Tag Archives: borderline personality disorder

“i look into your eyes… you don’t know who i am.”

This post has another stupid lyric as a title. But I cannot get this song out of my ears and it’s almost appropriate so screw originality.

I’ve had a weird few days. Too many substances going up my nose, too many alcohols, too much into my lungs, too many people, all a big mess. It’s all a little manic right now. But that obviously comes at a cost. Today is a low day. The light of day creates a lot of low days. Today, I woke up crawling with shame and disgust all over me like a rash. I scrubbed so much to make me feel fresh, but raw skin from too much exfoliation doesn’t tackle the dirt on the inside. I want to claw it out of me because I can genuinely feel it. No point though because you can’t find a metaphorical feeling. I hate my brain sometimes. Quite often actually.

I realise a lot of the people around me have no real idea of what my mind is doing the majority of the time. It’s like there are two layers of person. On the outside, I try to act the same way that other people do. I try to cover up the things going on inside. I’m always trying to style out the ways I’m feeling. I just try to imitate the correct way to act and feel, whilst trying really hard to cover up what I feel. It tends to mean that quite a lot, I’m really busy trying to convince the world that I’m the complete opposite of what I am. I get so lost because it’s like no one knows me at all. No one knows anything really. I don’t either.

I had a really hard therapy the other day. I tried to be honest to him. I fucked up a bit because sometimes, the easiest way to be honest is to lie because it explains your feelings better. I try so hard no to lie, but sometimes it feels like truth because it’s completely how I feel. Anyway, the lies aren’t all that important. That’s more of a side note. I was talking to him about how I have to not care about things. I do care about them, but I have to pretend I don’t. I’m not allowed to give a fuck about anyone or anything. Like with people – I have to actively pretend that I adamantly don’t care about them or their opinions of me and I think they’re a bit of a dick so I can’t be bothered. That is hardly ever true though. I just tend to think that they hate me and it hurts me that they do and thoughts about it can be so consuming. No one can know I care though, so I tell everyone I can’t be fucked. Chances are, this shoots me in the foot because it’ll get back to the person I think hates me, making them more likely to hate me. It’s a vicious circle. It takes someone really being outrageously nice to me for me to start to actually, obviously care about them. Then I’m the most obviously in love person ever. I’m a little bit in love with basically all my friends. Unless they’ve upset me and I’m ignoring them because I hate them because they’ve done something which makes me think they’re laughing at me or hate me or know something I want hidden.

It’s not just with people though. It’s with everything. Sometimes I let slip an idea or opinion or fact that I’m not sure can be backed up by the people around me. I then freak out because I got it all wrong, then try back track and get myself on solid ground again. I like to make sure people like me, so I’m good at mimicking beliefs and interests. I learnt a long time ago that it’s not ok to like certain things. The problem is, people like all different things. Some people like baking, but others think it’s really boring and pointless. All this means is that you have to then be great at baking. Nothing short of brilliant is enough. You also have to hate it with a passion. Bad example, but you get what I mean. Sometimes parts get all muddled then you let slip to the wrong person that you hold this belief and they think you’re then too trivial/too serious/lame/annoying/a joke/whatever. It’s all a game of getting people on side. I fail at it more than I win. The more you know someone, the easier it gets to mimic the right responses to get the right outcomes. You can even disagree sometimes if you know someone well enough and know you have the right argument to back yourself up in that situation in a way they’ll find acceptable. It’s exhausting

All this leaves you with though is a complete lack of identity. No one knows what I like, what I care about, what I think. A lot of the time I don’t either. What I can’t work out though is why I’m not allowed to care about anything. The Psychologist asked me why and all I responded with was “because then everyone will think I’m a loser and laugh at me.” I’ve lost out on some really good things because I was so convinced that people would think I was a loser if I let anyone know I cared about it, so I just had to pretend that I really have no emotional attachment to anything. I hate it. I hate it because I have to be silently obsessed with the things that take up my entire brain. I have to watch myself lose out on what I want so that I’m not vulnerable to the ridicule I’d open myself up for if I care. So I pretend.

It’s old news that I’m pretty convinced I’m entirely pretend though. I just don’t know what the right emotional responses are, so I have a default act of not giving a fuck about anything. I have no idea why I believe this, but I do. I don’t know why anything that I actually think is such a fucking useless joke, I have to hide it. I may overshare about my life, but I hide myself.

I was so fucking gutted when I actually worked out that this is something I do. I’d never thought about it before, I just did it. Instinct. It’s not conscious. And it sucks. I just so badly don’t want to be laughed at for getting my thoughts and feelings wrong. I don’t want to be a joke.

What I do want though is to be looked after. I have to be as perfect as possible for every single person so that eventually, someone will find me and they’ll look after me right and I won’t feel like my insides are burning anymore and I won’t feel so empty. I don’t know why I need it. I just need something to fill this gap and all I can think that could be is other people. No one does fill the gap though. I don’t know what more I need. I just need to be validated as something good. I sometimes catch glimpses of it, but there isn’t anyone that makes me feel anything but dirt in the long-term. Obviously I’m failing miserably at being perfect for every single person. Perfect daughter, perfect friend, perfect date, perfect whatever. If I was better, then everyone would like me more and then someone would be able to give me what ever it is I desperately need. There’s something I need, I just don’t know what it is.

