost three years, I never knew when he was going to be very good or very horrid and I would have to call the sheriff. If I hadn’t been so vigilant and fleet-footed, I think he would have physically abused me. What was a well-educated, attractive, sweet young lady like me doing with the likes of him? He was even in and out of jail constantly for drunken disorderly and abuse of controlled substances, including spray paint. He wrecked my car while high on paint when he was supposedly out looking for employment. I think it was our pets that kept us trying to stay together. He was the kindest most nurturing person toward both humans and animals that I had ever known. I became desperately dependent on his affection and attentiveness. We found a drummer and became a working rock band. Playing music with other people was the best interpersonal interaction I had ever known. But, my boyfriend became insanely jealous from the attention I got from playing in public. I tried to break it off. He stalked me and harassed me with dozens of phone calls a day. I let him back into my life and moved to a different county I knew wouldn’t tolerate all his shenanigans. Sure enough, the second time he was arrested, he was run out of the county and forbidden to return.

I entered a new phase of my life. I was so thoroughly sick of bad relationships that I learned to enjoy my solitude. I moved >back and forth across the U.S. by myself. But I wanted a companion. I met men online. I had four short-term boyfriends that way. Each time I broke it off as soon as I detected some defect in their personalities. I still don’t know who was >crazier, them or me.  

By the time I reached my late thirties, I thought I had sworn off men and relationships. That lasted about two years. Then I met someone kind and gentle and wise and very interesting. I was captivated. I soon found out that he was on probation for a DUI and marijuana possession. I know this was a bad sign. We began a long distance, weekend relationship because we work and live an hour away from each other. It’s lasted over a year now. He doesn’t use. He doesn’t drink. He quit smoking cigarettes our first six months because I threw temper tantrums all the time about it. He says I’m good for him. He is affectionate and thoughtful. I taught him to tell me he loves me. I taught him to hug me when I get upset. He grew up in an alcoholic broken home and had to enlist in the marines to keep himself out of jail. If I am not mistaken, he was previously married to a woman of a different race who used him for her green card and then got pregnant to hang on to his protection.  

He seems to love me because I am warm, affectionate, healthy, intelligent, uninhibited, but these are all useful qualities. If he has any feelings of irrational endearment, I am not aware of them. Sometimes I get so frustrated with our inability to communicate well, that I have little temper flare-ups from time to time that seem to cause him deep anxiety. I always feel sick with guilt after these little flare-ups. The worst thing I’ve ever said to him is "shut-up". I can’t stand it when he rolls his eyes or shows some other mild irritation with me. I take it like a full-fledged rejection. I’m sick with eagerness to please him. Whenever we are apart, I fear that the next time we are together, he will tire of me. When he gets angry about money or a backlog of work, and he wants me to stay away (maybe because he doesn’t want me to see his bad side) even though the chances we have to be together are rare, I feel like my whole world is falling apart. I start planning the impending break-up. My emotions take me down to an abysmal low. I can’t stop crying. I start packing. He looks at me like I am crazy, hugs me, and everything is all better for a few moments. Then the guilt overwhelms me and it takes days before I can forgive myself for my episode. I keep telling him that I need more reassurance. I’m afraid I will disgust him with my neediness. At work, I am a highly successful teacher because of my interpersonal sensitivity, insight, and empathy, and because I don’t depend on my job to fulfill my social needs. How could I be so emotionally mature at work and so infantile in my relationships?

Story # 20

My first memory is of my father being in my bed molesting me. I was three years old. My second memory is getting beat by him. And my next memory is being in his bed with him spanking me because I wouldn't relax so he could penetrate me. I was five years old. I was raised like this. The rapes, the beatings, and shame. My mother more or less looked the other way and pretended it was not happening. This continued until I was almost 17 and he went to prison for the years of abuse. When he went to prison, I was rejected by the rest of the family. There attitude was "how could you turn him in" it brought shame on the family. They didn't care that I had been abused my entire child hood, they did care that the neighbors might know.

I have spent most of my life in search of love. There were many relationships, and several divorces. I could not stand to be around anyone for any long length of time, even though I craved the love and attention. The ability to sustain a long term marriage was not in the cards for me. I am 44 now and have been single for several years. Even though I get lonely, it seems to work out better for me to be alone. I wish there was someone who could accept my past, but I do not see that coming. I have been in AA for a little over 2 years and have maintained complete sobriety by staying in close contact with the group and doing what they suggest.

