"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 # 25

Confusion is the worst part. I never know what I really want in life, if I want what other people want for me, or what I think I want. My ideas and morals about everything change so drastically every hour. I will be so happy over nothing that I just don't know what to do with the euphoria, and then out of nowhere comes the black cloud of depression and its so deep that you feel you'll never find the rope to climb back out. People think they can help, but nobody will ever truly understand, how can they if even I don't?

I'm only 15, and I find absolutely no hope for the future because I know that I will never feel one emotion for longer than a couple hours tops. I was sexually abused when I was very young by my uncle who I had to live with because my mother was off doing her thing with guys and drugs and couldn't take care of me. I looked so hard for acceptance from everyone to make up for what I lost with my mother. When I went back to her I was so angry...from the time I was 7 no kids my age ever wanted to be around me because I would have such bursts of rage I scared others as well as myself.

I started doing drugs and having sex when I was 11 to let out my pain. Drugs gave me one emotion for a longer period of time and I always want to make other people happy, so I give guys what I know they want. But I really don't know what I want. I was put into psychiatric hospitals since I was 12 and was in a residential for a year and a half and got out this past December. I went home and my mother was once again with another guy...and I was hoping so desperately for stability for once. But I can't blame her...I started doing drugs again, especially heroin because I really wanted to die, I just didn't have the guts to do it right out besides slitting my wrists. I cut myself and I have so many scars, maybe I want them to show people how many scars are on the inside. I have lived with almost every member of my family, and they can't handle me because I can't even handle myself. I am now living with my grandparents in Florida and I am still acting out because I just don't understand anything about life or myself. I was diagnosed with BPD about 2 years ago, but it doesn't help anything except make me feel like a poster kid for medications. This is my last chance to get anywhere in life, but I still am so confused. I am so afraid of rejection, but mostly I am afraid of myself. Because I can never get my thoughts or emotions straight, they're always jumping around so much. And I can understand so many people in the world, the way they mask themselves from society and themselves and they build a wall to keep back their true emotions, but I have never found anybody who truly understands me. I hurt people constantly only so I have the peace of mind that I hurt them before they could hurt me, it gives me a pathetic ego boost. 

I can't say no to anything because I have no idea what I really want so I'm so influenced by everyone and everything else. The world is so bad off and people are so angry, and that makes me even more upset because I can't even understand myself so how can I understand the rest of society? I wonder 24 hours a day if I'll ever find happiness, if I'll ever find a means of escape from my own emotions and if I'm ever going to be safe from myself.

People and psychiatrists say the only person who can help you is yourself, but how can I if I don't know anything about myself because I change so often? I will always be an outcast in society because nobody understands...not even me.

Story # 26

My life is dedicated to the Miesen's for all of their love and support. I am 17 tears old and suffer from BPD. It all began when I was about 5. My mother abandoned me one night and I just woke up to a house full of emptiness and a letter that I couldn't even read. I was too young. I lived with my grandparents after that for about 8 years. My mother decided to come back in like nothing ever happened. I tried to get a long with her but it just never worked. She is a psychotic manic depressive that goes from guy to guy. About >my eighth grade year she married the man that she is still married to now. He is a complete control freak. My jr. year of high school i moved out of my house but moved back in a few weeks later. About three months after that I quit school and ran away with A GUY that I thought I was in love with. That's where everything went downhill. I tried to commit suicide many times and came close to it once. Very close. After a while i couldn't understand what was wrong with me. I know I wanted it to go away though. So I moved back home and went to the doctor. That was when I was diagnosed. I now live with a family that i've been close to for about 6 years now. It is also my boyfriend's family. His mom is the mom I never had that I have always wanted. She makes me fell so much better. Since I was diagnosed I have felt a lot better and am able to live my life a lot happier without all of the downfalls. I do experience the craziness and depression sometimes but I go to the doctor before they get too bad. I have learned to take care of myself. And with the love of my new family I have been able to over come my feelings of abandonment. Thank you guys.

