Suspended in a compromise.

We sent our gods away, many years gone by, because in our arrogance we felt no need for them any longer. We devoted our lives to a myriad of different sciences, to furthering what breakthroughs we've had to make us technological titans in medicine, machine, weapon, virus and creation. But with no gods, we had no compass. Now, me, I don't believe in gods, and that means I'm just a child of our world, raised with no reason to fear anything but my fellow man and what weapons that are wielded.

I believe we create our own gods and devils. How can I believe anything else? I feel a deep connection with the world around me and the people I encounter, moved to tears by things that other people don't even flinch at, marveling at the world around me. But I don't believe that there is a god in the way the religions I'm acquainted with paint. Just as I don't believe their picture of a devil. I believe in good an evil, I believe in cruelty and kindness, coldness and empathy. I believe we create our own gods and heavens, and our fears fashion us hells and devils. The angels and demons are the people we meet.

A friend, a kind person who is selfless, how is that not an angel of some sort? Human predators who torture and abuse others are as close to demons as anything I can imagine.

Maybe I'm putting too much thought into this. I've been told you can't analyze beliefs, you just basically close your eyes and pick a direction. But I don't believe that for a second, actually. I feel like you have to find something that calls to the core of your very being.

A Christmas or two ago a friend of mine gave me a tarot deck called the Faerie's Oracle and with it I have felt a connecting to an otherness that I only felt as a child, a deep sense of rightness.

After I was home this last time my mom informed me my Uncle Michael (passed away in '89) used to do tarot as well as had the same knack for it I seem to.

How can I not feel connected to this man who I met only in the first months of my life, too young to even remember his face? I don't believe there is a god linking us, I believe that somehow in the vast universe he shared some of his stardust with me, passing on a part of himself in the moment he first held me.

My mother tells me how very much he would have loved me, how we would have been inseparable, two odd little birds flocking together. Maybe the universe wanted to leave my mother a part of him, and since I was so young, so unformed I was receptive to what stardust he had to offer.

This is very, very tangential and I don't plan to revise or edit, as this is a place for me to just write and think and allow everything to flow out of me into a place where I can look back on it. Where I can experience my own thoughts again.

I'm a bit worked up because I had posted the first paragraph of this entry on facebook (I'd written it awhile ago and when I rediscovered it today it hit a note that I didn't want to ignore) and someone got very defensive about God as he believes him to be, and it just made me angry.

Why is his version any more credible or fulfilling than the one I choose to believe? Believe what you will, but do not force feed it to me. If you'd like to debate theoretically or something, I'm game, if you'd like to share your beliefs with me when I invite that sort of topic, by all means...But I do dislike this invasion into something that is, in essence, my space and the brash attitude he took.

I need to go eat something. I think my blood sugar is dropping and I'm just working myself up more.

Quietly, quietly.

Defective soul-beats to the sound of tinkling as the heart breaks.

Questing for a salve to the terrors that rock your world, chilling the marrow of your bones.

The only magic I have is the magic in my blood, the sound of my heart and the flow of my love.

Loyalty to the agony that rattles the core as you close your eyes against the tears.

Sorrow that flows like a river to the ocean of your bottomless past.

Childlike wonder gives way to hate as the world slaughters your desire to dance.

So I do not dance anymore, and the lights go out. I see that smile fade and so do I.

Interconnected, delicately wound into the fabric of your existence, I burn out as you pale.

A nightmare turned reality. Will I never be allowed to wake up?

A writing.

I break my own heart, by allowing myself to hope. To believe in the goodness I want to exist within the core of each person I encounter.



I want you to be a good person, and because I want it to be true, I allow myself to be hurt. And I know, shame on me. For I should protect myself from you and your charm and your cruelty that hides beneath the surface. But I want to believe. I want so very much to believe.



I want to be a good, strong person. But sometimes my idea of what it means to be good can hurt people. Or hurt myself.



It's so painful.



I want to make sure I am always honest with you, about how I feel, who I am, and what I want. But sometimes honesty hurts, because it isn't what you want to hear. I understand that. But I don't want to be the liar that I could be. I don't want to lie the way I've been lied to. And I'm sorry that my truth isn't want you want to hear.



I hurt myself, in the process of trying to help others, because I want to heal the world in the way I have never been healed.



I know you think you're so badly off, that the world is out to get you, and that your life sucks so much. And I'm so sorry that you cannot see how blessed you are. Blessed in ways I have never been. I am so sorry that you are so lost in your desire to be pitied that you lose your chance to thrive in the joy of life. But I cannot keep draining myself to pick up your slack. Because I am so broken inside and you will never understand because you cannot live my life or experience my mind.



I give out all the light I have in my soul to brighten the paths of those I love, that I keep nothing for myself. And I am so exhausted, so lost in darkness and shadows.



I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, I wish you could feel the things you have done to me. I wish you could know the world the way I do. I wish you could feel the beat of my heart in your veins, I wish you could feel the thrum of my breath in your lungs. I wish you could feel the pulse of my life, my emotions, my loss and pain and sorrow down in the marrow of your bones. Because I know that if you could feel the depth of my life, the extent of my sorrow, and the keen edge of my loss then you wouldn't doubt my desire to be good. To be honest. To believe. Because if I do not fight for even ounce of sunlight in my life, I will be swallowed by my past.

When did we lose our humanity and revert to creatures of hell's 9th level?

There is so much whizzing through my head right now, so many emotions flying around with all the force of a hurricane. I have always known my emotions are a terrible force to be reckoned with, but sometimes I forget until they turn on me.

And they have.

My emotions are tearing me apart from the inside out. And it is so utterly painful. I am so hurt. I loathe this state of being. I utterly loathe it. And as a result I sort of hate myself for being such a frequent visitor to this state of mind. There isn't anything I can DO about it, so logically I shouldn't beat myself up over it. But there isn't anything logical or reasonable or rational about it.

The fact is I'm so full of disgust.

It came to my realization that while I've lived in Washington, the number of people in my life out here who haven't treated me like shit, or hurt me is painfully small. It is a horribly small number.

I am surrounded by horrible human beings.

I acknowledge that I myself am not a picture of goodness and sweetness and wonderful fluffy things.

But I can also state with certainty and no arrogance that I always, always TRY TO BE GOOD. I try to be kind, and forgiving, and patient, and considerate, and understanding. I try always to be loving, and loyal, and faithful, to defend those who are not there to defend themselves.

So why is it all these people are so fucking petty?

If me, the head case who is spending her time in therapy, the head case who is all but certifiably insane...why am I the only one who I see making these efforts?

You people! With your health, and stability, with your independence and your strength. With all these things you should cherish and you throw them around and turn it into a joke! You spend your time, wasting yourself in petty behavior! You have families and love and support and you spend your time telling lies, making fun of people who need tolerance and not your cruelty.

You're so....despicable. What me and mine fight to have you toss aside like rubbish and make yourself into something detestable. You're so caught up in yourselves and your drama, your cheating and your lust. Your lies and your inconsiderate behavior. Your hate and cruelty, your racism, sexism, your disgusting behavior.

I'm so sick of being surrounded by lies and broken promises, secrecy and all that rubbish treatment of your fellow humans.

I understand no one is perfect, but how hard is it to be humane, to be kind? What the fuck is wrong with being KIND?!

But that doesn't happen anymore.

Instead people are behaving like animals. Sex means nothing, bodies are used as cheap tools to get what you want and if you don't match up to their ideals you have people who mock you and talk down to you. Gender is used as a weapon, sexuality is a thing to be turned into a joke. Cruelty is the norm and kindness is out of date. People blame the victims and if they can justify something in their head then everyone else is wrong.

Never mind the feelings of other people, never mind the reality of the situation.

I'm deciding I like people less and less, and I wish to spend less and less time around them. No one keeps their promises anymore, no one cares about anyone other then themselves, and if you make the mistake to care or ask for help...you're screwed. You get taken advantage of.

More and more I'm not here, I'm going away into my dissociation. More and more I'm trusting people less and less. I don't want to be around people because I just can't handle it.

There is so littler tolerance, so little acceptance, so little care or love or kindness...and I just can't do it anymore.