Most of my life has been marked by shame and rages and divorces and instability. Today the only stability I feel I have it with my AA group and with my Higher Power, who I call Jesus Christ. To me, this has brought more peace than I ever had. Am I happy? Well, I wouldn't say I am really happy, but I am safe. I am not getting raped or beat. I try to keep that in the forefront of my mind. When I tuck my son in at night, I tell us both that he is safe. It helps me not dwell on living in poverty. Yes, I am very poor. It is not easy for a borderline to hold a job.

And prozac helps. :o)

Story # 21

The world came crashing around me in the spring of 1998. As I stood in my now ex- boyfriends living room and he informed me that he no longer loved me, the world that once spun around me at cosmic speed came to an abrupt halt. We were together for two years and during that time, I clung to him as if he were my sole chance for savior.

Before the breakup I knew that I had emotional problems but it was not until then that I realized how severe they were. I had grown up in a mentally and physically abusive household where I could never live up to my father's expectations. It didn't take long for his expectations to become my own which compounded matters, at that point, I could not even meet my own expectations. 

I came from a very wealthy home where looking like the picture perfect family was of the utmost importance. I could not even talk to anyone about the difficulties I was having because I was afraid word would get back to him and I would be punished for soiling his reputation. There were times when he would hit me or scream at me when I would actually leave my body. I was not the little girl he was scolding, "Who is that poor little girl" I would ask myself as I watched from outside my body. I later learned through counseling that this could have been the beginning of a multiple personality but fortunately, it never manifested itself. I spent every waking minute trying desperately to please him, just to hear him say "good job" was like someone giving me a new lease on life. 

At the age of 21, I moved out of his home and in with a friend. It was an amazing feeling, being able to breath freely. Through high school and college, I always had tons of boyfriends. Not because I liked having so many, just because I was afraid one would leave and I would be left alone so I made it my personal objective to have many men in my life. I always treated the men like dirt until they finally decided they'd had enough and told me to hit the road. At that point, I would cry and convince myself I could not live with out them. Up until Jimmy, the last boyfriend, I managed to get over the breakups. 

Jimmy and I met in the summer of 1996 and from the very beginning he treated me terribly. I now devoted every minute to trying to please him although I never could. Finally, in 1998 Jimmy told me he wanted to break up with me. As I stood in his living room, all I can remember feeling is numbness. I had no feeling from my toes to my head. I looked across the second story living room and kept picturing myself running across the room and throwing myself out the window. To this day, I can not remember why but something stopped me. I walked out of the house, got into my car, drove home and took 35 pills. After an hour I didn't feel like I was dying so I cut my wrists and watched as the blood dripped out. The next thing I remember was waking up in the psych ward of a local hospital. I really don't remember the two months I spent there, I just know it was bad. I had no will or desire to live, I was worthless. When they finally allowed me to leave, I began therapy with an excellent psychiatrist and also a psychologist. The next year was very hard and I battled every day with cutting myself. With the help of doctors and medication, I am now getting better and have not cut myself in 2 months. It's a long road but there is hope. If you have any of these problems, do not keep them inside, see your doctor, it can and will get better.

Story # 22

I have never been open like this to anyone but my therapist, but here goes. I grew up in a very dysfunctional family. I was sexually abused for a year in the second grade by a kid in junior high. He said he loved me, and if I loved him, I would do what he said, or else. My mom was very abusive (physically & mentally) and my dad jumped from job to job, submissive under my mom's ever critical eye. When I was little, I remember watching her hit him, and knowing that I would be next. I remember she would get mad over the smallest things! She went after my dad with a knife once because he forgot to record something in the checkbook. My mom is thought of very highly. She is a genius, and she knows it. We moved every year, she kept trying to get closer to her hometown, and I was just along for the ride with my dad and little brother, who I took care of starting at the age of four. I remember the mental torture she would put me through. I remember staring into mirrors saying how stupid I was and how I could never do anything right. I remember being dragged down stairs head first. I remember the intense fear that she would kill me someday. She said that she was easy on me, that most parents would have killed me already. That was what I deserved, to die. But she was merciful and only beat the crap out of me every day. I wasn't allowed to limp, if I did she only kicked my leg again until I "learned my lesson." She could make me do anything. If she said to bring her a knife so she could "punish" me, I did as I was told. I truly believed this was love, and that she was a better parent than most. 