Story # 27

Here's my story. I remember having a fun life as a child, but my dad yelled at me a lot and called me dumb, ditzy all the time. My parents divorced and this is when all hell broke loose. What stands-out in my memory the most is how terrible it was in the 5th grade. After the divorce, my mom moved me and my sister to a small, joyless house, in a neighborhood where every kid I knew in it, hated me. I was this shy, to myself girl. I was teased, beaten by my sister (My mother never intervened or tried to make things a little cozier for me. I was basically left to die. Now, I think back, my mother was just vindictive and used this on me a lot in justification) Anyway, I never understood why I was so mistreated, and I grew up wondering what went wrong. I was into drugs, alcohol. a lot of sex, and a lot of fear all through my teens. I had two pregnancies where I had abortions, and the doctor must have ripped my guts out or something, because I had two hemorrhages after my second abortion, and my mother didn't give a damn either way. I was left to fend for myself the whole time. She provided a house and sometimes enough to eat, but she didn't give a damn either way truthfully.

I still try to get anyone to like me today. I freak-out if rejected by >someone who matters to me, and I just expect it from the rest of the fucked-up world. I do have a bad attitude and feel justified. Face-it, people are mean and enjoy hurting each other. This is how I think a lot, and I don't understand it, and I don't like it. But Ill be damned if I'm going to let suicide take me, because I'm certain that's what the world wants anyway, and I won't let it be satisfied.

I've had several relationships with all sorts of men. I've been very promiscuous, When the men reject me, I become like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, but not quite as severe. I don't go broiling rabbits to be vindictive, I just p-p-out and scream. By the way, my nickname is P-P-Piglet because I'm fat. My fat protects me from any new fatal attractions i tend to get myself involved in, and I've been abstinent from them for 5 years. I'm 33 years old now, and I heard bpd tapers off about this time in life, so I'm waiting for my sanity to return that left me somewhere around 10 years old when I started to go through puberty.

The embarrassment from my disorder is terrible when I mess up and get aggressive with someone who I think deserves it. I really could jump out of my own body into a more sane one until bpd tapers off, but when will that be, and how long will I have to transport out of my own body. Do you think I'm weird yet? I do, and so does a lot of other people and I'm always suffering from rejection and ridicule, even though I'm very pretty and composed. Somebody always has to ruffle my feathers, only the meek little woman they are trying to upset is already upset enough and they are wasting their time trying to make it worse. They should just sit back and watch me suffer. Maybe they can eat some popcorn while they are at it. Ha-Ha-Ha

Story # 28

Ok this could be interesting. I always said I would never write this all  down. Mainly because i thought no one would want to listen. Well after reading all of these stories I've realized that I'm not crazy, that other people know exactly how I feel. OK....I guess it all began when I was born. My mother gave me up for adoption. My adoptive parents are the greatest people ever. I was never abused or neglected, I actually had an almost perfect life. I don't know what happened. 

Since I was very young I remember having unsure feelings about my sexuality. I'm a 19 year old female. I have always been attracted to women. I dated guys all of my life mainly to convince my friends and family that I wasn't gay, but also to convince myself. I remember times when i was younger that I would be left out or rejected by kids my age. I had glasses and braces and I just had trouble fitting in. I was always the one left out, I was always on the outside. It also didn't help that my father's job had us move around a lot. I always had to make new friends and try to fit in with new people. And since we moved a lot, I would lose people and friendships that were important to me. That's where my fear of being left alone comes into play. I can't handle the thought of being left. If my current girlfriend and I have a fight and I think she might leave, the first thought I have is to hurt myself. I've done that for about a year now. It releases all of the pain I have inside me. 

A year ago I was committed. I was in and out of hospitals for the last 4 months of high school. I graduated while I was in the hospital. I was diagnosed as bi-polar and borderline, although, I know I'm not bi-polar now and i think that diagnosis has had a negative effect on me. It has made me think that i am more sick than i really am. Well i'm in a terrible position now because of this illness. I moved across the country to be with my girlfriend of one year. I really thought we were in love, but it all seems to be falling apart. Because of my illness I constantly believe that she isn't putting forth as much effort as I am. I'm always angry with her and telling her she's not showing me enough affection. She's gotten very tired of it and she will eventually leave me. The thought of that makes me want to go cut myself right now. 

I'm 19 years old and I'm on my own in some strange city. I can't afford help right now, I can't afford meds. I have no where to turn and no one to turn to. I left everyone in Texas and they are too angry now to help me. I've run everyone off by expecting too much from them. I'm to the point where i honestly believe I will never get well. I can't see the end from where i'm standing right now. I don't like these self destructing thoughts that I have, but how do I stop them? I guess that's something I'll just have to figure out. Thanks for listening.