I have my limits, I have only so much forgiveness for the same cruelty and I'm out.

I'm so ready to be done with people.

I have therapy tomorrow and I can't tell if I'm looking forward to it or dreading it.

Cover my eyes, cover my ears...tell me these words are a lie.

My soul is dying. Inside that piece of me that I call my core, where everything that is me, the very essence of Ana, my soul is rotting to death. Its a slow, agonizing death. Filled with stabbing pain and bouts of aching numbness.

I hadn't even realized it, because with everything going on my heart has been shattered a thousand times over in just the last two months...I honestly couldn't tell one type of pain from the other.

But since I've stepped away from the source of my agony, I've realized that the sheer amount of disregard and neglect has damaged my soul beyond repair.

I often wonder if I am stronger or weaker for the weight I carry of my Borderline. I know that I spend each day locked in a battle, and who my enemy is changes with all the fluidity of the ocean, everything from myself, my illness, to the people who hurt me. But do these battles build up my strength, or drain away the power of my heart and soul?

Am I fading away, until all that will be left is a shade? A memory of a song that was my soul? Do I even remember the words to my song? Because when I think about it, I can't recall. Am I made of light and laughter or blood and tears? Am I weighed down by the cruelty that has been a constant companion, lurking ever in the shadows waiting to trip me up? Have I grown stronger?

I feel like I'm burning, and no one can feel the flames that are licking at my skin, slowly devouring me. I wonder if I actually try to scream, will anything come out? I'm starting to doubt that there is anything I can do to stave off the pain or the terror of my soul's death.

If things continue on in this pattern, soon I will be like a haunting. The lingering memory of a girl who had hopes and dreams, a heart full of love and a ready smile. And all that will remain is a wraith. A lie.

I'm dying and there isn't a damn thing I can do to stop it, because I'm too sad to give a fuck.

Love is an excuse to get hurt, I swear. I feel like just by believing in love I basically put myself out there and handed out the knives which I have then been stabbed in the back with.

I don't know if I'll ever trust people to love me again. I don't feel anything when people say it to me, and I respond only out of habit.

Because if you loved me, why would you lie to me? Hide things from me? Why would you choose someone's side over mine when I needed you? Why would you disregard my dignity, my human rights? Why would you look me in the eye and tell me that you love me while you're sharpening the knife to plunge in my back?

I trusted too easily, and I am now left with a shattered heart and a dying soul.

“Love can sometimes be magic. But magic can sometimes... just be an illusion.”

Recently my life has been in constant turmoil, and now is no different.

First off, Mat and I have ended our relationship, and all I can think of is this quote. "Love doesn't die a natural death. Love has to be killed, either by neglect or narcissism. Those guilty of these two crimes of the heart always hide behind excuses convenient; too ashamed, lacking in integrity and courage to face the truth. To them, it is always something other than their own actions, desires and self-importance that dictate circumstances. For these people, so blind to truth, true love can never be fully experienced for they have never really given of themselves all that they are."
(Frank Salvato)

I am not well. I'm brave enough to say this to you. I'm broken and I hurt. My heart has been ground to dust under the heel of a self-centered man.

Over the past four years I have been treated with insane amounts of contempt, I have been neglected, and even abused. My heart has been played with and discarded. My soul has been kicked aside and trampled.

My mother has compared me to a Xena episode, actually. And while part of me wanted to smile over the show reference, the image that it left in my mind was...poignant. The story was of the Goddess Aphrodite... There was a man, and every time he kissed her, he stole some of her godhood, and she got more and more pale, her light ever fading.

And that has been me. I am exhausted and weak, I am pale and ill. I am wasting away in a home where I am blamed for loving, where I am punished for my faith, and I am afraid to forgive.

Now, be aware that for all my anger, I do not hate nor do I want you to bad mouth Mat. I am angry because I have been wronged. I am angry because I have been hurt. But I have earned this anger, and while I know your hearts have bled for me, he is not a bad person. He is a person who is undeveloped. He hasn't learned how to be an adult, a man.

Of course, the results of this crisis have left me in absolute desolation. I am destroyed. I am not ashamed to admit I have cried myself to sleep, nor am I afraid to admit I haven't eaten in 72 hours because I have been so distressed that I get sicker trying to eat then not. I am aware that I have cried myself sick, and that this is cause for worry. But take heart in the fact that at least I'm not hiding it from you.

I have cut.

But I'm working now on coping in a healthier way. I have also chopped off 5 inches of my hair. Oh yes.

Thank god for Xanax, and for my plane ticket home. I'm so grateful for my friends, and my family.

And this situation has really started to show me who IS and who is NOT a true friend. There are those I can count on to tell me truth no matter how much it will hurt, no matter what the consequences. There are those I know will defend me, who have my back and are trying to offer me every bit of help they can. There are those whose hearts sing to mine while I try to relearn the song of my soul.

And then there are those who are cowards. Who will never again have my love or trust. There are those to whom I am kind because it is the GOOD thing to do, and I am going to be a good person.

Because really, I don't know if sins are ever forgiven. I don't know if I am so good that I can really BE good, but I will try. I will try to be good. Because even a stunted tree reaches towards the sun. And even I will yearn to forgive, to love and to be loved.

And it's hard right now. It's hard to believe that I am loved. And part of that is my Borderline. The already present fear of rejection, the distrust, the paranoia...They already reside in my mind...and while I keep them in check, the behavior that Mat has displayed...

Well, I'm not sure I can believe in love. But cruelty, that I have faith in. To quote Jacqueline Carey "When Love cast me out, it was Cruelty who took pity on me." And that...That cuts to the heart of my life. And that makes me feel like Alice. I feel as though I have lost my muchness. (Yes, I am making an ABSURD amount of references. Because I am on my Xanax and my brain is a little fuzzy from all the cry. So accept it.)

And I am afraid. I am so afraid. Because...Mat wants me to move out. My options are very limited. And none of them particularly ideal. If I can find my own housemate, good. If I cannot...then I would be put into a shelter or transitional housing. My mom will have none of this and would rather come get me then allow that to happen.

Mat has said 'we'll figure something out' because he doesn't want me to be in a shelter either. But...I don't see how we'll figure anything else. If we stay living in the same house I can only see a couple outcomes...Either we'll fall back into our old patterns, and be miserable. Or we'll try and heal and get over things and because of the intense stress of the situation it will become violent over time.

This isn't exactly something I want out of life. I want to be happy. I want to be loved. I want to be respected. I want loyalty, I want trust, I want to be able to trust. I want all the things that I believe in my heart are human RIGHTS.

And I do not believe I will get that.

I am very, very broken inside.

Rules from the life of a BPD girl

Yeah, I'm doing this. Because I'm thinkin' about things. (mind you, it's not OMG Rule #1 is most important...They're all of equal importance.)


Rule #1: Honesty is the best policy, however, that doesn't mean you need to spill all the aspects of your life. Sometimes for your own sake answer ONLY the minimum of the question asked of you. (Example: If you're asked "Do you know what time it is?" You answer yes, or no. Not what the actual time is.)
(A note: Do not use this rule as an excuse to HIDE things. If you are asked a question, answer it. If someone indicates they need the whole truth, no reservations then respect them enough to DO so.)


Rule #2: Protect yourself. Be a good person, be kind, be generous, but do not drain yourself on the behalf of someone if you don't have to. Especially if they do not deserve it. Sometimes, it is needed, and there are people who deserve it. Be unstinting in your goodness.


Rule #3: Trust MUST be earned. If you have earned the trust of someone else and they do nothing to earn yours, they never will. Trust should be mutual.


Rule #4: Respect is like trust. If you're not giving, do not expect to get it. UNLESS you have been respectful and they do not respect you. That is when you may ask for proof of respect before returning it.


Rule #5: If you've been taken for granted, don't fight. Just walk out. No words, nothing. Just leave. Because your words won't matter.


Rule #6: Past actions ARE the best indicator for future behavior.


Rule #7: Trust your instincts. If they say you're being lied to, you probably are.


Rule #8: Do harm to none. But do not let them harm you either.