So instead, I wonder why I always end up feeling horrible and alone. Everything I do to try to make it better only ends up hurting me in the long run. I have to do something to fill whatever it is that I cannot handle, so in my efforts to work it all out, I fail miserably at constructing the right sort of person and engage in physically and psychologically self-damaging acts to feel better until someone finally sees me and understands. It doesn’t help that I tend to get obsessed with the worst people. I wish just once it could be a good one. I wish someone was happy with just me so that I didn’t have to prentend. Just me doesn’t exist though. All I have is the constructions.

I feel disgusting. Passing out to handle the lows you’ll stoop to in order to just be liked and cared is probably a sign you shouldn’t do it anymore. I do it anyway though. Then hate myself. At least I’ve successfully created the idea I want to portray. After all, I’m nothing but concepts and images of what I think might be what other people want. Maybe one day, the ideas will be enough and someone will at least look after the constructed me enough to keep me safe. I honestly don’t know what’s inside so I guess that’s the only option.

Why am I not allow to care about anything? Why do I have to hide anything that matters? Why will I do almost anything in order to try get proof I’m worth anything? None of this is me, but I have no idea who I am. All I know about me is that I’m a 23-year-old woman living the life of a 16-year-old, taking sick leave from university, on benefits, no real prospects, nowhere to fit in, nothing to go on really. I’m seriously beginning to doubt there’ll ever be a place for me. It’s not like there’s anything about me that’d make someone want to stay long enough to mean I don’t have to look anymore.

God this is all so cryptic. Sorry. It’s just a really bad day.

My insides crawl.

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Filed under bad day, bpd, life, rubbish

“i’ll never cheat. i’ll be the best girl you’d ever meet.”

So I’m officially the worst of all the bloggers. I accept that. I think I need to take more space from a lot of things whilst I single-handedly ignore everything that takes any effort. I’m being lazy, but in the best way. Obviously. In my defense, there have been several times I’ve tried to do a new post, then as I’ve pressed publish, it’s said “Are you sure you want to publish this? Click here to try again” and, because saving drafts is obviously for wimps, the whole post is just gone. So then I got infuriated and angry at WordPress for being such a dicknose about life.

So here I am. Trying to blog. Again. I keep forgetting.

I think as well a part of it is that I actually do stuff now. Like, I’m actually seeing and talking to people. It’s really good because I have lots of friends and I think I’m making a sneaky few extras on the side too. I started this blog to tell my friends about where I’d gone, and now I’m back. Plus, although there are still some food based hiccups, I’m actually maintaining nice and well and eating pretty chaotically, but enough. I’m just kinda eating like a normal person. It took long enough, but I think I’m still doing well eating disorder wise.

The parts of my life which are more difficult mental health wise are difficult to talk about. I’m still really not fully comprehending borderline personality disorder I don’t think because it just feels like what I do. It’s what I’ve always been like. But then, apparently it’s all pretty crazy. I don’t know. I know it’s not what I wanted recovery to be like though. I was so glad to get a break from all these things when I stopped eating. I thought I’d grown out of it, not that I’d just hidden it. Now it’s all back. It’s just like being sixteen all over again. I hate it. But it’s all hard to blog about.

Borderline personality has like nine criteria, with the presence of five or more providing a diagnosis. All the criteria are things like “impulsive behaviours in potentially self-damaging areas” (read drug/alcohol abuse, sex, excessive spending etc.); “frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment” (so obviously a lot of unflattering behaviours here); raging (that attractive trait I want all my friends to know about); unstable identity (which if I was to try and explain would be crazy making in and of itself); unstable relationships with others characterised by devaluation and idealization (again, ranting about how much I hate/love my friends is obviously a great thing for all my friends to read); “recurrent suicidal behaviour, gestures, threats or self-injury” (another great sharing piece. Totally doesn’t alienate anyone); “affective instability” (ok so this isn’t so bad to share, but it is still a little bit weird and because I don’t really notice it till after the event, I don’t really have that much insight. My moods seem perfectly reasonable to me); “chronic feelings of emptiness” (a real crowd pleaser); and “paranoid ideation, delusions or severe dissociation” in stressful situations (this one really screams nut bag at people. And also, how would I explain to someone that shit, I don’t know how I got there or that I really don’t remember that time they’re on about. I tried to once, and the other person thought I was so rude because it was so important to them). It’s hard to blog about things that can upset people, make me seem a total waste and are so difficult to untangle. I try to figure out whether the things that make me feel horrible relate to these symptoms. Quite often they do. But then I think no. I don’t know. It’s confusing.

Then google goes and tells you people with borderline personality disorder are bitches. Manipulative. Liars. Attention seekers. Run the fuck away. Google tells me I must be horrible. That doesn’t really make me want to share really.

