Borderline Personality Disorder Discussions

Caution: These letters include triggering material.

I have been diagnosed with BPD since I was 15 years old I'm 22 now and no life isn't perfect. My first love hurt me. In fact every one i've ever loved and trusted has hurt me. But i don't give up. I won't give in. I can't. This is MY life. I want to be normal and live "HAPPILY EVER AFTER" Maybe someday I can. I've went to hospitals and a children's home when i was underage. I love-hated it the perfect relationship right? Right now i live off of a 485 dollar check that some people call a Crazy check. I don't think i'm crazy I just see things how they really are. I don't go crazy anymore trying to hurt me or other people. I just want to live my life and survive this thing called life. I want to fall in love and be loved. I want honesty and truth. And ya know what to get that I'm gonna have to give that. Sometimes it's like a hurricane in my brain but I'll just ride out the storm. I like things that are exciting. Well I had to get that off my chest after seeing all of the negative there is a positive light in everything And no I can't justify rape cause it happened to me like a twenty times too. But if all this CRAPOLLA hadn't happened to me would I still be the same person I am now. I had tried to kill my self several times but something or someone always got in the way. I must be special in someway. All I really want to know what is my direction in life. God will tell me someday. until then I'll wait for His answer And pray that my life will fall into place.

Reading these letters I cried. Never. And I mean never, has anyone ever understood me. But here I sat reading my own thoughts and it took me hours to drop the denial of whether someone else had written them. Yes, someone else. It's still dream-like. As is the rest of my life, awake or not. A total nightmare. "Anxiety" is a complete understatement. We all know that one word or another thousand could never put to place the feelings that eat us up inside. 

Cutting? Yes. It seems to be the only way to keep me alive as ridiculous as that sounds. As if each slash isn't spewing blood, but rather the discomfort that I unwillingly take in from my overbearing life. 

What's wrong with me? I would say I don't know, which is no doubtedly truthful, but I'm starting to believe there's nothing wrong. What I mean by that is that, yeah obviously something is wrong with ME, but there's nothing wrong to make me this way. Nothing that I'm willing to accept at least. I'm just one of the lucky ones I guess. heh. Lucky enough that I'm even terrified of my own shadow or reflection. That I can't walk to my car alone at night without being half way to needing a change of pants. That I have to check behind the shower curtain whenever I go to the bathroom. That pathetically, I sleep with my closet doors shut and with my covers up tight against my body, barricading me from whatever the hell I think is trying to get me. And at the same time, I know it's only myself alone that I am afraid of. I've gone to therapy. Doesn't help much, unless you enjoy someone smiling at you randomly as you tell her/him all the reasons why you'd want to die of course coming up with their ingenious diagnosis' of, "yeah.. That comes naturally with depression." Wow, really?! I feel revived! Cured! YET, I admit, I am still going. (So who am I kidding?) 

I've jumped from one med to the other. 250 mg of Zantac, to a few pops of Prozac, tra la la on to Paxil, the list goes on. I'm only 17 and I can name more anti-depressant/ anti-anxiety prescriptions than that of some people in their forties. Not much to brag about I suppose. 

Though, what I wouldn't give to be one of my innocent friends. Be a normal teenager, whatever the hell that is, that only worries about boys, homework, and tee-hee what I'm going to wear to tomorrow's homecoming. No, instead I sit alone despising everyone, not for their looks or popularity or cars.. but for their restful nights and what seems to be, careless lives. 

My one therapist and my mother are both under the impression that my father sexually abused me when I was younger. I can't remember a damn thing. Not just something like that, but every memory of my past (knowing he was there) has blocked him out. I don't understand it. No doubtedly he abused me emotionally as he has to every other woman in my family, but that's always old news no matter how currently it happens. What I really hate though is my insomnia and then the pounding of my horrid nightmares. (Another understatement.) Every night, in my sleep, someone dies. It doesn't matter if I know them in real life or not, but I know them so well in my dream, that I wake up screaming in tears so often it's become routine in my household. The best part is reliving it throughout each day though. It's almost laughable how I mourn over these non-existent people. I mourn this non-existent love. Man the story of my life.