Rule #9: A contingency plan is a good thing to have. If you don't have one already for the major aspects of your life, start planning.

Rule #10: Speak your mind. But use tact. Being a jerk will get you nowhere, and if it DOES, then you should reconsider the people in your life.

Rule #11: NEVER let someone treat you like you're inferior. If they feel the need to do so, show them the error of their ways. If they don't listen, remove them from your life.

Rule #12: Set your boundaries. Guard them. Do not let anyone breach them.

Rule #13: Bottle your emotions and you will regret it. It will take a toil on your mind, body, and soul. And eventually it will become too much and you WILL explode. When you do, it will be ugly. Try to avoid such a situation.

Rule #14: Never hide an injury...even the ones no one can see. Especially the ones that are unseen.

Rule #15: If you are lying, expect to be lied to.

Rule #16: Always expect the worst, that way no matter what happens you'll be prepared.

Rule #17: People will be cruel. If you start to believe them, find a professional and trust them to tell you the truth, or go to the people who love you, they won't lie to you or for you. Because people are cruel for more reasons then there are life under the sun.

Rule #18: Be strong enough to support yourself. You will never be 'completed' by another person. Work every day to LOVE and ACCEPT yourself.

Rule #19: Your friends should be of the HIGHEST caliber. You will be judged by the people you call your friends. If you surround yourself by people as smart, and smarter then you, you will always be learning.

Rule #20: Always be willing to try things that will heal, or better you.

Rule #21: Embrace your responsibilities. Find joy in all aspects of your life.

Rule #22: Never abandon someone. Hold yourself to honor and integrity, bring courage into your life in all aspects.

Rule #23: Find healthy ways to release your anger, your rage, your sorrow, your fear, your pain.

Rule #24: If you betray someone, expect the worst karma. You will never be trusted again.

Rule #25: If you can't share the spotlight, then be ready to be alone...

Rule #26: To not bend is to break. To not meet half way is to say you're better then other. To say that is to be a bastard. You then deserve to get punched.

Rule #27: The world is violent, humans are violent. To pretend to be totally civilized is to deny the most primitive part of us. But to do violence to another is the epitome of wrong.

Rule #28: Do not be afraid, or too proud, to ask for help.

Rule #29: Family comes first. Love comes first. To balance these things is hard, but you must do so.

Rule #30: Demand happiness. Do not settle for less.

Rule #31: EXPRESS YOURSELF. Be who you are.

Rule #32: Always have goals. Make plans, don't just dream. But dream. Dream big.

Rule #33: Lean about yourself. Learn about the people in your life. If that means research, then do so. Go the distance.

Rule #34: When you LISTEN, listen with your soul as well. When you SPEAK, speak with your whole body. When you LOVE, love completely.

Rule #35: Find beauty everywhere. Because there is so much ugliness and there is so much cruelty and it could break you if you let it. So find beauty, surround yourself with it.

Rule #36: Love. LOVE! Love love love. Love unconditionally.

Rule #37: Cultivate patience! It is indispensable.

Rule #38: Acceptance and tolerance. Accept yourself, accept those around you. That which you do not agree with tolerate. Obviously this has boundaries. Do not accept or tolerate abuse, neglect, murder, things that are WRONG. Those you should NOT accept. I state this so as not to be used as an excuse.

Rule #39: Man up to your mistakes. Own your faults, own your weaknesses, know yourself and don't back down from the truth. If you mess up, admit it, apologize, work not to do it again.

Rule #40: If the people in your life do not love and accept and support you when you're at your worst in life, they don't deserve you at your best. This is the absolute truth.



That is all for now. As I discover more, I will add them.

Of all the things I miss the most, I miss the ability to run away

Of all the things in the world I wish I had, I wish I had the ability to walk away and not look back. To leave without pain. To cut ties and feel no remorse.

Aside from that I wish I had a shoulder to cry on, an arm to support me, an ear to listen, and the reassurance, that I am safe.

The Borderline is so hard to manage alone. And that is the worst thing. For all that I fear abandonment, it doesn't matter because I already am alone. I am alone in a way that no one else I know is.

Often I feel isolated, unwanted, alone. I feel lost, and unappreciated and hurt.

And how not? How am I supposed to feel when people forget, or don't care or just allow me to face this alone? How does one fight an army when they are a single person? I know we're supposed to face our demons and fight them, but do we have to do it alone?


My words are stolen from me, my feelings are not validated, my needs are not met. (Please take me away from here.)

I don't want to be this person anymore. I'd like to fall asleep and never wake up. I wish I could change. I wish I had the courage to be anyone other then who I am.

Grant me one wish, and let me forget everyone I've ever known. Let me step into the shoes of someone else.

Because I have faith. In those precious few who have never broken my heart, or shattered my soul. I have faith that they'd always find me. Because they can hear my pack song, and they will always respond. But I'm broken, and my pack song is lonely now. I'm drained of all my color, all the life is bleeding out of me in solitary tears.

I don't care if people think this is just the Borderline. The worst part of BPD is that we tend to attract some of the shittiest people into our lives. We attract the users and abusers and the skeezy jerks who take advantage of a good thing and drain it until it has no choice but to be tainted.

And that's me, now. I'm so drained, my defenses are so low that I don't have a choice anymore. I'm becoming cruel inside, the bitterness is like a decay.

"Love doesn't die a natural death. Love has to be killed, either by neglect or narcissism. Those guilty of these two crimes of the heart always hide behind excuses convenient; too ashamed, lacking in integrity and courage to face the truth. To them, it is always something other than their own actions, desires and self-importance that dictate circumstances. For these people, so blind to truth, true love can never be fully experienced for they have never really given of themselves all that they are."

I know there is at least one person who would say this pertains to me as well...But I know in my heart of hearts, and in the haven of those who do love me, who love me too well to lie to me to pad my ego...that I'm not guilty of this crime.

My crime is that I am insane. I do the same thing over and over again, praying for different results, and being broken when they don't come to be.

So here I am, trying to open my eyes and gather the courage to do what I need to do, no matter the consequences.

Borderline Personality Disorder Awareness

Oh the irony. So May is BPD awareness month. May is also my birth month. I do have some tiny amusement over this.

Anyway, right now I'm working on getting people in my life to help me end the stigma. I'm trying to figure out who all will buy a bracelet, and then once everyone numbers in, I'm going to order bracelets.

I can't find premade ones anywhere anymore, so now I'm going to do it myself.

After all, this is my life. I don't really have a choice in it and I know it's had a negative impact on the people in my life. So maybe if we can all raise awareness then perhaps we can end the stigma, end the fear, and bring about more healing.

Education, I think, is the best way to spread compassion and understanding.

How can I expect people to know and understand me and my issues if I don't do the work to get it out there?

I guess that is my biggest thing. No one is going to know what's what if I don't get the tools for them to learn.

I mean, sure, in an ideal world if you hear someone you love has an issue you'd go out and learn everything you can and become the biggest advocate EVER.

But I'm not an idealist. I know better. I know people have their own issues as well. So if I want them to know, to understand, then I gotta give them the building blocks to do something about it.

So here I am.

Working on those building blocks, working on spreading understanding, compassion, knowledge and ending the stigma.

I want the next girl or boy like me to not have to explain to everyone what BPD is, I want therapists to not be afraid of revealing the diagnosis, I want BPD to have the same reach as Bipolar. So that when a BPDer gets into a relationship and admits to their illness, they don't have to deal with the same shame and humiliation I had to when the only reaction I got was a blank face.

I want there to at least be a passing recognition.

Because this isn't going away.

We have to do something about it.

So here I am...and I hope you'll be here with me too.

The only thing between you and me is the wall I jealously guard

The last couple of days have been a curious series of events. And I'm not sure how to feel about any of it. Actually, that isn't even true. I know how I felt.

I've been swinging violently from the highest of highs, to the most absurd rages. Just total anger for no real reason. There isn't a real reason for it, things are actually going fairly well in my life.

I've recently hooked up with an old childhood friend, Mat and I have been arguing very little, I've been doing people's hair, I've been out and active fairly regularly.