Story # 29

My story is nothing that could be considered "trauma" or any sort of great ordeal. I haven't even been to a doctor about it because i am afraid that they will tell me what i already have come to fear: that i may have borderline personality disorder. i have felt different from other people my entire life (which isn't much, i'm only 18). Let me begin with some of the things that have been going on. My life would be considered care-free by some, it would also be considered pathetic to others, namely my "friends". I can be perfectly happy and having a good time with my friends or with my b/f, but i will suddenly out of nowhere become angry, depressed, and lonely. i distance myself off from others because i can't bear to be around them because i know they must hate me....they must hate me and the way i act. i cant even begin to describe it to you or to anyone else because i have yet to come to grips with what it is i am feeling. i don't understand why i go from angry to happy in a matter of seconds....i feel it is ruining my friendships and my relationship with the only person that has truly meant anything to me: Trent. I put on the good face for him and make everything seem ok, but inside i am snapping, and i can barely hold in these mixed feelings any longer. i can spend an entire incredible evening with him and still go home and cry for hours because i am alone in the world, even when i know that i am not. i used to blame everything on my sexuality....it was a lot easier that way.....it was easier to say that i was gay instead of saying that i didn't understand my mind.....that i didn't understand my existence, that everything i did was flawed. that's the way i feel, most of the time. i hate it so much, i hate myself for putting Trent through this, but do i have any other choice? i sure don't think i do....i have felt this way for years.....i was like this even way back in elementary school. Even as i type this out, i don't understand what i am saying, i don't even know why i am doing this. maybe i just need some outlet....away from everything. last night was an incredible night for me. Trent and i had so much fun. yet all day today all i can think about is how stupid i must seem to him, and how pathetic i must be. and how ugly i must be. it gets to me so badly that i have been cutting myself again recently and have been having thoughts of suicide. its been a few years since i had any real thoughts of the matter. its getting to be so much. i don't understand anything. but venting like this, even though i may not even have BPD, helps, in some weird way. i don't know. all i can say to everyone out there is this: if you find something or someone to love, hold on to that. it may create some more confusion in your life, or it may very well lead to more mixed up emotions....but at least, at that point, you wouldn't have to suffer alone. the feeling of someone else's hand while you cry sure beats the feeling of a razor blade, i can tell you that from experience. live a good life....it may be hypocritical coming from me, but live a good life....its all that i really feel i have anymore, outside of Trent. Thank you all...your sincere honesty on this story board gave me the strength to tell my story (kind of). Thank you again.

Story #30

The first time I ever began treatment with a therapist he used a term to describe or categorize me that frightened me, because it made it sound like I was someone who was about to snap. He said, "You have a borderline personality." In reply I remarked, "Okay? Now you're scaring me!" He really didn't have a handle on my particular dilemma, anyway. After using that term to describe me, he tried three or four others out on me. Early on we found it mutually satisfying to part company as therapist and patient. Since then my insurance changed and it does not cover therapy. What a therapist makes in one hour I make in one and a half days. There's no way I could afford therapy now.

Since that time with the therapist I haven't considered the term, Borderline Personality - that is until recently. I reconsidered it, because I'm trying to figure out what's wrong with me. I'm 31 years old now and have been without a romantic relationship since I was 19 years old. I can't seem to form a romantic relationship with anyone, even though I'm a kind, healthy person with a good life. If you only knew how many times I've tried. If you only knew...

I've gone over the following types of thoughts a million times it seems. "Okay, I'm not uglier than that guy over there who has a girlfriend. I'm not shorter than that guy who is married. That guy there is in a relationship and he's only got one arm. I've got all mine, so what's the problem? I'm not fatter than that guy who is kissing that woman. I'm not smelly. I'm not unpleasant. I'm not unkind. I've got a great education and a good job. I've got a home and a car. I've got lots of friends. I've got a good family and have not been abused. But I know that women don't like nice guys. They like the bad boys, and I just can't be one. Nice guys finish last, but I know other nice guys with relationships. Nice guys may finish last, but they still finish. SO WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG???" Imagine going over these thoughts every day of your life for years and years and years.

What I could never reconcile about myself is that I'm blessed with lots of friends. These are not just casual, shallow friendships. These are good, rewarding and close friendships. So how could I be so messed up in love if I have such good friendships?

Even when I was in a relationship all those many years ago (and I only had two all my life and a one night stand), it was a nightmare. The insecurity I had was so bad that I was constantly worrying that she was cheating on me or that she would figure out that I had nothing to offer her and she'd up and leave.