How strange that one who has attempted to take their own life this past February (the rope broke) would be involved in helping others deal with their own grief and with the death of loved ones.

for ministering to those who are facing their own life threatening illnesses and their families. I have been teaching others to work with the dying patient and their families for over 25 years.

Tonight, as I watched Bill Moyer's story of a physician who was dying of cancer, I felt a sense of "dirtiness" about my own failed attempts at suicide.

I am BPD and have come to accept suicide as a constant presence and part of the illness, much in the same sense that my two closest friends who have recently died of cancer had come to accept cancer as a death sentence. Cancer seems so very noble when compared to BPD.

I am still trying to resolve my own feelings of frustration and hopelessness which drove me to suicide with the feelings of the desire for living which are experienced by those with life threatening illnesses.

What can I say to those who are wanting to live as one who tried to throw their own life away. What type of hypocrisy am I promulgating by my being in this position of a state coordinator for grief and bereavement programs............... In one sense, I faced my own death and I took that choice to end it...... I was given a reprieve and now I am dealing with those who are dying but want to live...... What have I learned about living the last six months that makes me worthy enough to talk about dealing with living as well as death. I'm still muddling through things and looking for answers.

I've never written anything down. I've been in so many therapies. The Psychiatrist promises he knows what he's doing. He tells me to come in and "free associate". He gives me Luvox to tame the rages. I tell him I am evil and have no empathy for others. I hate being this way..so manipulative, so cunning. I push people away that love me..I am too scared of the obligation their friendship might entail. The world is a huge chess board and the people are my pawns. I use them and manipulate them so that they provide me with everything I cannot get on my own. 

I'm exhausting to the world. I've threatened divorce so many times that I've lost count. He is a very sweet, unselfish man that intends only good on others. I don't deserve him..or maybe I do. After all, he can provide me what I need to survive. I am so selfish that I make myself sick thinking about it sometimes. When I am trapped in a situation I don't like, I threaten suicide..and even attempt it. I'm serious sometimes about dying but afraid God will reject me like the rest of the world that sees the true me. 

People see a happy, people pleasing mask. A woman who is outgoing, intelligent, self assured. They don't realize I am their worst enemy. I will take everything I can from people and have no guilt about it. The only person who even comes close to receiving empathy from me is my son. 

I am a horrible mother. I attend graduate school full time and work as a graduate assistant in Psychology. I love school because it's an escape from reality. I can dream about others' problems and forget mine in the process. I'm always looking for the one person who is more selfish, more greedy, more manipulative than me. I found her. She's a classmate. She wears the mask also, but denies her innate evilness. I hate her. She represents everything I hate about myself. The mood swings, the rages, the absolute manipulativeness..it all serves a purpose: To keep others away so that I won't be obligated and so that their happiness will combine with my misery. Misery loves company.

Will the author of the below article write Patty at [email protected]? 

I am 14 years old and have been diagnosed with BPD for about two years. I'm still not cured yet, but I'm doing better. The cause of my disorder is unknown, because neither of my parents have it, or my brother or my sister. The only genetic link is my cousin Jennifer, who is schizoaffective. 

I've been molested several times, twice by my Uncle George when I was about eleven, and am trying to get help for the current stress I am going through: a friend of the family named Bill, who's about 35, raped me and continues to molest me. It started about a year and a half ago. I'm afraid. I'm scared, but hopefully my dad will get things worked out soon. 

I tried to kill myself several times. I slit open my wrists and ankles every time. I've been doing better. I haven't hurt myself in two months, which is a record for me. I want to let everyone know that a lot of bad stuff happens, and there's nothing you can do, but then there's something like this, that can GET BETTER. with time, courage, and hope you can become almost normal. we'll always be different because our mind doesn't think like it is suppose to. But it'll be okay. I'm getting better--i can feel it. hang on.