But maybe this is the problem. Maybe it's that I've stepped too far away from where I'm used to residing.

I was going to make today's blog entry about makeup and clothes. About the different masks and armor I have worn to protect me from the people who surround me. And I think I'll touch on that.

So here's the thing...I've always been different. I've been everything from a drama queen to a quiet lurker. And in school I had a very small group of people who stuck by my side, for the most part I was disliked, treated with disdain. Treated like a carrier of the plague. I've always been different and awkward. For many reasons.

First of all, in my childhood my family were Jehovah's Witnesses. And let me tell you, being raised in the equivalent of a cult (especially in a small town in the Midwest) is one hell of a way to turn a kid into an outcast.

But on top of that, I'd been home-schooled until I was of 5th grade age, but stayed behind a year because I just didn't get everything, and my social skills were lacking.

And the crowning sign that screamed 'DIFFERENT!' was that I behaved differently, I expressed myself differently.

My teenage years were hell. Picked on, teased, bullied, attacked, ostracized, and spoken down to... Ignored, unwanted. You bet.

I wasn't ever asked to go to parties, go to dances, or even to dance when I went. I wasn't asked out by people. The few boyfriends I had between middle school were guys I asked out, and its an embarrassingly small number.

So, when the actual outcast thing started to kick in, I suited up every day in my 'armor'. First it was the goth clothing.

A slouchy looking set of bondage pants (almost always in black), some sassy, dark t-shirt (occasionally a tank top or long sleeve), huge hoodies, and either massive boots or skater shoes. To be fair, occasionally I woke massive, angry looking boy-styled bondage pants too. Always full of chains and straps.

Then I discovered the jewelery. Angry looking leather bracelets, rings on multiple fingers, chokers and chunky necklaces.

My hair was dyed every color under the sun, each other more outrageous then the last. And I almost always wore it down, unless my depression got so bad that I let my hygiene slipped and I was gross. Then it was yay pony tail.

When I wore makeup it was either elaborate and uncanny looking, or it was smudged darkness around my eyes, and a pale glow to my skin, with too dark lips.

With my headphones on my head and a dark backpack low on my back, a sullen and almost violent look brewing on my features, and an angry gait you've got me in highschool.

I wasn't happy, I was bullied and treated like shit. But I lashed back out at the people who called me names. For every time I was called I freak, I yelled out that they were sheep. For every time I was called a bitch, I sneered out that they were pathetic. They'd get in my face, and I'd get right back in theirs. I wasn't gonna take it laying down, after all. Plus, it was a good way to take out some anger.

I recall in my freshman year, some senior got right into my face and called me something. I didn't hear it, but I heard the tone, the one they used for every time I got called bitch, slut, freak, fat, ugly, stupid, cunt, whore... And I stepped toe to toe with him, and told him, in no uncertain terms, that his life meant nothing to me, and if he died a horrific death, I wouldn't even laugh because he was worth so little to me, I doubt I'd acknowledge his demise. His face drained of blood. And I walked away.

But under all that anger at their treatment, I believed them. And that was why I was so angry, why I'm still angry. Because I can't look at my body and not feel let down, and even disgusted. I am frequently heard saying that I'm better looking with my clothes on.

After those years, I believed I was ugly, fat, stupid, unwanted, horrible, and even that I was a tease.

And this isn't okay. Because to be totally honest, there is very little that can convince me otherwise. On my best days, when I see myself all I think is, "Well, I'm not ugly."

Here's a Youtube Vid I found...I think it's very powerful. It brought me to tears when I watched it because...I got it.


But now...

Time to SWITCH directions!

So even though things have been going well, there have been a number of anger outbursts, and I'm so exhausted.

See here's the thing...when I have a bad spell, though it sucks, it's actually fairly mellow...I've got a long period of time when I feel like shit and I hate life...but it's consistent.

When life is good, I have more anger outbursts, and I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, so when it does...I'm devastated.

I'm so fucking tired. So tired and just wrung out that I almost cut today. For the first time in AGES....

I'm holding it off. Hopefully I can until the desire passes, or until something distracts me, but here I am. Another fucking battle.

And even though tonight I will fall asleep, I'll wake up to the same fucking battle tomorrow.

I'm so tired.

I should go try to sleep. It's like 3 in the morning.

That which yields is not always weak.

There exists a series of books, by Jacqueline Carey, that speak to me very deeply. And I think that a number of aspects would speak to all of us who live with Borderline Personality Disorder. I also think it would speak to most all of humanity, on some level or another.

Those who know me know that I have a great capacity for love. They also know that I am capable of great forgiveness. I feel as if they go hand in hand. I feel like you can't have one without the other.

In the Kushiel's Legacy series the main characters are often those who are capable of great emotions. Great love, deep hate, huge forgiveness, massive heroism. Which, if you've ever known a Borderliner, is often the case in my life. Because we can't moderate our emotions, we live from one nerve sizzling intense emotion to the next. Flipping swiftly from adoration to loathing almost effortlessly, and in an impossibly short amount of time.

"When Love cast me out, it was Cruelty who took pity upon me" - Phèdre nó Delaunay (Kushiel's Dart)

Isn't that just the case of it all, for us? To feel cast out by all that is good, and for cruelty itself to have taken you in? To find a sort of pleasure in the pain we inflict on ourselves, on the pain inflicted upon us by others. We become pain-bearers. Capable of bearing the excess pain of the world, and offering up forgiveness unconditionally.

The sacred precept of these books, the foundation of the entire tapestry is so simple, so elegant, so very, very hard. "Love as thou wilt."

When I read that line for the first time, my heart chords were plucked into life. Yes. That is the mantra of my life. Love.

And even still these books said the things that lived in my heart that I could not put words to.

"Let the warriors clamor after gods of blood and thunder; love is hard, harder than steel and thrice as cruel. "

If war and conflict were to walk away from me, I would smile. If love were to leave, I would be felled.

And now the quote that shook my foundation to the bits.

"We are all these things [...]. Pride, desire, compassion, cleverness, belligerence, fruitfulness, loyalty...and guilt. But above it all stands love. And if we desire to be more than human, that is the star by which we must set our sights. "

These emotions control our lives, and for those of us with borderline, it's even more complex, more intense. We cannot cut these emotions away from ourselves, because we *ARE* these emotions. I am a creature of emotion, flighty, whimsical, child-like.

But love. That is so hard for us to bear.

If I can guide myself by the star of love then I am less lost to the maelstrom of my emotions.

This is how I choose to deal with my disorder.

Because though I bend, though I may yield, I do not break, and I am not weak.

And if you can find it in your heart to love me, I will always be greatful

The one thing I can't get over is the capacity for love that my fellow humans have. I realize that not everyone is going to understand, or be willing to accept me and all my faults and flaws and issues. And I'm okay with that. But for those of you who do...Those of you who read this and you feel your hearts swell a little bit with pride, respect, admiration or love....That means the world to me.

The constant terror and heartache that I live in, it's enough to drive a saint to suicide, but the love I get returned to me is so wonderful.

Today is the 4th of July and I've been thinking about a number of things, including, but not limited to, the people I've been blessed, and cursed, with.

On the one side, I have wonderful people who can look at me, broken pieces and all, and find something beautiful and worth loving. The ones who see all the twisted parts, the shattered bits, the darkness and complications and they're so tender and forgiving with me. They just allow me to be who I am and they don't expect anything from me. Nothing except what I have to offer. And that simple acceptance is the most amazing gift.

On the other hand, I've been cursed with those who judge, condemn and expect me to just 'make it go away', 'make it stop' or to even just 'turn it off' as if any of those options are available to me. Trust you me, if I could, for even an hour, be something other then what I am, to be able to make the Borderline go away, I would. No questions asked. Because I would love to experience life without all the stings attached, without all the fall backs, and tricks and traps.

So to those of you who allow me the freedom of just being me, no strings attached...Thank you. You're the reason I'm doing this, to allow you to come inside my mind, my soul, my life and see the world through my eyes.

Without you, I would no be.

Because without you, I would have no reason to be.

"You're happy?" "Yes! Can't you tell? I haven't threatened to hurt anyone in weeks!"