I do think duloxetine was a winner in terms of making my overall mood more positive, but I’m still way too emotional. When I’m happy, I’m dancing and clapping and jumping up and down. When I’m sad, I’m tears and tantrums and shouting and occasionally flailing.

Still, before all this business of recovery, my crazy was really different, but equally crazy. It was contained and quiet and I was functioning well for a while at least. Now I’m “low-functioning” (thanks a lot Psychiatrist) and I’m going about being a mental at the world. The Ma called me up on creating multiple layers of drama. The post-anorexia me is dramatic and loud and out at the world for everyone to see. I’m not sure how much I want to spell that out for my real life people. I don’t want to be called up on it. I don’t want my fuck ups to be general knowledge and I don’t want to be judged for my actions and I don’t want social repercussions.

So instead, I hide away. Some of it is pretty jokes to explain, though is actually fucking distressing and confusing.

So yer, I don’t know where to go with this blog. Too many people are involved in my life now to actually be open about much. I wish I could blog about it, but I shot myself in the foot with the whole lack on anonymity thing.

A meaningless example. Last week, I had a therapy appointment. It was at 2pm, so I had to leave at 1pm. I was all getting ready on time and being all nervous, but then my iPod broke. It got really hot and started to smell like burning rubber. So I started panicking. How could I go out without an iPod? How? Everything would be so wrong. So I pulled my hair and ripped at my skin because I was so fucking thrown over the iPod issue and just could not contain it. I popped some Valium to try to chill a little bit before therapy, then frantically tried to put music on my smart phone whilst waiting for it to kick in. The smart phone thing did actually work out in the end, but midway through sorting it, my EDU called to say therapy was cancelled and the Psychologist would get back to me the next day. That was it. The Therapist hates me so much and is avoiding me and doesn’t give a fuck because no one gives a fuck and my iPod was broken so I couldn’t even leave the house and we had guests. So I cut myself with a razor because I couldn’t contain how fucking stressed I was. Eventually the Valium kicked in, and I chilled enough for a while, but ended up really going for gold that evening because I felt so horrible inside. I ended up drinking all the alcohol and taking all the drugs and embarrassing myself in front of guest like people and not sleeping at all. At around 8am, I started to freak out that I’d be asleep when the Psychologist called. At 10am I called in, still fucked.  He wasn’t there. They asked me to leave a message, but I couldn’t because then he’d know I cared and he can’t know I care because then I’m exposed. So I called again a few hours later. He still wasn’t in, but they recognised my voice and knew my name and asked to take a message again. I said no, hung up and took more Valium to get to sleep because I was scared of him knowing I’d called. Next day, he still hadn’t called and my iPod wasn’t fixed and everything was still rubbish. Another call, he wasn’t available, I refused to leave a message and self-injured because he’s ignoring me and hoping I’ll never show up again. I mean, he was at work, just not calling like they said he would. The next day he was actually in, but I was so angry I could hardly speak to him. Cut myself again, got trashed again. Because he didn’t seem to realise how much he’d upset me. And I can never tell him because then a) he’ll know I care and b) I don’t even know if I care, or I’m pretending to care so he’ll feel bad because all my thoughts are fabrications and lies and c) it might make him hate me. And he obviously doesn’t give a fuck.

I did have an appointment at the Apple shop today though, and they gave me a brand new iPod for only £30 because mine had broke! There was at lease 45 minutes of uncontainable excitement at this, so I called loads of people up and asked them what muffins they wanted and bought so many muffins. I just had to talk to people and buy things in order to make it out of Covent Garden. I then ran to Holborn station because I had so much energy. Me, in my DMs and big headphone and horrendously large jewellery, running through commuter areas because I was so excited. A couple of texts and a few badly chosen songs later and I wanted to die because I remembered how much I’m messing up so had to ask my friend to see me specially to give me a hug so I knew he liked me and didn’t secretly wish me dead.

Thing is, did I even really care about my iPod, or was I just pretending to myself and the world that I care? Do I even like music? Or is that just made up too? It must be made up because there isn’t a core to me. I’m all constructed. Thoughts, feelings, behaviours. They’re all constructs anyway. Everything constructed for others to create a likeable person, hiding the nothing inside.

And really, this stuff is pretty minor flex really. It’s non event stuff. When it’s actually bigger events (although probably still small to other people), the fall out can be much more drastic. I’m not good at containing myself. I act in, I act out. I just spill bits of me everywhere I go. And honestly, I don’t really know if that’s borderline behaviours or not. It’s good when I’m happy though because I’m just so excited. It’s fun. The other side of that is less fun. But when this is how ridiculous my mentalness is. it can be hard to explain and kinda horrific to share with people and is all a little bit much for most people to deal with.

So there you have it. Some thoughts for today. And a little bit of where I’ve been.

The title of this post has nothing really to do with what I’ve written. It’s just from a song that I essentially listen to way too often. It’s horrible and a little bit too much for my brian right now. It about sums up my mood and a lot of my feelings right now.

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Filed under bpd, recovery, rubbish