I don't always know what is going to happen next, inside that is. I wouldn't want anyone to see me inside. The different parts change so much it gets confusing. When this happens, it feels hopeless to try to explain just what is going on inside. I just try to get help. I don't always know what questions to ask to find out just who I am and why I am the way I am. This BPD line comes so so much closer in description of the different things going on in me. I just wanted to cry. That's a good one because I can't always cry on the outside, but inside cries a lot, I can feel it building up inside. It makes me feel like I am going to burst or go crazy. Sometimes I feel this build up for days and I hate it. Then I often feel scared and just wish I had someone who really could understand and just sit with me or hold me and not be afraid of me. Then there are times when I can go back and forth in how I feel in response to others in that I either am not shy but others think I am always happy and easy going and then I just get quite and afraid to be around anyone because I sometimes feel me changing inside, something I never used to feel. I'd know my voice was different, and yep, I was still inside this body, but my voice was different and I don't know how it changed on me. Others I know could hear the difference, and some would even tell me to be myself. Haa! 

Who is myself is the question that would float inside my thoughts. Which voice is me? I would rather be alone and sometimes just sleep than be so aware of others noticing the difference and judging it. I hate that feeling. There is a small part of me that could care less what others thought and can be bold and outspoken, sure. 

I feel like a yoyo, or that I'm riding on a roller coaster. Sometimes my thoughts feel like they are all over, it makes me want to scream, I get anxious, the drive sometimes leads to the desire to not want to be alive, or I have death wishes that part of me doesn't really want to happen, but I get reckless anyway, if I crash I crash. 

Sometimes it feels good to cut myself, it's like a little relief from all the anxiety in me. It's like I get this, quick! quick! Do it. When I have horrible memories of abuse then I want to cut myself and run water over the cut to get rid of the bad blood in me so I can feel better. Happy, not happy, confused....what about me? I sometimes want some professional to explain me to me as if it would tell me where I am as a person. I want some stability some how. I want someone to care. I have always wanted someone to really care and not judge me. I just have to keep going, even though I don't always feel that way. I have made it this far, sometimes it seems like this life rope is too slippery making it hard to keep going. From what I read about BPD, at this moment I only think that this is perhaps my problem, but I am not a professional. I wonder what questions to ask my doctor and therapist that will get me the help and answers I need. I wish I could always ask the right questions. Don't we all? I just want to be better, whatever that is. Help me.

I'm seventeen with bpd and i am in love with blood. Every time i cut I start out angry, depressed, scared, hurt, violent... but after that first cut (which is always the deepest one of all) i can't help but to laugh. hysterical, shrill laughter. It feels so good to bleed it all away. I LOVE IT! once i even wrote " I love blood" in my own blood. It feels so good to see your own blood dripping down your body. I self mutilate when i can't bring myself back from dissociations. it's the only way i know how to come back to the world.

I am 41 years old and have been in and out of community mental health centers since I was 15. Two years ago was the first time I heard the term borderline personality disorder used as a diagnosis for me. I never even bothered to find out what it was...I assumed I was on the border of sanity and insanity. 

I just happened on your site because I was curious and now I'm really freaked out. At 15 I was told that I was having a problem adjusting to growing up (adolescent menopause I guess). Then it was manic depressive, obsessive compulsive, and alcoholic...I guess whatever the popular mental illness was at the time. They finally settled on chronic depression, and I was so tired I rejoiced and said Yes!!! That's It!!! (Recently, however, I have self-diagnosed myself with social anxiety disorder!). Even though I have fit the classic profile of all of the above "problems" there was always something that did not quite fit in my circumstance. Even though I have had 2 major depressive episodes lasting several months, My mood swings would sometimes last only a few days or hours (not good when your yessing a Psy. to death hoping that someone believes that there is something wrong with you).