I always thought I was cursed, that I did something horribly wrong in this life or perhaps a past one to bring bad luck on me for eternity. At the times when I was inclined to believe in God, I was angry at him and cursed his (and my) existence. When I didn't believe in God, I was still mad at him! The same goes for my parents. I thought, "Why could my parents think of having kids when they would obviously turn out a kid just as physically inadequate as they were?" Still I believe I live a cursed existence. Old thoughts die hard.

I was horribly depressed and angry for all my life. Suicide? It seemed attractive several times. Anything to escape the pain and emptiness. Desperation? A constant. I'm a little better now, but far from right.

Without a therapist to assist me I figured I'd look up the diagnosis for Borderline Personality Disorder. Man, how I hate that term! They've got to rename it soon. I even took an online diagnosis test and came out as borderline with flying colors. I especially hate the term now that it seems it may apply to me.

My impulses that I can't contain all the time are driving fast and eating a lot. My depression is deep and the pain is even deeper. The emptiness still more profound than these. The anger has went away over the past few years and that is some relief. In public I'm usually an actor, behaving as if I were happy and have it all together. In private an inwardly I am a swarming hive of nerves and doubt.

So what now? Labeling myself with this term doesn't help me at all. I still can't afford therapy to see if it's the right term or not. Even under treatment I would not take medication. I'm against that. It doesn't help to find out that therapists usually have a hard time treating borderlines. It just makes me more reluctant to see a therapist for fear that I would be a nuisance to him or her. I wouldn't even mention my suicidal thoughts for fear that they would have me hauled away and it would ruin my career. There's a huge difference between wanting to die and trying to die.

Abandonment and being cheated on are my worst fears. Coming in second is rejection. I think this stems from my childhood when I, as the youngest of three children, was the one who discovered that my mother was cheating on my dad. Imagine being in tears at eleven years old having to break the news to your dad that your mother is sleeping around on him. I was also a very obese child and that has a very negative effect on my self image and self esteem. Winning bodybuilding contests as a young adult didn't do a thing to enhance my self esteem.

I'm shell shocked from a lifetime of rejection from women and I recently got shot down again. Hope seems to be a burden sometimes, because it just sets me up for rejection again and again. I'm a nervous wreck around women. A friend whom I confide in about my lack of a relationship believes that women can sense this uneasiness and it makes them uneasy as well. Maybe so. Still there's no end in sight to my problem. It just goes on and on, near miss after near miss, forever.

Thank you for letting me spill. At least this is come consolation.

Story #31

I was about nine years old -- my uncle had shot his wife, and my mom had just received the call saying he was arrested. I remember standing there looking at her and my father, as she cried. They wouldn't talk to me, and soon I was taken to a cousin's house to get out of the way. I thought I had done something terrible, so awful that they wouldn't even tell me. No one would tell me anything.

I was about ten years old -- my maternal grandmother was dying of cancer. I was taken to my grandparents' house every night as my mother held a bedside vigil. I remember a lot of family members sitting around. I was called back to my grandma's bedroom. I stood by her bed, and didn't say anything, not even a wish for her to get better. She soon died. After the funeral, my mother had the family over to our house. All I can recall is playing. So much sadness, and I just remember having fun.

I was about eleven years old -- my sister and I received a call from my maternal grandfather's neighbor. Since my grandmother had died, his neighbors looked for the living room curtains to open as a sign that he was OK. This day, the curtains weren't open. He was supposed to be going to the mountains for the weekend, so we assumed he had just left without opening them. We drove out though, and walked through the house and didn't see anything unusual. As we were getting ready to leave, the neighbor asked if we checked the bathroom. My sister told me to run in and look. That's where I found my dead grandfather. I ran out and hid across the street, watching from a tree as my mother came from work crying, the police arrived, and the hearse pulled up. If I hadn't found him, maybe he wouldn't have been dead?

These three events were long forgotten to me until a couple of years ago. I'm currently 28, and have been cutting since I was 15. I have been in and out of mental wards since I was 14, mainly for depression and suicide attempts (some of which were just cutting marks that my parents found). I was diagnosed early on with Bipolar Disorder. In 1998, I became obsessed with hurting myself to the point of cutting two or three times a day at work, and admitted myself into an excellent hospital I had heard of. After a week-long inpatient stay to calm myself down, I started three weeks of the hospital's day-patient program. It was here that I was diagnosed with BPD. I had never even known other people cut themselves, let alone it was a disorder trait.