That changed one day in the fourth grade when I noticed that other kids could say words like "beat," "kill," and "spank" (my mothers code word for "you better shut up 'cause you're really gonna get it when we get home!)." I confronted her about the abuse I thought was happening, and you can imagine the response. I walked away feeling evil. I never told anyone, I loved her too much to hurt her that much.

I went through 13 years of torture silently. My brother turned out to be a spy for my mom. My dad was home less and less until finally, he got a divorce (my mom's idea). Although he promised me that someday he would get my brother and I out of that hell-hole and we would live together like a family, I knew he would never keep his promise. He was too scared. 

Finally, I decided I had to get out of there. I told a counselor, who told the principal, who called a meeting with my dad and I. After being asked if this was happening, my dad, crying, said no. He said I was making it up. I knew then that I could never count on him. The principal called my mom and told her what I had said, and I paid the price: near death. I have since rebuilt my relationship with my dad.

We moved, and at 14 I couldn't take it anymore, so once again I told a school counselor. She called the Department of Human Resources. When they came over, my mom made up a lot of BS about how much she loved us and put on the whole crying act. I was severely lectured by the investigator and asked how I could do this to my own mother. Over the next year, two more people (anonymous) called the DHS. Every time my mom pulled the same stunt, and every time I was severely punished. I would go up to 15 days without food. I started to buy food and stash it in various places (under the carpet, inside pillows, stuffed animals, etc.). Whenever my mom found it, I was beaten "to a bloody pulp" in her own words. But I knew I had to eat.

At the age of 15 I started talking to a school social worker, who understood my situation, and never filed a report, risking her own job to help me. Somehow, two more reports were filed that year, by whom I don't know. I finally broke down. I became suicidal and made several weak attempts to end my life. About this time, my dad also lost his temper with me and beat me, so I felt completely worthless. I was kept alive by my religious beliefs. I would pray for hours in the early morning before anyone was up. I felt I had been told to get out of that environment. I once again tried DHS, but with no success, and another famous lecture about how awful I was. So I prayed. 

I suddenly had a plan. I didn't know where it would lead, but I would trust God. I wrote my mom a note, and left for school. I told my counselor and social worker what I was doing, and they notified all teachers, principals, and >offices not to tell my mom where I was at and not to let her get me alone. I could only pray that she would not show up with a gun. She did show up, but the office notified the counselor, who informed her that I would not come willingly to see her and that he would not force me. The note I left informed her that I had gone to school but would not come home. She was to report me as a runaway to the police, and I would go to a friend's house and call the police from there. They would pick me up and I would tell them I was scared to go home, and end up in the shelter. Everything went as planned. At the shelter I was informed that my only choices were to go through DHS again, go home in two weeks, or go home now. None of the options sounded too great. I became suicidal and, after making a mad dash for the medicine cabinet, was sent to the psychiatric ward in the hospital. Not knowing where this was going, being told I had to go home, I kept praying. Finally, I convinced the doctors that if sent home I would commit suicide, so they'd better not send me there. 

I went to live with my grandparents, and my mom signed the papers for fear of another DHS investigation. She continued to make the two hour drive to beat me at least once every month, usually more. I let her, that's how brainwashed I was. I ended up in the hospital once more. I was miserable and began cutting. I continued this for several months, until I was forced to quit for fear of another hospitalization or the incredible wrath of my counselor. 

I finally stood up to her last month, knowing I was stronger than her, and that she is just as scared of anger as I am. I think I scared her half to death (I didn't hurt her physically, just informed her that it was over). She tried to hit me with a fist and a belt, and to stab me with a knife, but I stopped all three attempts. I have just recently accepted the diagnosis of BPD and PTSD.

BPD is awful! I sometimes wish that my mom would have killed me, instead of leaving me almost dead like this. It is torture. I am scared of close relationships, and push people away. I want a good friend, but I don't. I get so confused. I get really mad at the smallest things. Though I'm not the kind of BP who gets into physical fights with others, I often hurt myself, punching concrete, doing anything to get a bruise or cut without using a knife, so it looks like an "accident." I lash out at others with stinging sarcastic remarks, and drive them away, leaving myself feeling all alone. I constantly put myself down, and my rages are directed at myself. I will cuss myself out, and remind myself how awful I am. This is so different than the me others see, I never cuss out loud, but in writing in my journal or mentally. Often I will lie in my bed shaking with anger. Sometimes I want a hug so badly from my grandparents, but I won't ask them, and if they try to hug me or show affection, I get very angry and lash out at them. 