So I mentioned rage, earlier, right? I mentioned how it's much like a cornered beast that is almost impossible to control.

Well here's the thing, we all gotta find out how to bleed off bits of it so when we let it out to full it's teeth, no one's going to actually get hurt.

I do that through threats, and the occasionally brain-movie of some serious ass kicking.

For example: My boyfriend and I goof around a lot. I mean a serious ton. And when he's a brat I threaten to punch him, or something...and I'd never actually hurt him, but just saying it bleeds off a bit of the rage. It may only be a tiny drop that's gone, but it helps. So I joke, and threaten and visualize all the things I would do if I had things to attack that couldn't be hurt.

I don't want to be a bad person, I don't ever want to hurt someone. But I have.


One time, Mat and I got into a fight so bad that I lost control. The rage actually broke out, and I blacked out. In that time, I pushed him, bit him, tried to knee him in the balls, and tried to head butt him. Because I was that lost to the rage. When he told me about it a few days later I not only didn't remember my actions, but I was stuck by the actual similarities between me in that moment and an animal that's been cornered.

I'm not proud of that moment, and thankfully Mat didn't hold it against me for long. Because he realized that when I'm me and in control, I'm not a mean, or violent person. When the Borderline managed to break down my defenses and I lose control, I'm only responding in the actual natural instincts. He had been restraining me, and like a wild thing, I fought back with tooth and nail and screamed bloody murder at him.

It's so fucking terrifying. To have this wild thing trapped inside my skin, this thing that could, at any given time, break through all the carefully constructed defenses to break out into the real world and lash out at anyone who is unfortunate enough to be within range. I don't wanna live that way, but I don't have much of a choice.

So instead, in order to keep from being an actually violent person, I issue threats. Which enforce the idea that I *AM* violent. Which I don't like because I don't want to be that person.

It creates a horrible situation that I just have to deal with.

On the plus side, it does give people a good idea as to how stressed out I am. The happier and more relaxed I am, the less threats I issue. The more stressed out, upset, distressed or angry I am, the more times I suggest violence.

Thankfully, since my childhood, I've managed to gain an impressive iron hold on my temper. In the past 4 years (the time I've been dating Mat) I've properly lost my temper twice. I've been angry loads of times, sure. But thats just a fairly socially acceptable angry. But lost my temper, and really been a force of horrifying nature? 2 times in 4 years is pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. And I've never actually hurt someone since my childhood. (And when I say childhood, I mean before pre-double digits.)

And I do say so, by the way.

Because it's hard work to keep it in check. Someone calls me a name and I want to break their nose, they look at me like a sex object and I want to punch them in the throat, they managed to piss me off and the whole stabbing or choking thing seems pretty attractive.

And to keep that away from everyone, to manage to go through my days without actually acting on that rage is impressive.

But I'll never stop working on it, I will never not be working to the bone to tame that rage, to turn it into something else, to keep bleeding it off so that I can function like a normal person. So that I will never, ever hurt someone.

Sanctuary, my sanctuary

Do you ever wonder about that word? Sanctuary.

I realize that the original connotations are religious, but if you go down a few notches, it means a place of refuge.

They are few and far between for those of us who're chased by our demons. Because we're not safe in our own minds, we're not safe in our own skin. So where are we afford that oh so precious sanctuary?

In you.

Obviously it's different for everyone, and we can each have a couple places. For example: When I don't know what else to do, I read. When my grief is so intense that I can't make my mind accept the words, I'll watch Supernatural. No really.

But most of all, the one place I can turn to to allow me refuge, is you. Friends, family, random people who'll just sit and talk with me. Because they're so REAL. They're real when I am not. They're who they are no matter what, and I study it. I look to see how all the pieces fit together, so that I can be like that too.

So that one day I will be a real girl, with all my pieces bound together in one single entity. I want to draw in all the different Ana-things and make them into one person. One person who is everything and everyone she needs to me. An Ana who is a daughter, sister, friend, auntie de facto, girlfriend and herself all together. Instead of these shifts from one to another to another. Because sometimes when I'm one, I forget how to be anything else.

And I hate that. I wanna be able to be two, or three, four or all five all at once.

Sooner or later I'm going to have to be.

I mean someday I plan on having a wedding, a marriage, a family...And then all of my parts will have to come into play every single day.

It's why I spend so much time alone. Because switching back and forth between my different selves is a lot of work. And it's exhausting. And I get overwhelmed and freak out a little bit.

So I try so very hard to just be one at a time. And once I have that mastered I'm going to keep moving on, until one day all the different parts of me can exist together in the refuge of my own skin.

Because it's my dearest hope that someday, someday I will be all of me. A me that can live, love, laugh and just BE.

It's why I occasionally look at my phone like it's the spawn of a demon.

Because some days, I can't be anyone. And I just have to figure out that I exist at all.

If I pretend to be strong, will you see the flaws?

The Science of Borderline:
As understood by me.


This may seem a bit muddled, but I’ll start out with stolen words that’ll help me clarify.


The DSM-IV lists the criteria for Borderline Personality Disorder as follows:

Disturbed Identity:
1. Identity disturbance; self-image or sense of self is persistently and markedly disturbed, distorted or unstable.
2. Chronic feelings of emptiness.
3. Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment.

Disturbed Mood:
4. Emotional instability due to a marked reactivity of mood. Intense depressed episodes, irrationality or anxiety usually lasting a few hours, rarely more then a few days.
5. A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships, characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation.
6. Inappropriate, intense anger or lack of control of anger, e.g.
Frequent displays of temper.
Constant anger
Recurrent physical fights

Disturbed Perception:
7. Transient, stress-related paranoid ideations (feelings of persecution) or severe dissociative symptoms (discontinuity of experience)

Disturbed Behavior:
8. Impulsiveness in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging:
Spending
Sex
Substance abuse
Reckless driving
Binge eating
9. Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats
Self-mutilating behavior.


To try to explain these as one would if they came from a medical background is obviously impossible. But I can offer to you my own personal understanding of what it means to live within this very grim outline. A view from the eye of the storm, so to speak.
I’ll break it up into groups so you can take a breath in between.










Disturbed Identity:
To literally not know who you are. It's like being 5, almost. ‘Today I am Tinkerbell, tomorrow I shall be Alice, and then I will be someone new entirely.’ Its like that with everything, including trying to find an occupation. I went through 5 months of cosmetology school, only to withdraw, look into dance therapy and change my mind again. Now I’m thinking about looking into modeling for art classes, or maybe working at a sex shop. Socially its very much the same. Depending on the group of friends depends on who I am and what mores I adhere myself to.

Oh the fear of abandonment. The most eloquently put description of that fear was in the book "Stop walking on eggshells" by Paul Mason and Randi Kreger. "Imagine the terror that you would feel if you were a 7-year-old, lost and alone in the middle of Times Square in New York City. Your mom was there a second ago, holding your hand. Suddenly the crowd swept her away and you can't see her anymore. You look around frantically, trying to find her. Menacing strangers glare back at you.... This is how people with BPD feel nearly all the time.”

We’ll do anything to avoid that fear. Then it becomes ’I-Hate-You-Don’t-Leave-Me’. We’re so angry because we know you’re going to leave us, and we’re so desperate because we can’t stand the thought of you leaving. We’ll do anything to stop you. Threaten suicide to make you stay with us, even though part of us knows it’s only out of concern. We’ll change who we are on the surface, we’ll beg and plead, scream and yell. I myself have done things I never would have, if I weren’t driven by the fear. I’ve done drugs that I hate, I’ve said things I don’t mean, I’ve behaved in ways that made me sick, all because it looked like the only thing to keep me from feeling that pain of being abandoned. And even while we do this, we’ve already decided you’re going to leave, and so we withdraw, back into our marble prison, protecting ourselves from the pain we know is coming.