The diagnosis to me was a blessing and a curse. I finally was able to stand back and see myself -- my behavior, my actions -- and understand what the underlying factors are in me. I learned that because of the three events mentioned above, I developed a huge amount of guilt and indebtedness aimed towards my mother, which to this day causes me to hold in any ill feelings towards her and manifests itself in my cutting. I learned that I had been using suicide during my teen years as a tool to become more popular and more loved by my peers. And I learned that if I stop before I cut, and try to define what moment triggered my self-esteem to fall to such depths that I would want to hurt myself, I usually won't cut. However, I also became much more self-conscious of who I open up to. I now constantly asking myself whether I'm trying to be open and honest with a friend, or if I'm trying to manipulate that person into feeling a certain way about me. I've lost a few friends because of "problem dumping," so I'm not too eager to tell people I have BPD and that I cut and as a result, I don't have much of a support system.

I did go out on a limb, recently. I saw a press release for the USA Network movie "Secret Cutting" shown on May 30. I e-mailed it to four friends of mine who know I cut with hopes that they would watch it for more of an understanding about what I go through. None of them watched it. One friend even responded with an "Ewww!!" It's still a secret that no one wants to talk about. I didn't cut myself this past week because of anything I saw in the movie (I just cried a lot during it) - I cut myself this week because the friends I'm closest to think what I do is so unspeakable.

I'm currently not seeing a therapist, though I should be just for someone to talk to. I was scared away from therapy when I admitted myself to the hospital in 1998. First, I saw my therapist that morning and he didn't think I should be admitted -- he thought that I could work through it on my own. Then, after my month's stay, I came back to him saying that I wanted to see a female therapist because my therapist in the hospital was a woman and I felt like I could talk to her more openly. She had even recommended one of the doctors at the hospital for me to see. Instead of embracing this as a step towards healing, he saw this as an issue I needed to work through and refused to pursue it. It was at that time that I stopped seeing a therapist, when I realized that any independent thought I had could be seen as "an issue." I moved to Florida soon afterwards to distance myself from my mother, and haven't sought out professional help in the year and a half I've been here.

This feels good to write and "talk" openly. I'm glad I found this place. It truly is a sanctuary.

Story #32

As a child, I was always very sensitive. My parents were not bad parents, they really tried hard. But they didn't love each other, and in fact were very irritated by each other, and I always knew that. I remember they argued a lot mostly about how my dad would go out and help his friends all the time, but my mom thought he should be at home often. My dad's a good guy. My parent's lack of love for each other caused me to develop quite an attachment to a certain TV show and it's two lead characters. Even though I knew it was all fake, I began to love those people like they really were my parents, and I'd liked to fantasize that I was their daughter...I even created an alter-ego for myself. I had developed an obsession with the show, and it was really messing up my real life. I badly wanted to have these beautiful parents who were so in love with each other, and loved me and made me the most special thing in their lives. Even though my mother hugged me and told me she loved me every day....still, STILL I was obsessed with my 'other' family and that is just what adds to my guilt. My parents knew something was wrong with me, but there was no way to explain it. And sometimes my dad would get so fed up with my mom he threatened to leave and not come back, and I would be crying and begging him to stay - it was horrible. That show had become so real to me, and so affecting...I couldn't stand missing any episode, and one time I forced my dad to leave early this party we were at, just so I could get home in time for the show, and my brother was so mad and couldn't understand why it was so important to get home. 

Four years after the show ended, still it affects me, and in a demented way, it's like a real part of my past. And inside I always felt angry at the actors for leaving the show, because I felt like they were abandoning me. It's much easier for me to love things that aren't real, or inanimate objects. I never had much of a life at all, and rarely left the house. Then, last year when my dad decided to up and leave my mother without telling her, I went along with him and thought I'd enjoy my new life, but I just got more depressed. I began hating myself intensely and thinking I'm the ugliest person in the world...I still do. There are some times where I can get very egotistical about myself, but then that ends and I go back to the self-hate. 

Sometimes I starve myself for days, and then eat so much I get sick, and have this intense fear of food...every time I eat something, I wish I hadn't done it. I can't have any kind of good relationships with anyone, I always hurt everyone I should love. If someone I love does the least thing to upset me, I completely turn against them and think they're my arch enemy. 