Therapy is finally getting somewhere, it took a year to get started. My therapist isn't such a bad guy, except when he disagrees or gets too close to home, of >course. I am hopeful that I will make some kind of recovery, but right now it is still depression, crying, and rages. I know that in the end, if I hang on, I will get better. Oh, and I'm only 17 yrs old, so I know I have a lot of time to heal. Of course I can't officially be diagnosed with BPD until 18, but my therapist calls me a "budding BPD." I'm not sure what to think of that, but the diagnosis fits, so I'll stick with it. I can make it, and someday I will. I'll get out of the darkness, and there will again be light.

Story # 23

I am writing this to let others with Borderline Personality Disorder >know that they are not alone. At one time I felt so very alone. I felt crazy and hopeless and had become quite certain that no one could help me. For many years I knew there was something wrong but didn't know what it was. All I knew was that it couldn't be right to feel so emotional, crazy, hopeless, tired, and empty. I went through periods of time in my adolescence that I look back on now and only want to forget. I remember the first time I took a knife to my body. It was the night that I was certain even death had to be better than the life I was living. I was 16 then. I had been raped (but didn't realize that because it was also the first time I had sex). Everything was so wrong yet I didn't know what "right" felt like. I didn't know that you were supposed to agree to have sex. Now I know better. I was so lost then. I would use any drugs that were introduced to me. I went to school stoned, when I went to school. I was nothing. As my mother would so often tell me, I would never amount to anything. I was as pathetic as all my friends. So that is what I became.

I lived that way for a very long time. About 5 years I suppose until my sister told me it wasn't normal to feel that way. I didn't know that I could be helped. I was skeptical at best, but went to see the doctor anyway. Who gave me Prozac. The wonder drug....which did nothing for me, except help me believe that I couldn't be helped. Prozac led to many other antidepressants which led to mood stabilizers....and after my sister and nieces died it led to tranquillizers. I liked those pills. They made the bad things not matter so much anymore. I still have my stash of Ativan. I keep it, just in case. Seldom do I use them now.

I've been in hospitals many times. Before January 1999 I had never seen the inside of a Psych Ward....By August 2000 I had been admitted 7 times. I will not go back there. Borderlines don't get a very good reception in a psych ward. We are told to get it together, relax, try some deep breathing, grow up. Oh I hate that one. Do NOT tell me to grow up. I have seen and experienced more than most of those doctors and nurses in my 26 long years.

At this point in my life I have been on numerous medications, have had four psychiatrists (not counting the interns who got to learn at my expense), been hospitalized many times, and still fight to stay sane. Now I often give others the benefit of the doubt before I flip out.....because after all, I am the one with the disorder who distorts what she hears, gets the facts wrong, and flies off the handle too easily. So now I am calm, rational, and let them win. They like it that way and I get to stay sane and swear at closed doors.

I have educated myself. I have dedicated enormous amounts of time to my recovery. I want to be well and I WILL accomplish this. I read a lot, about my disorder.... I read about what will help, why I do the things I do, and what I need to do differently. My exterior is very "together" now yet I crumble inside when no one is looking. I have acquired skills to get good jobs...I learned enough sign language in 3 days to get my first job interpreting for the deaf in schools. Now they call me an Educational Interpreter yet I have never stepped foot into post secondary education. I go to work and pretend I am this happy person who does a good job. I go home after work and crumble from the energy it consumed for me to "fake it".

And they wonder why I take time off work....months at a time. I have to gather the energy to be that happy person that they all enjoy being around. I have to adjust medications so I can stay sane....not tell them what idiots they are....but instead continue to swear at closed doors so I won't be the one flying off the handle and distorting the facts. I feel like I have gotten the short end of the stick, and probably I have, but I continue to be the person they all want me to be. Inside I struggle to find who I really am. It's a constant struggle but one day I am going to be "well". I am determined. I take no medications now for my "condition" although this makes the most recent psychiatrist think I'm making wrong choices. She used to need to see me often, but suddenly when I didn't want to swallow her pills I was not worthy of her time. I don't see her anymore. In some strange way I have experienced so much yet ended up where I started. 