The thing of it is, though, we’re so afraid of the loss of people because it’s all the people in our lives who make up who we are. For me, I feel like I am who I surround myself with. If I lose someone, to circumstance, or death or whatever…I lose me. Suddenly I have no idea who I am anymore. I am my parents daughter, my brother‘s sister, my boyfriend‘s girlfriend, my friend‘s friend…And all of these Ana-selves need to exist for me to be stable. If I lose part of that, who do I become? If I’m not a daughter, what am I? If I’m not a sister, who am I? If these friends aren’t my friends, then what became of me? It’s a very tedious, terrifying way to live. If I am not a part of someone else, then I do not exist, I’m not real. I become a nobody, a nothing, an absent part of a picture. And that is a horrifying feeling. Even writing about it, and looking at some old journal entries of mine I feel that panic, the one that I know so well, creeping up my spine and spreading through my skin.

And I hate it. I hate being who I am. And I know, just like you, all you want is for it to stop. It’s like the worst ride ever that you can’t get off. I hate this up and down, left and right, never knowing who I am, what I want, what I need. I hate needing people so badly that without them I am reduced to something that only knows how to be in pain. I’m always asking myself, “Who am I anymore?” This body I live in, its not even mine. It’s a shell, because the real Ana is a lie…A mirage. A fake reality. It’s a lie, twisting, changing, shifting to be what you want it to be. I just want to be one person. And I want Ana to be Ana, to belong to me and not your. Not to be yours. Not hers. Not his. Not theirs. I just want to be my own person. I just want to be myself., and to know, without question that no matter what happens I will be me, and that can’t be changed by who is in my life, and who is not.

But we don’t quite get that, do we?

It all ties together in a neat little bow (only nothing about it is neat, it’s messy and violent and horrible and terrifying) when you look at it all together. I don’t know who I am, so I am who you make me. If you’re not there to make me who I am then I’m not there at all. I am empty. I am nothing

The saddest part of it all, though, is that so very often we create our own abandonment with the shifts in the relationships as well as the unavoidable underlying sense of self-hate. And then there is the emptiness.

I am going to try to explain the emptiness that we feel chronically. But how do I aptly describe that inner hollowness? If you've never felt it, then no words you read here will ever be adequate to give shape to that state of being. If you have felt it, then I have said more then enough already. But I will try, for those lucky enough to have no such knowledge.

Its like a gnawing black hole in the center of your soul, ragged edges aching bitterly. It is the feeling of dying slowly in your own skin. Decaying your soul until it is brittle and lifeless. The terror is unimaginable. Like being buried alive, totally deprived of all your senses. Severed from yourself, your body, your own life. The lines of your existence blurring into nothingness and you seep into the black hole, forever separate, caged...crushed. Gone. You writhe in unspeakable torment, your body wracked with each soul shaking sob that you needn’t even cry, because you can‘t. You try to cry, but you are trapped in the prison of your own emptiness. Your chest constricts and your heart feels squeezed painfully, as if at any moment you’ll suffer dire consequences and you’ll die a horrible death.

Only the death never comes. Nothing ever comes. Time means nothing as it stretches on into forever and there is no forward or backward, nothing to mark the time or let you know that you’ve felt differently, that you’re still something real. There is nothing. It’s like infinite space has consumed you, eaten you whole and as you’re trapped, trying to scream, in this cold, dark, painful hole you struggle to find something, anything that is different. Because the nothingness, this harrowing, hollowing out emptiness drives you to the utter brink of insanity. You become the true definition of lost.

I would compare it to being hopeless, but it’s beyond that. You don’t even know what hope is. To be hopeless, at least you can remember. You know that it exist… But in this emptiness, you’ve never felt anything like hope. It’s a nonsense word. It means nothing to you. The black hole that lives where your core used to be is sucking away all the memories and remnants of happiness until there is nothing but a rotting, festering decay that eats away all the goodness, all the light all the beauty of a soul that’s destroyed, leaving behind only unspeakable pain that no number of tears can ever soothe.

You’ll spend hours clutching at your center, trying to hold yourself together lest you fly apart and you lose all the delicate pieces that make up the fragile person you are. But it doesn’t matter, no one can see the cracks that spider web their way across every inch of you, no one sees the last of your humanity, the last of your ability to love seeping away from these small fissures in your soul. The emptiness is unrelenting as it carves you out until you’re nothing but a living doll. Hollow of everything that makes you human. An empty husk that retains enough muscle memory to make the lips smile, the vocal chords vibrate to create words and laughter. There will be just enough to trick people into thinking you’re alive when really you’re long since dead. The decay just hasn’t touched your skin yet.

There is no heart left to beat beneath the breast, no stomach left to take the bullshit that people seem to come up with. No lungs to breathe, just a hole that lets the wind rush through in a permanent exhalation. No soul left to tear apart, no spirit left to put truth behind the jokes and smiles. The eyes, those little doorways into the soul, will only lead you deep into the black hole that makes up this living-dead girl

Eventually you’re standing alone in the darkness, and all you want to do is end the pain. You don’t care how you do it, you don’t care who sees and who finds you. You’ve lost every ounce of heart, you’re not even human now, you’re half stone. The things like joy and love and tenderness are gone, replaced by unfeeling, uncaring stone.

To be touched by that emptiness is to have the death mark burned deep into the soul, forever changing the one marked by it.





Disturbed Mood:
The mood swings! Oh lord. The moods are intense and they come on like a monsoon. It is utterly exhausting. In the space of mere hours I have experienced the entire spectrum of human emotions. Shooting up and down at impossible speeds. Going from gleeful to suicidal in mere moments.

I’m sure you know as well as I do what it feels like to ride the highest highs, and crash to the lowest lows. And I’m sure it’s happened in fairly quick succession before at some point. Now if you can recall how harrowing and exhausting that was, pull that to the front of your mind and imagine if that were the case monthly, weekly, sometimes even daily. There are parts of it I don’t mind. It means that sometimes I can be dragged out of depression to carefree joy, but the dark side of it means that my good days can be dashed against the rocks as easily as causing a ripple in a pond.

Part of it is the lack of ability to maintain relationships. See, I guess the way I work is really different, and not in a good way. There will be an intense response to someone, some sort of idealization. And that high will last for awhile, a sort of hero-worship. But then something shifts. They do something, say something, forget something and it crashes down around the both of us. Suddenly they’re human, and imperfect and fallible and it causes a devaluation of them in my mind. I can only imagine how frustrating it is for them, but I know how it is for me. Because I hate the swings between black and white, good and evil, right and wrong. Friend and foe. Love and hate. This is called splitting. It’s a double edged sword. It serves a real purpose. In cases of abuse, for example. Let’s say there is a kid who is getting beat by the caretaker. But there are other times the caretaker is loving and caring. Splitting allows the brain to separate the two. There is the wonderful, loving, wholly good caretaker, and the evil, wicked one who is in no way attached to the good. Two totally differing beings.

Like the ‘I-Hate-You-Don’t-Leave-Me’ I touched on earlier. If you think about that statement in two parts, it’s like it was meant for two different people. I hate you. Don’t leave me. I hate the devalued part of you, because you make mistakes, you hurt me, you let me down (never mind the fact my expectations are nearly impossible to meet) and therefore I don’t like you anymore. But you’re now part of my life, and therefore you’re part of my identity. If you leave, I am disrupted. So I need you to stay. It’s a very complex web we weave, those of us who are BPD. We cannot escape our own entanglement.

I want to touch on rage here. Because that’s one of the things that people have the hardest time understanding. What was an annoyance for them resulted in a massive melt down for me. Its not anger, keep that in mind. It is rage. It is so unlike anger. Anger can adapt, it can be productive. Anger can be a tool. But not this rage. It is desperate, out of control. This rage is the type of thing that knows no words. Like a cornered beast, fighting for it’s life, uncaring to any damage it does to itself or the surroundings. It’s like a poison that swiftly boils through the body, destroying all that is good. It is a forest fire, a hurricane, a monsoon. It is unstoppable, unreasonable, it is like a force of nature that is trying to reside in fragile skin.

It’s unrelenting, it is unforgiving, it is uncaring. It will rip through me when I least expect it, when I don’t know what else to do. And it will over take me. I find myself burning in the flame of my own rage, hating everything. If I could harness the power of this rage and turn it towards something, I would be an unstoppable force of nature. But as it is, I live in chaos, waiting for the next time the tiger breaks loose and wreaks havoc on the world around me.