I was living with my dad, and my best friend was staying with us, and we both did something incredibly stupid and my dad kicked her out - with good reason, but I got upset and packed my stuff up and then moved back in with my mom. I don't feel worthy enough of being loved by anyone. And I'm so afraid of doing anything. I should be getting my license and a job and things, but I just can't manage to do anything. I keep on hurting people and feeling so sorry about it...it seems I just can't do anything right. And no one seems to understand. It seems I have nothing, no ground beneath my feet, nothing to grab onto. I'm only seventeen, and I have my whole life ahead of me. I know I shouldn't be like this...but I can't help it. 

Story #33

My abuse started around age 2-3. But really it started at birth, because my mom didn't even take me home from the hospital, I was premature and she said I wasn't her child, I was ugly. So when time for me to be released, My Grandmother took me home with her. But unfortunately my mom came back into the picture a year or so later, pregnant. She would terrorize me and my father would fondle me, she would see him while I was in my crib. She told me this with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. 

My first memory was when I was 6 years old, my father would visit even though he and my mom were divorced, he'd always come to my room and play his secret games. I know my mom knew what was going on. Later on about age 7, they would play the games with me together, all of us were naked, there was also a German Shepard involved a couple of times. I feel so dirty, filthy and ashamed. How could any normal human being even look at a used, dirty, ugly garbage heap like me. I was sexually, physically and mentally abused by my 2nd stepfather in combination with my mom's help. The beatings and starving sessions would bring them to the height of their sexuality. They always had sex after the sessions. This kind of behavior went on until I was 18 years old. 

By the time I was 19 I was kidnapped and gang raped for 3 days. Almost died, and I wish I had. I feel so much pain, hurt, emptiness inside until there is an echo when I speak. My eyes cry for all the stories of others who were abused, for the children who are abused every minute of everyday. I've always felt that animals and children have no voices, they are at the hands of their owners. We are possessions of them. Here is a poem I wrote of BPD. It's a poem in a book of poems I titled, "Patches in a Quilt of Pain".

I AM
I am a fly caught in a web of pain.
I am a shadow, belonging to no one.
I am a pencil drawing being erased from life.
I am nothing, for I cannot find myself.
I am the monster you created when you killed me and threw me aside like 
yesterday's garbage.
I am nothing, for I have no soul and no being.
I am dead and empty inside
For nothing grew within.
I am a war, a raging violent war
Me against it... (PBD)
Thank you for listening. 

Story #34

When I was born, I had an 8 year old sister with a daddy who lived two blocks away, and never acknowledged her until she was 16. My dad left home when I was 5. I guess my mom cheated on him. She had several boyfriends before remarrying again. My step dad was a junkie, my sister was by then anorexic, my mother a functioning alcoholic who was always "away somewhere". I raised myself. I never had to go to school, I never had to do my homework, and I picked my own friends. I was so lost, and all the while thought that that's just the way it is. Eventually my mother kicked my step dad out after trying to stab him in his sleep, and I began spending a lot of time with my grandparents. They sent me to school, and made me breakfast lunch and dinner but, they never understood why I didn't care if my room was clean or my homework was done or about any other thing thing that was so important in their lives. So they ragged on me about it day in and day out until I felt like a complete failure for not being able to take care of those things that came so naturally to the rest of the world. 

WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME?!!! So I did the only thing I knew how to... I ran. All I wanted was for somebody to love me and accept me for what I was. I wanted friends, I wanted to surround myself with people who I always made laugh and just loved my company. And I did, I had tons of friends but, none of it helped. I still had so much anger. If these people liked me so much then I couldn't really be that bad could I? And if THESE people liked me so much then why couldn't my mother? my father? my grandparents? But nothing changed. 

I'd go back home for a week or a month until my mom would freak out and tell me what a regret my birth was. At 17, I was pregnant. My boyfriend sold drugs and cheated on me constantly. When our daughter was 1 month old he went to jail to serve a 6 year sentence. During that time I ran around with about 15 other guys just like him. One after the other. Not one of them ever gave a shit about me, and deep down I knew that but I needed love so badly that I took it any way that I could get it. But all the while, everyday that went by became more and more depressing. It hit me, nobody does love me, and the love I did get was so screwed up it really wasn't love at all. 