It's 2 in the morning and I'm thinking about my life. The way I used to when I was 16. That was 10 years ago now. Now there is one thing that is different. Now I know that I am not the only person who feels this way and that is so very important to me. I know now that others have, and still do, experience this torment. I know I can feel better in the end. I don't know when my end will be and I don't know what it will be like to feel better. I do know that it will happen for me eventually. One day I will too be sleeping like the rest of the >world and when I wake up in the morning and smile.....it will be for real. One day I will quit swearing at closed doors. You will too. We are not alone. We will heal.

Story # 24

A Living Nightmare: Living with Borderline Personality Disorder

By: Angela DeSmidt - Kimber

My name is Angi DeSmidt-Kimber and I would like to talk to you about what it is like to have Borderline Personality Disorder and how it has effected me, my family and my life. I have been sick most of my life but was not diagnosed with BPD and Bi-Polar 2 until I was 14 and in the juvenile system. My earlier years were quite troublesome and a lot of therapy, but I was still quite a trouble child. I set my room on fire, punched holes in the wall and tore wall paper off of the wall. Up until I was 14 I was diagnosed with attention deficit disorder, and with that came a lot of therapy, drugs and trouble in school. My parents then put me in the system as a china and I was sent to many different group homes but it was Orchard Place that finally gave me the right diagnoses and put me on the medicine that I needed to be on. I lived at OP for about two years and then I was placed into foster care till I was 18. After I turned 18 I lived at home with my parents. That didn't go so well and I again was put into the system but this time as an adult. I was then in and out of group homes until I was 19 and then finally went to live in my own apartment. Things slowly got worse and I ended up trying to commit suicide, but it failed. My dad then got me into a nicer apartment and again things got worse and again I tried to commit suicide this time almost succeeding but someone found me and I ended up in a psych unit where I got the dr. that I kept for three years. Thru the years I haven't gotten much better and the struggles still continue. There have been more than once that my parents have gotten a call from the hospital saying that they don't think I will survive. My life got to the point where I started doing drugs and alcohol to the point where it almost killed me. On July 5th 1996 I had a heart attack. That night as I struggled to live and pleading with God to keep me alive I started thinking why did all of this have to happen to me, what did I ever do to deserve this illness, you know I have the worlds biggest heart what did I ever do, why me? You know to this day I still wonder what I ever did to deserve this and why I have been put thru what I have. Well my life doesn't get much better, in 1997 I married a man who I thought loved me to death..well I was almost right, the abuse I went thru I almost did die. The sad thing about it was I kept living with him thru all of the abuse because my illness kept telling me that I wasn't good enough fro anyone but this. My social worker kept asking me about my bruises but I kept telling him that I fell or that I tripped. He constantly was asking about them, but I never told him the truth in fear that my husband would strike back, it wasn't until I was beaten to the point of bleeding to death from my pregnancy and bleeding internally. When he finally went to sleep, I ran out and kept running until I reached the apartment where the missionaries lived and fell down by the dumpster to sleep and to go in and out of reality from loss of blood. The missionaries found me the next morning, while one of them went to call 911 the other one stayed with me and kept praying over me, I woke up off and on and I told the missionary that my husband had done this to me and to help me survive, he then cradled my head in his lap while waiting for the police and ambulance to come. I woke up the next day with those missionaries by my hospital bed and they told me what had happened, the police went after him and arrested him. My dad helped pay for the divorce but to this day he still does not know what had all happened to me. My bpd led me into that situation and many more yet to come. BPD has destroyed my family because I blamed them for what had happened to me and the abuse that I went thru when I was six to when I was 12. That abuse to this day has torn apart my family because they don't believe that it had ever happened. I also blamed my mom for my real mom abandoning me and giving me up for adoption. I have struggled with my identity, who I really am, my life and why I go thru the things that I have gone thru, and I struggle with my emotionality and the emotions that I go thru.