Since the time this "thing" first started, I was accused by family and other people of doing "this" for attention. Sometimes...I didn't know if they were right or not, but I knew that anyone...anyone in their right mind would not do and live like I was...not for fun...but I realized I did want attention...I wanted someone to know, to figure out that something was not right.

 When I read some of the stories on the site...I actually started crying (which is something I do a lot, but this was different). Obscure details like the transference of love on animals (I turned against God because a stray cat that I had put all of my" purpose in life " feelings in got hit by a car after an unusually long conversation with the BIG GUY. The fact that someone admitted that even though I hate myself and think that I was not worth the time it to to conceive me...I also have a very egotistical side. Does anyone lament about all the things they could have done if things were different...but when opportunity knocks...are never home? 

Someone mentioned always being bored. I'm bored because I truly believe that I should be "somebody" or doing" something by now. I see a lot of poetry and I bet a lot of you guys can draw or paint or play an instrument...but never enough to make anything out of it. Lack of ambition everyone says...I say fear of success, but there I go again...making excuses for why I sabotage every chance I get...Maybe I'm really not as good as I think and don't want to be found out. I'm babbling...I'm just so ...Has anyone been held "hostage" by their Psy. for being late for an appointment or not "following the rules". 

I am not a babbling idiot, I have survived a long time with this "thing" and I think I know more about myself then the Dr. But...If you don't be a good little mental patient...I won't call in your prescription. I actually had 1Psy. tell me (after I was there the day before my appt. and missed my actual one) Good Luck! If it was luck, I wouldn't need you. Okay, let me focus...I haven't been to a Psy. or counseling in a long time. I go, think that something is working and then (real or imagined) there's a problem. 

Even though a lot of you are sick of BPD, probably sat through a lot of "group" with other BPD folks...I am as happy as a pig in slop to finally see that instead of having to customize my "problem" to a Psy's. diagnosis...It has a name!!! I don't have a favorite color (or anything else) But this has a name. I always said that I didn't have a personality...I just took on the personalities of the people around me...but guess what ???...I do and it's Borderline!!!!!

I'm finding myself writing more to myself than ever. I found out that I was BPD just a couple of months but I'm not seeking any help my mother would look at me strangely and force me to pretend everything's okay. I can't deny my feelings or the fact that I'm still crying halfway through everyday. Nobody cares or knows that I cut myself and watch the blood run down arm. I pretend to be alright but they never ask what I'm really thinking. There's so much sadness and pain in the world and I feel like I'm adding to it. I spend time talking myself and trying calm myself. I'm not a joy of sunshine even though I pretend to be.

well this is how it makes me feel-
cry, cut, and peel
and i think sometimes when this is my view
that i can slice me up until i'm blue
(blue just like fucking violets--fuck that)
anyway:
I asked him once, "Why didn't you
just let me in that night?"
He said, "Dumb girl, you came to me
just looking for a fight,
with the devil on your tongue
and that trashed look in your eyes,
and your heavy fucking hand,
and your sex-crazed fucking thighs."
He can fuck me till HE'S sober
He can hang me till HE'S dead
He can take the bottle from my hand
and put the gun up to my head
And all my little pixies
will be dancing 'round his stare
and this enemy will haunt me
'till I find my place somewhere

I write poetry and the last one that I wrote back in August explains me feelings perfectly about how it feels to me, to have BPD...I went undiagnosed for 10+ years...well they gave me every other diagnoses except for BPD...finally I met a true "angel" therapist and she helped me to pick up most of the broken pieces...she had moved on and I have a new therapist...I know it is going to be a long haul but I am slowly gaining confidence that I can maybe one day "recover," like Susanna Kaysen from the book, "Girl Interrupted..." So here is my poem...

"Half Cracked"

time stands still-
transcending her totality
each disconnected thought-
weaves itself into perfection

golden rays frozen lifeless-
catch falling moonbeams
voices call from the darkness-
painting half truths of dead lies

memories silenced-
tears choked by fear
feed on the mere existence-
of what lies beneath

reflections in the mirror-
facets of broken dreams
stare back-
half cracked.