Disturbed Perception:
Oh the things stress can trigger in those of us who are Borderline. It’s so baffling. The two most frequent responses to stress are paranoia, the second is dissociation. This type of paranoia has no positive aspect to it. It’s nothing useful or even tolerable. It’s the type that tells you that everyone is plotting sinister things behind your back, and that you’re a horrible human being, one that doesn’t matter to anyone which is why they’re planning terrible things against you. When daily life gets too stressful, I find myself in a panic because I know without a doubt that I am alone in this world. That no one cares about me, that everyone is out to get me because I am a horrible, wretched human being. I find my self suspicious of everyone around me. I don’t trust anyone. No one is safe from these delusions. My mind finds things like lies or inaccuracies in everything people say, what they do. It will boil over with wild stories of what people are saying behind my back.

Often I find myself having to seek out reassurance. No, I’m not being cheated on, no my friends don’t hate me, no one important is out to get me, not everyone hates me, I’m really not all that bad of a person. It will be okay. I’m going to be fine.

It’s led me to do some horrible things. From sneaking in to people’s private belongings, to eavesdropping. Thankfully this is something I’ve gotten some control over. Its no longer an uncontrollable compulsion. Now its just a desire that I can almost always quash. Of course, whenever someone does something that might be considered an intentional slight to me, I find myself struggling with these issues all the more.

When the stress doesn’t trigger paranoia, it triggers the dissociation. We mentioned this very briefly earlier. But I’d like the chance to explain a few more things relating to my own personal brand of dissociation. As I said before, there are a few different levels of dissociation. When I “go away” into the womb of my soul, when I remember nothing, there is more then one set of traits that surface. Traits that are most assuredly not filtered through the personality of Ana. They’re almost like the distilled essence. Pure sexuality. Pure innocence. Pure rage. Pure joy. Pure cruelty. Pure tolerance. Pure violence. When all that is Ana goes away, the others come out to play. In all my reading and all the people I’ve spoken with I’ve found a few things.
1) This is called a multiplicity.
2) Most people with BPD don’t have one.
3) My unique blend of the two makes it a little bit like Dissociative Identity Disorder.
(And something I might touch on later. Not now though.)
It all boils down to a whole different set of problems that I get to deal with. But what I do share in common with everyone else is the loss of time, location, awareness and even my identity. What little of it I have.


Disturbed Behavior:
This is the one that people find to be the most controversial. And the hardest in some ways to accurately diagnose. See, the stress, or even the emptiness that we feel, results in impulsive behaviors, that can sometimes be quite extreme. Could be drugs, sex, eating, spending, driving…Anything that could potentially be harmful. Personally my flavor of impulse was spending. I used to be a true believer in the whole “retail therapy” thing. If I was upset, I’d get my papa to buy me something. Clothes, music, books, a movie…Things like that.

When the emptiness set in I could be a huge tease. My personal flavor of trauma kept it from ever reaching actual sex, but I was probably the bane of a few high school boys, causing more then enough frustration to last a lifetime. It’s how kisses ended up basically being party favors to me. I could kiss anyone and not have it mean anything else other then something nice, or affectionate. I love kisses. Not the healthiest habit, but hey. It happened.

I popped my fair share of pills too. Mainly painkillers. Morphine was my weakness, it could get me every time. A few times I did speed, but I had to hit a huge number to get the effect cause of my ADHD. It’d even me out, and then I’d have to take even more then that to get the high I needed. I also went through phases of eating issues. From binging to starving. It was always an attempt to control, to fill the void that throbbed right beneath my heart.

And when those impulses weren’t enough, I would cut.
It was the ultimate release of overwhelming emotions, the most eloquent expression of self-loathing, the cleanest display of rage, the most sincere punishment for my crimes and sins, and the only dependable anchor when I was empty, when I was numb to my own heartbeat. It was a ritual of reliving painful memories that festered in my injured soul, it was a way to block out things that I didn’t want to confront, a way to shelter myself from emotions I didn’t want to feel. It was so beautifully addicting. It’s something I still fight with. My arm is threaded with a hectic pattern of white scars, some slightly raised, some dimpled. All tell a story of a moment when I could not exist outside my own pain. When it was so extreme I thought my only choices were to bleed or die from my heart ripping it’s way out of my body. And I always chose to bleed. Because it was so much sweeter then the pain that clawed its way through each fiber of my being, eating away at every atom of my existence.
Suicidal thoughts and feelings. The desire to be dead (but not necessarily to die, mind) was in response to the sheer number of life crises I had, and continue to have. Peer rejection and bullying always make it that much worse. It isn’t so much the actual desire to be dead, but the pressing need to be protected from the unrelenting pain. The constant code red, the unending state of crisis. When we cannot die, we wound. We cope. We respond like wolves, we just curl up and wait to die, or to live. Because we suffer. We hurt. Inside our own skin we are in perfect, distilled agony.

These four groups of symptoms. Notice how the key word here is ‘disturbed’? I told you, medical terms lack compassion. That is the best I can do to explain the symptoms. These symptoms I’ve lived with for almost my whole life. But it’s only been about six years since I found out that my life will consist of these irrational mood swings, uncontrollable rage, crushing depression, whimsical flitting from one thing to the next, the self-injury, the lack of identity, a skewed sense of self, unstable relationships and an emptiness that will never go away for good.
Six years of struggling to find myself, to link myself to my own past. Six years of fighting to make and maintain relationships with family, friends, and romantically. Six years of finding a path to follow and changing my mind abruptly when I fall out of love with whatever idea I just had. Six years of having to be ashamed of my own weakness as I admit to another bout of self-injury. Six years of violent rages and depression so crushing I can’t get out of bed, can’t make myself shower, can’t even make myself eat. Six years of hours missing, of memories people share with my body but not with me. Six years of days spent reacting out of paranoia.

It seems so long, but it’s only about a quarter of my life that has an explanation for the emptiness so deep, so dark, so huge that I cannot escape it. Because I don’t even know who I am. But with each day since my diagnosis at least I’ve had the knowledge to know that I can keep moving forward.

Borderline Personality Disorder: A personal revolution

Borderline Personality Disorder

My diagnosis

(WARNING! There are some aspects about this post, and probably this whole blog, that will be triggering and not totally appropriate for children. Just saying.)

Teenagers are supposed to see themselves as invincible, perfect, creatures of infinite possibilities. At 15 years old, I’d lived my life in total chaos. At 15 years old I was sat down by my therapist, Dr. Katherine Handcock, with my anxious parents next to me, to listen to the three words that explained my past and destroyed my hopes and dreams in one fell swoop.

Borderline Personality Disorder.

Everything else faded into the background at that moment, as Dr. Handcock explained to us what that diagnosis meant. And with that, my life shifted. We had to find a new therapist, a specialist. My mother bought books that she frantically read, trying to gain some insight and understanding of me, her marked and permanently damaged child. My world was forever changed.

I would never “get better.”

This fate was overwhelmingly horrific. I was the odd little ‘goth’ girl who had always wanted to be accepted widely, if not universally. I wanted to be embraced for ideals, ideas, and thoughts that were unique. The one thing that can be said for me was that I was an odd little child, filled to the brim with thoughts of life as one might expect from Faerie, or Neverland, filled with universal love, adventures, the ability to be who you wanted to be that day, and someone else the next. I didn’t want to be pinned down by who I was. What I craved was the ability to glamour myself into someone new, whenever it was I felt like it. I wanted my whimsical nature and plans to be encouraged. All of that, I found out quickly, are common parts of Borderline. In fact, everything I had ever done wasn’t really me, it was a symptom of my mental disease.

Talk about a blow to an already fragile sense of identity, not to mention sense of originality. It seemed to me that I wasn’t a unique human being anymore, I was now part of a collective. I was part of a ‘terminal’ mental illness. Those first few months of specialized therapy with Dr. Sarah Marsh were the worst of my life.