Everyday I have to get up and tell myself that I can make it thru this day. It seems that almost everyday I fall apart and want to end my life because I see that there is nothing good in it. In 1997 after my divorce I went into another group home in the town where I now live. I didn't like that home and tried everything to get out of the home but it didn't work, until I was in their casla program and was staying there for respite after I had just had a major car accident. Well something's happened and I told the staff that I was going to commit suicide and walked out of the building, mind you this was in the middle of winter and all I had on was a short sleeve shirt and shorts and sandals. I left about 11 pm at night and the cops found me about 2 am sitting on the steps on the front of a church about one mile from the home. I asked the officer whether or not someone had called the police on me and he said that no, no one had reported someone missing, I had then asked him how he found me and he told me that they saw me earlier but couldn't respond to me because they were on another call but when they were done they just went around on their route and he came to find me, plus I wasn't that hard to spot because I was on the church steps in the middle of the night. Well that was one of my many attempts to die and not the last. Again this all had some effect on my family and a lot of it was me causing it. Thru the years growing up there were many fights and a lot of violence to the point where my parents couldn't have any any friends over or have any parties because they were afraid that I would go off and then embarrass them.

The diagnoses of borderline personality disorder is a difficult one to have and I swear that the nine criteria that they use in the DSM4 were based on my life.

The criteria is as follows:

1. Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment ( do not include suicidal or self -mutilating behavior covered in Criterion 5). Well lets see.. I definitely do frantically avoid real and imagined abandonment. Let me give you an example of this for me. When my family and I go shopping I have to be within their sight or I have to see them and if I can't I flip out real bad and frantically start go looking for them or if their phone is busy for more than one hour I have a tendency to get even more frantic and I have been known to call the police on them to make sure that they are all right.

2. A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation. Again let me see how this has affected my life... well i feel head over heels in love with my ex-husband, the last few boyfriends that I have had I have told some of my most personal details; as for friends I have literally hated them to a point where I wanted revenge and I would go about and do it. As for my family this is where the love hate relationship comes in ; where one day I would hate them and the next day I can't stand to be without them.

3. Identity disturbances: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self. Well again how does this apply to my life.. I feel that I don't know who I am or why I don't have an identity and just a name. There are some days where I don't even know who I really am. There's where that applies in my life

4. Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g. spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating) Note: do not include suicidal or self mutilating behavior covered in Criterion 5. Ok again lets us see how this effects my life. Well for starters I have an eating disorder called compulsive overeating, I have a need to spend money that I don't have for the feeling of power. So that is where this criteria fits in my life, which just shows so far that I have the first four criteria for being diagnosed with BPD.

5. Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self -mutilating behavior. Well I don't even need to explain where that fits in my life , all I have to do is show you the scars on my arm and that will explain most of it plus all of the attempts that I have made and all of the threats that I have made also, but thanks to a very supportive team those behaviors have calmed down some but they are still very much a part of my life and no matter how hard I try they will always be there just like the urge for a recovering drug addict who always has to fight the need to do drugs. Well I guess now I am clinically diagnosed with BPD since I now at least have five of the nine criteria need to be properly diagnosed.

6. Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g. intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days) Well this I know definitely fits my life. My emotionality goes from the extreme to being real calm. The problem that I have is that I tend to make mountains out of molehills so to say. I can take a little thing that might not be so bad and totally take it so out of proportion and get so upset that I get suicidal, the other thing is that when I get this way I have a great support team to help me calm down when I am in those moods. This one also affects my family too because I get into that love-hate relationship and they end to get the blunt end of it most times that I am in those moods. I wish that I didn't take it out on them so much since they have been there for me since the beginning and have put up with most of my crap and it has almost totally destroyed them and their emotional capabilities to handle me anymore.

7. Chronic feelings of emptiness. I can tell you right away that this is one of the biggest criteria in my life. I am constantly feeling like there is nothing in me and that I am hollow, empty, that there isn't anyone in this body and that it is just a shell. This one hits the home the most because I feel it everyday, and struggle with it everyday too.

8. Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger ( e.g. frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights) I know that this one is definitely in my life because I have a lot of outburst of anger, I throw temper tantrums often if I don't get my way and there are plenty of times when I get angry for no reason and I can stay that way for a while. Now I have eight of the nine criteria for being borderline so I guess its official, I'm BPD.

9. Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms. Well this one doesn't happen to me very often but it does when I get very stressed out and then I go into my child stage where I curl up in a corner and hug my teddy bear and then just cry like I did when I was younger.

Well I knew that I had all nine of the criteria but to look at how I can change those and to try to get better is going to be one tough road ahead of me. I have one person on my support team who keeps me looking at the fact that I can be a "bad" person or a "sick" person but wouldn't it be a lot better if I tried to be a "recovering" person who is trying to recover from a illness. This person has meant a lot to me and is helping me change the way I think so that I can get along better in my life. This illness has taken quite a toll on me and on my family especially since I take most of my problems out on them.