(c)2000

right now i just need to get rid of all this feeling inside of me so if anyone actually takes the time to read this i'm grateful

well, the past few days have gone by pretty quick. but i'm homesick and lonely. i don't even leave my room at all. i hate being alone so much. my boyfriend usually stays on the phone with me at night which is very sweet of him. i'm not sure if i am really happy or if i ever will be. even when i don't feel down i know that i'll be sooner or later. it's gotten to the point where i don't even try anymore. 

i don't know what the point of my life is anymore. my father calls once in a while and i call my sister all the time. i miss her most of all. and lately i've been thinking about my two recent ex-boyfriends. i've treated them so bad even though they were so good to me. 

i hate this guilty feeling inside of me. all this regret is tearing me up inside. i'm constantly letting people down. i've let myself down. sometimes i wish i could go back and stop all the horrible things that happened to me. someone who actually cared about me used to tell me that borderlines have no capacity for empathy. i hated when he said things like that. sometimes i wonder if that's true though. so many people have told me how selfish i am. how evil i am. i don't speak to that person anymore which i regret. he did nothing but try to help me and i just push him away and out of my life forever. 

i'm stuck right now...even though i'm with someone now i still feel so alone. i used to think that being alone was just being independent. but i thought wrong. it's the worst feeling in the world.

SEARCHING

Judging and refusing
to see the soul
Demons within them
so cold

Open wounds
unable to heal
Flesh bleeds
so the soul can't feel

Reason controls
and will not to fight back
Listless remain
While demons attack

Tiny white ones
become best friends
Like razors
that slice
despair to an end

Running fast
so no one will know
Consumption holds
and becomes the show

When darkness creeps
with closed eye
In comes
terror of family lie

Brief moments
filled with freedom and bliss
Loved ones
Whip away and never miss

Sinking fast
unable to swim the sea
Screaming for help
but no one can hear me

Unknown world
I fear hence natures way
In search
of that promise he made one sad day

Life for me is like a roller coaster
Unpredictable moods up and down
Remembering that what goes down
Must come up again.

Life for me is like a blazing fire
Too hot to enjoy at times
But cooling embers
To a gentle warmth.

Life for me is like a cloudy sky
Sometimes shading the sun
Other times refreshing the earth
Showering crystal rain drops.

Life for me is like an opera
Loud dramatic voice
Dropping down to the
Hush of a whisper.

Life for me is the quality of the extreme
Fanning my inner creativity
Or chasing me with fear into
My bed of isolation.

Can life for me be in the middle?

Will I miss the carnival ride?
Will I miss the blazing fire?
Will I long for the changing sky?
Will my inner songs silence?

Will I still be me?

-----------------------------------------------

My Song

I stand in this murky underground
My world is numb without sound
Alone I ponder why I live on
I don't want to end it, I do no harm.
Others bathed in sunshine
Cannot see this gloom
That is under the street they walk on
That is beneath their inner room.
Am I trapped to live in half light,
My soul groping to become right,
To be normal and like the others,
To annihilate the demon who hovers
With claw upon my heart
Ready to tear upon every part
Of my insides...;all my worth?
Dig a hole, bury it in the earth.

And where I am you do not see.
And where I am you dare not be.
For this hole does not exist for your kind.
It is a place that subsists within my mind.
I take the pills, I talk the talk
But I can... maintain the inner walk.
It would keep me in the sunshine.
A brightness my eyes can...t see to find.

And if you never saw the sun
Would you believe its light,
And if you never felt its heat
Would you believe its might,
To heal and brighten all the world?
To heal and lighten my dark world?


---------------------------------------

Numb

I tear my hair
Sensation
Release
I am not a zombie.

I cut my arm
Sensation
Release
I am not a zombie.

I burn my foot
Sensation
Release
I am not a zombie.

I freeze my body
Sensation
Release
I am not a zombie.

Tear me
Cut me
Burn me
Freeze me
I will be your zombie.