Story #57

I was diagnosed with BPD in 1994.  At the time I thought it was because the psychiatrist couldn't figure out what was *really* wrong with me.  Apparently, I'm bipolar too.

And an alcoholic, although my last therapist and I agreed that I self-medicated with alcohol and drugs.   I haven't used drugs since 1993 and I only drink maybe once a month, if that, and certainly not until I'm puking into the toilet.  Besides, I'm on meds, and alcohol certainly doesn't agree with that.

I was married when I was diagnosed.  It was a terrible relationship.  I punched him, kicked him, slapped him, pulled his hair, threw things at him, yelled at him, and accused him.  He took it all.  Once in a while he'd leave the apartment to go for a walk, but he always forgave me.  It makes me wonder if he was sick too or if he was really that devoted to me.  He put up with all of my rages, pulling all of the books off the shelves, tearing pages out.  Was this love?

I couldn't understand why I behaved the way I did.  I wanted to stop.  I was convinced that I was such a horrible person, to be treating my husband the way I did, to fly off the handle like that.  I was in so much pain that I wanted it to stop.  So I cut myself.   I reasoned that physical pain goes away eventually, so if I could only transfer my emotional pain to my physical body, maybe the emotional pain would go away too.  Wrong.

Hospital stay.  Hospital stay.  Hospital stay.  To this day I dread thinking about having to go to the hospital, even though I know that's where people go when they are sick, and I am, indeed, sick.

I was the one who felt that we should get a divorce.   My husband thought that was the sanest, most rational decision I'd made in a long time.  We parted amicably.   It wasn't like we had any joint assets or anything to divide.  Just four cats.  He has two; I have two.

At that point I returned to school full time.  I was very broke and seldom ate.  My parents wouldn't help me because they said I had my chance but blew it.  In spite of it all, I graduated with honors.

By the time I graduated, I had been off meds for over a year. I was still in therapy, which seemed to be working.  I'd had two relationships, both of which didn't work out, but I didn't regret them and learned a few things:  I need someone stable, intelligent, someone willing to discuss the future, who will love me for me.  I didn't abuse them the way I did my ex-husband.  I felt good, confident, I liked myself. I felt that I was growing as a person.

The summer after I graduated (1999), I was off to grad school.  That's when things started falling apart again.  I grew incredibly depressed and had to go back on meds.  I doubted whether I could handle graduate studies.  I got a new boyfriend, but I treat him the same way I treated my ex-husband.  Fortunately, he doesn't simply put up with it and is willing to work with me on this illness.  I'm lucky to have a person as committed to me as he is, but won't stand for all the bullshit BPD's can dish out.

But I still feel like shit.  I've put on 20 lbs. since I've been here.  I don't exercise.  Or I do, but then I stop.  I don't like myself anymore.  In fact, I can't stand myself.

I've started cutting myself again, even worse than I had previously.  My arm's all fucked up from where I've cut it with my disposable razors.  How am I going to conceal that when I try to get a job?  Wear long-sleeved shirts all the time?  Ridiculous.  But I can't seem to stop.

I just want my old life back.  The one in which I liked myself, believed in myself.

Thanks for reading this far.  I just want other BPD's to know that it *is* possible to have a good life.   You *can* feel good about yourself and have a life that isn't filled with turmoil, crisis, and drama.   That's the life I want again.