Every morning it became harder to get out of bed until one day, I just didn't. I couldn't function any more. I didn't want to die but, I couldn't stand the thought of living through another day of hell. I couldn't understand why the rest of the world could go through life so easily, and why was I such an idiot that I couldn't do it? Why couldn't I "just pull myself through" like everybody told me to. They did it, why couldn't I? What was wrong with me??? That was my first hospital stay. That was six months ago. So here I am now... one overdose, a couple cuts, three hospitals, a night in jail, eight different medications, and a miscarriage later. But what is so amazing about it all, is that I am still here, and STILL hopeful. My daughter and I just moved 1500 miles away from my family, and I am currently looking for DBT. I want to finish college, and give my daughter the life that any child deserves... a healthy one.

Story #35

I feel like I've come home.

I've struggled all my life with being different. I'm 56 and finally, I think I've discovered what is wrong with me.

I've always been different - still am - and I could never figure out why people hated me on sight. I try to be nice, but the only people who were nice back were those who pick up stray dogs and stray people and "love" them for their own selfish reasons "See what I did, I saved you and now look what you've done to me" - I had lots of those kind of "friends." I finally cleared them all out of my life and now I'm left alone most of the time, but at least free of the hassles of "friendship."

When did this all start? I'm not sure, but I had a very high fever when I was a child and I when I remember that illness, it's always from somewhere near the ceiling. I can see my parents working over me trying to get my fever to break. I survived, but I think my life changed in those moments.

Lets go down the criteria for BPD:

1. Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment - my ex-husband was the worst possible mate for me, yet I pursued him long after he left me and long after he had established a relationship with someone else. I made all kinds of excuses for my behavior, and he (probably BPD also) would feed me just enough line to keep me coming back. I had many "imaginary" lovers as well, and I fanaticized them finally joining me in reality and then leaving me. Ah the agony! I always felt left out - when I was about 7, a girl from school offered me a ride with her mother. There were 4 other girls in the car too. The mother stopped at an ice cream stand and bought all of them a cone, but not me. I knew in that moment that I was crap. I still feel the sting 50 years later. I died a bit inside every time I was the last one picked for baseball or when Santa called my name last.

2. A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation. Where do I start. I don't recall any relationship, whether it's the paperboy, the coffee lady at work, my husband, kids, siblings, parents, that I didn't idolize one day and despise the next. Well maybe not the next exactly, but it never took long. When I first saw the book, "I Hate you, Don't Leave Me" I didn't need to read it, I already knew I could have written it. (It's on my book list by the way)

3. Identity disturbances: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self. I don't even know what this one means - in order to understand it, I would have to have some concept of its opposite. How can I describe the "fractured" image I've had of myself. Until I started reading this stuff on BPD, I didn't know that how I always thought of myself was different. I thought everyone had this same disjointed sense of themselves. I had no sense that I could influence my own life. I've been accused of being arrogant - thinking I was above the law or the rules. Not so. I thought so little of myself that I didn't think I mattered enough to have the rules apply to me. Does that make sense?

4. Impulsively in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g. spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating) Does all of them count? Let's see.

Spending. I declared personal bankruptcy 12 years ago, I refinance every few months trying to keep ahead of the bills. So far, I've managed to keep them all paid, but my whole paycheck goes to paying bills. Then I have to scrape to eat. I'm probably going to be offered retirement in a couple of years - if I work the rest of my life, I still won't be able to pay it all off - and no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to will myself to stop spending.

Sex. From a very early age, I remember having the need to pleasure myself and when I finally got a man to screw me, I was hooked. I'd sleep with anybody who would have me. Sleeping around wasn't self-destructive enough, I had a twisted moral sense that using protection meant that I had "planned" the episode (this was in the early '60's remember) Well, my moral sense was satisfied, but by not planning, I gave birth to 4 illegitimate children by 4 different men. I gave 2 of the children up for adoption and raised the other two. Except for the last one who later became my husband, all the men disappeared pretty soon when they found out I was pregnant. After my husband left me and moved in with someone else, I still encouraged him to share my bed whenever he could get away. My lovers rarely wanted my company in the early part of the evening but would call me when they realized they weren't having any luck in the bar. If I'd had a better sense of myself, I would have at least charged them and helped with my spending (that was a joke)

Substance abuse. I drank like a fish - I never tried to stop because I like being drunk. It gave me a bit of freedom from my ugly personality and made me more acceptable. Probably the fact that I was always willing to buy the liquor helped with my acceptance (see spending above) I finally quit drinking when my youngest child was a baby. My husband would no longer share his liquor with me (he needed it all to feed his own hunger). After stopping drinking, I turned to prescription drugs. Drugs were free under our government drug plan and my doctor never caught on that I was in his office nearly every week with some complaint or other. The pills that had some effect I took, the rest I threw away. The government's free drug plan eventually ran out of money - I feel a bit of guilt for the part I played in it.