My family has stuck with me even though I don't show much appreciation for them and I don't tell them thank you and I love you enough. They don't quite understand what it is like to have Borderline but they still support me and they do care. I sometimes wish that I didn't have BPD and that my life would be a lot easier but I can only guess why God has let me go thru the things that I have gone thru with. With my religion and beliefs, I believe that in heaven before I was born here on earth I was given the choice to take this life and I choose to take it. Now you probably wonder why I would choose this, well I can't answer that but I do know that God has my whole life planned and I am hoping that it will get better. This person that I mentioned before who is on my support team and has kept the faith in me is a very wise man. Only one other time has someone had that much faith in me and it was my psychiatrist. This persons name is Ken and he has had many years of experience in the mental health field. All you have to do is look in his office and see all of the degrees and certificates and awards, you would know that he is very knowledgeable in the mental health area of life. He has done so much for me including taking time out on his weekend to come and get my medicine from me so that I wouldn't overdose because I felt that I couldn't handle having them around. He even has helped my team come up with a plan that has worked wonders since I came back from my last committal. I don't know how I will ever be able to repay Ken or how I can ever thank him but he has been a real life saver in my life. He is the executive director of a mental health center where I live and a very wise man.

The way that you can help someone who has borderline personality disorder is to be supportive, just listen when they want to talk, don't try to give advice at that time until they are ready to hear it, try to set up a very strict crisis plan that they need to follow no matter what the circumstances might be for the crisis. Also try to remember that a borderline can get very obnoxious and mean when in a crisis, this doesn't also apply to everyone but I know it has for me, although I am getting much better at that point. Since I have had guidelines placed on me I have done much better and because of it when I do good I get some kind of reward, lately its been a poppy seed muffin since I like them so much. Another thing you can do to help is not to get angry if they self-mutilated or keep threatening suicide, just keep talking to them and try to persuade them to get more help, like going to the hospital to be evaluated, but keep telling them that you love them or care about them if you are a professional. I know that when I am really out of it, it sometimes takes a big kick in the butt to get me going and that is what happened this last time. A lot of mental health providers won't take borderlines because we can be so complicated and frustrating that we tend to burn out the providers and that is why a lot of them won't deal with BPD. I have a wonderful therapist who puts up with a lot of my crap but she has stuck with me and has helped me try to re-think my thinking and I have been able to trust her. Now trust is another issue that BPDer's go thru. All of their live they have been mistreated or abused and so trusting someone is a very big part of their life and to have a support team that understands that helps a lot.

You know I hope that I gave you a good picture of my life and how borderline personality disorder has affected my life and still does to this day. The reason why I say that is because of my illness and the depression I have been unable to complete college or hold down a job or better yet to be able to keep friends. I have been in college four different times and I have only been able to complete one semester, but from that semester I got three A's and one B, so I know that I can do it but my depression gets in the way or I get so sick that I get my rear committed and have to be in the hospital for a while.

Right now to help with my recovery I go on the internet and I moderate a borderline personality disorder chat room for people who have BPD and I have been also appointed to answer letters from families who have someone with BPD and from the consumers themselves. To do this I am hoping that in the process of helping others I will be able to help myself in my recovery process, it also helps to have a very supportive support team and on my team I have about eight people who really do give a damn about me and sometimes that gets real hard for me to accept some days, but then a lot of things are hard for me to accept. I can't understand why people do care since I feel that I am not worth it, but that is going to change since I am trying to accept me for who I am. It also helps that I have a church who is very understanding about my illness and doesn't look at the fact that I have one but instead looks at the person that I am on the inside.

I hope that I have helped you understand what BPD is like and how it can almost destroy someone but yet how in a sense it has saved my life because I am a stronger person and I think that I will be able to handle more stress as it comes by, but I also need to stay on the medicine and take it everyday and to be more honest to my team when I don't take it and I also need to start retraining my thoughts to be more positive and I think that will come thru time as I work on my issues with my therapist, my doctor, and the other members of my team. I again hope that I have helped you in understanding what it is like to live with BPD and I hope that I have helped you in the most way that I can know and that is to be able to tell my story and I hope that I can give more insight to what it is like to live with Borderline Personality Disorder.