Homework and books. Hours spent reading, writing, and looking into the reasons for my behavior. Everything about me that was different was swiftly explained to me in medical terms. If you aren’t already aware, medical terminology isn’t very compassionate. Personally, I feel like those formative years are, by far, the worst time to learn of something so world shattering. It wasn’t long before I was positive that whoever I had been no longer existed and, in fact, had never been real at all. It was as though I was a badly written character in a terrible story.

Everything gained a new, harsh face. My ritual of release, of taking the invisible emotional pain and making it physical, visible and ‘real’ had a new name, a title… ‘Self-Injury’, one of the cornerstone symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder. Even my behavior towards my own my family, my friends… Now called ‘splitting’ and ‘I-Hate-You-Don’t-Leave-Me.’ And strangest to my, then teenage, mind, the concept of ‘intense and unstable interpersonal relationships.” These words took all my intense pain and turmoil and turned it into a science project.

Living with BPD, no matter your age, is harrowing and painful and extremely frustrating, in ways that others will never quite get, just like we don‘t understand how it is that they exist the way they do. We have all the empathy in the world, when we‘re in our good phases, but we can‘t ever understand what it is to live without our pain and our confusion and our fear. But I also had to learn that most of us don’t get diagnosed until adulthood, which was unsettling. Finding out from someone who is still practically a stranger that it isn’t like seasonal depression, that doesn’t ever go away…that was utterly heart breaking.

It was explained to me, finally, in a way I could understand. “Most depression is like a cold, or the flu. It comes and foes, but you can get better from it with the right medication. And when it comes back it is inevitability something slightly different. It will never be exactly the same. But Borderline, or any personality disorder, is more like cancer. It manifests in different ways. Very rarely, and only with some types, will there be a ‘cure.’ Most only have treatments. It will never go away, it doesn’t get fixed. In fact you should expect to have relapses and that hospitalizations are likely. You will most likely be Borderline for the rest of your life.” And with that my entire world came to a careening stop. I’m still not sure if it has ever recovered from that blow.

Surviving the storm: Living with Borderline.


Borderline: The sliver of emptiness where I exist. It’s tucked away somewhere between the total chaos of true insanity and the relative stability of neurosis.

For those of you who are fortunate enough to exist outside of this spectrum allow me to explain this statement. True insanity is, as my mother would say, doing the same thing over and over again and honestly expecting different results, because you’re that disconnected from reality. You’re lost in a whirlwind of colors and noises and pictures you can’t quite see, and it drives you to absolute madness. I’m sure you’ve experienced something like that…a noise that’s just beyond hearing teasing you until you want to scream. And neurosis, on the other side, for all that there are quirks and oddity, generally means you will respond to treatment and that you can mostly function like non-quirky people. You have longer, more frequent lucid moments then the insane counterpart. And me? I live somewhere between the two. Always have.

My childhood seems to me as if it were a series of snapshot moments, punctuated by trauma, rage, and loneliness. I was constantly finding myself locked in combat with everyone around me, while battling with everything inside of me. I was waging a hopeless war against my own emotions, my very existence. My parents didn’t know what to do with me anymore then I knew what to do with myself.

Being diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder was both a blessing and a cure. My otherness could be quantified, but it also meant that I was, and am, irrevocably damaged. My world went from endless possibilities to a narrow path that I will struggle along for the rest of my life.
Before the diagnosis changed my world entirely, I had assumed that once I’d confronted all the demons and monsters from my terror-struck and abused childhood I’d be heavily scarred, but totally functional just like everyone else.

How does one grow when the environment is incompatible? How do you live in a world that was created to hinder you at ever turn? Or, to be totally fair, how am I supposed to live and grow in this world when it seems as though I was created to live in a different way, in a different world? In a way I can compare it to a fey forced to live in our world, unable to return to the splendor and beauty of Faerie. It’d be Tinkerbell, never able to return to Neverland, the land of her birth and creation. Emotions, all the responsibilities, relationships, all the human interactions we experience every day. The ones we require to find a sense of well being and happiness… To live in this world, I must first become a living lie.

The hardest part of living with BPD is the ever present battle within my own soul. It’s almost as though to live I must constantly die. We all know that to be human is to change. To be unchanging is to be dead. It’s one of our species most admirable traits, the ability to adapt, to change. But for me, as a Borderliner it seems less like evolution and more like forced mutation, or as if I were losing myself to nothingness.

While watching my peers, my friends and my family, I find that I feel so stupid. They know how to connect to the people, the world, around them. They know how to live! When I see how effortless it appears for them to create and maintain relationships and general human contact, I feel so dumb. No one had to teach them how to live, or how to function. But not me. I had to learn to be empty so that professionals could fill me up with lessons, I had to let them take my mind apart so they could rewire all my thought processes, my very instincts, my reactions. They had to teach me how to feel, to connect, to respond in the correct manner. They had to build firewalls, and stop-gates. Things to keep me from behaving as I would normally. Because normal for me is unhealthy for the rest of the world.
There are things I have to think about that some others never even have to consider. I have to always be on guard, wonder if I am responding in an acceptable fashion, check to see if my emotions are my own or if they’re imitations of the emotions of other people around me. I constantly have to question my motives, my rationality, the logic of my choices and reactions, and a thousand other details that crowd my mind to keep me and my BPD in check.

After long, hard years of therapy, I’ve learned to cope as best as I can. I’ve had to learn how to act around other people, how to ‘fit in’ to the best of my ability. But most of it is just a front. Borderliners are the greatest actors of all. We don’t always know how to feel, how to act, how to behave. So, even though nothing has changed under the surface, I can take my cues and perfectly mimic relationships, desirable traits, normalcy, you name it…for a time, anyway. I wish people could understand that, you know? That no matter how hard I fight with it, no matter how long a period of time it is that I seem normal, or that I’m just an average young woman, I’m not. I don’t know when it’ll go away again. I can’t tell you when next I’ll be plunged into darkness and fire and chaos. I can’t give you a timeline, because so very often I’m the last one to know. I can’t tell that it’s shifting so much of the time. My Borderline is part of me, to an extent it is me. To me it is as normal as breathing. It’s how I lived. It’s my reality.

But those facts escape people’s minds so easily. They forget that I am different. They forget that I have to struggle to find something, in each and every day, that links me to the yesterdays gone by. Something that connects me to a past I don’t feel like I’m actually part of. I can never have the luxury of forgetting, even for an instant, that I live in a free fall. Completely disconnected from everything that grounds most people. When I feel depressed I can’t remember what it is to be happy. When a rage comes on, I can’t imagine ever being calm again because I don’t even know that word anymore. And when I’m hurt, when I feel betrayed, I swear I will never again trust anyone because time will never heal those wounds. I cannot recall my past on a whim. I remember my life mainly as one would remember a movie from their childhood, something that is hazy, separate, not of them. The only time that ever really changes is when I’m triggered, for good or bad, by something. Then the associated memories are released into me like a drug, filling my mind, my blood, my soul in an all consuming rush, just long enough for me to realize that it is mine, that I am real, no dream-thing from some warped mind, that I have a history that extends behind me, but just like that it is locked back into the recesses of my mind that I have such trouble getting to.

It is so lonely. Living trapped in this isolated realm. Feeling like I’m not real. Like I am a compilation of emotions that make no sense. I am a creation of every emotion I have ever absorbed and projected back onto people. I am the mold of every hand that has ever touched me, I am every name I have ever been called, I am every persona that people have offered to me, I am every role I have been given to play. I am like a shadow. I do not exist without the combination of two separate entities. When I am alone, I cease to be real.

There are many things that make me so I don't exist. Dissociation is the most distressing. I work hard to maintain control, but when I dissociate from myself I truly am not real. I can't always remember
my own actions. To behave differently but have no memory of your own actions...I do my best not to shirk my responsibility of my actions, even if I don't remember them. But sometimes it strikes me as very
unfair. There are, of course, varying degrees to dissociation. A mild form that leaves me feeling like my head is twenty feet above my body, swaddled in cotton, attached only by a thread. Or the types that feel
rather like a realistic dream, and you can't be sure what is true, the type where you auto pilot. And then there is the type where hours pass and I have no idea where they've gone or what I've done.

This is my life. Every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every year.