Reckless driving. Does chasing a car at high speeds through a residential neighborhood with my sister and our three children in the car count? The other driver cut me off at an intersection or I imagined he did. Space doesn't allow me to describe all the reckless driving that I've done.

Binge eating. Well, I haven't binged and purged, but I've sat and eaten a whole chocolate cake by myself. I used to buy some odd flavor of ice cream so nobody else would eat it and I could have it all for myself. I would keep baking in the freezer and then eat it frozen not wanting to wait for it to thaw out. I can't stand to eat in front of others because they would be aghast at what I'm eating, and I would be ashamed to show them. I've kept shoveling food into my mouth when my stomach is protesting and unswallowing it. I was once caught with a bag of chocolate on my desk and a co-worker reached for a chunk. I reacted and slapped her hand. I'll never forget her stunned reaction. I get anxious if it's my "snack" time and someone else is here - that means I have to eat sensibly and can't have a triple serving of ice cream or cake.

5. Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior. Suicidal. Constant thoughts of suicide and two serious attempts. Once after a couple of years on some anti-depressant when I had surgery and had to go off them cold-turkey. I came home from the hospital, had a row with my father-in-law and then locked myself in the bedroom and swallowed a whole bottle of pills. When I asked my husband why he didn't take me to the hospital, he said "you were trying to kill yourself, why would I try to stop you." He left within a week. I never tried again, but the thought was always with me. Eventually I realized that I didn't want to be dead, I just didn't want to live like that any more.

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 here's where I deviate from the "norm." If that said "rare episodes of happiness rarely lasting more than a few minutes" I'd fit right in. I once told a doctor that I'd been depressed all my life and he said that was impossible - hah! what does he know. I've also been diagnosed with Bipolar and chronic depression, so that could account for some of the dysphoria.

7. Chronic feelings of emptiness. Words fail me. I don't know how to describe this gut-wrenching feeling. We recently had a mini family reunion of my siblings and as I sat with them listening to them reminisce, I had the oddest feeling that I was eavesdropping on some other family. I couldn't relate to them at all. They all seem to love and admire each other - I don't even know them. Love? what's that.

8. Inappropriate intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g. frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights) It would take less space to tell you about the few times when I wasn't angry. I can get in a rage over the slightest thing and it lasts for hours and sometimes days. Just the other day, I had a fight with a manager and had to take a couple of days off work to cool down. Even after a few days, I found myself in such a rage that had he been present, I would have ripped his face off. I used to feel justified in this anger, but now it scares me. Does that mean I'm getting better? Only fear and common sense have kept me from physical fights, although I had my share when I was younger and more agile. 

9. Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms. Paranoid I can sure relate to. My name was omitted from the invitation list for an important meeting and I raised such a stink about it, that I'm not sure I have a job to go back to. Even now, I'm sure it was a deliberate slight, even though I also think that none of the individuals involved are capable of forming a plan, let alone conspire to deliberately harm me. Dissociative symptoms - not in the sense of having other personalities, but I often just "disappear" sometimes for several minutes. I think my body stays where it is, but I'm not in it. I once blacked out during a job interview for a promotion. I was too embarrassed to ask what I said, but needless to say, I didn't get the job and from the snickers of my co-workers, I gather that I put on quite a display. I often black out in meetings, and when I come too, I create some kind of disturbance until I can once again wrap my mind around the topic at hand.

Well that should convince my pdoc. As I said earlier, I've been diagnosed with bipolar and on meds for it. The meds seem to be working, but I still think I could be doing better than I am. It's been about a year and a half on these meds. I think it's time for a change - and I need to pursue this idea of BPD. As Dr. Heller says, we need all the diagnoses and we need to have them all treated. 

Writing this all down has been very therapeutic for me. Having the diagnostic criteria to refer to has made it easier and all your stories gave me the courage to attempt it. Thank you for being here.