The border line.

About a year ago now a psychiatrist with an irritating air of nonchalance asked me some intrusive questions and told me I fit almost all the criteria for emotionally unstable personality disorder. That phrase was a slap in the face and a kick in the gut and I left there feeling wounded and confused and insulted. I have no idea who thought that was a better name for it than borderline personality disorder, but I hope they get some awful karma for it.

I read a little about it and felt at ease. I read a lot more about it and it felt like home. I’ve not told anyone but my mum about it because that’s not really a label I want stamped across my forehead, but I’m getting used to it. I have some idea of when I’m falling now, instead of suddenly finding myself in a hole, and I can mitigate disaster a lot of the time, and I’ve been doing pretty damn well for most of the year.

But as anyone who knows anything about borderline knows, the problems are mostly in relationships with others, which I have largely avoided. I’m getting dangerously close to starting a relationship with someone and I am noticing old patterns coming back. He send me a text I can’t answer and I delete his number and turn off my phone. I never contact him first. He compliments me and I ignore it or make a joke of it. He gives me thoughtful gifts and I cry and laugh and display them and hide them and try very hard to resist the compelling urge to destroy them.

I’ve agreed to spend new year with him and I’m so anxious I’ve cleaned the walls and the doors and the floor and the drawers and my hands are cracked and bleeding from the chemicals and I’m still staring about the place trying to spot some other imperfection I can eradicate.

I’ve not told him I’m crazy yet. I’ve dreamed of his anger. I’ve dreamed of violent rejection so traumatic I’ve not slept properly since. How long can I pretend? Should I let him prepare for the storm? Or should I accept that I will destroy this, and probably him.

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Training wheels.

I have a letter from a psychiatrist stating that I am mentally stable. I laughed when I opened it, then hurtled down the stairs, waved it at my mum, and burst into tears in the kitchen.

I also have a letter for the same psychiatrist confirming a formal diagnosis of OCD. I’d been chasing one of those for years. I really wanted to be firmly stamped with that label, with the notion that maybe if I knew for sure what it was then I could stop it. Turns out it’s just three words on a sheet of paper, folded haphazardly by an assistant, and promptly lost upon receipt. The diagnosis just meant they recommended a medication that left me so nauseated I didn’t sleep for three days.

So. I have an anticlimactic diagnosis (and a few bonus ones), but I am mentally stable, and I have been completely unmedicated for three months. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still an anxious mess, but I’m a functional anxious mess who goes to work every day, answers messages occasionally, and finds joy in little things.

I’m writing this today following a few days of shaking and nausea and the odd bit of crying. Someone at work was ill and a friend was ill and I accidentally read an entire book in the garden today and my brain’s trying to convince me that I have sun stroke. I still have a long way to go. But six months ago even, this would have broken me.

 

Summer never looked so dark.

There’s a weird sort of restlessness that accompanies despair. It’s always at my lowest that I feel I have the most energy, and I refer to those times as my dangerous moods because complete, inconsolable misery in conjunction with a sudden burst of energy lands me in a very dangerous frame of mind where just about anything is possible.

I have spent the past few weeks drifting in and out of despair. Little Miss Relapse is still in full force and I’m genuinely worried this time. I have surrendered the keys to my mechanical steed, I have not been offended when my mum locks the car doors when I’m inside, and I have an appointment with my doctor next week.

 

Really struggling at the moment.

Not broken, just bent.

I am little miss relapse. I am a flurry of bad decisions and strange dreams and unfriendly internal organs. I took a full time job, just for a month, and tomorrow I have to ask if I can leave early because it is making me ill to the extent that I am once more not allowed to operate machinery.

I feel naff. I feel sad. I feel heavy. When the courage arises I shall call my doctor and ask for more help, but that is for some reason proving a pretty difficult thing to do.

Any words/.gifs of encouragement would be greatly appreciated at the moment!

Right. Update time!

I am still alive – we’re off to a good start – and barely hallucinating, I have acquired a job that actually pays me (I have no idea what I’m doing but it’s fiiiiiine…), I’ve gone out and done things and met people, and I have bought a pretty dress for no reason. I still have virtually no attention span but I’m coping with that well.

That’s life in a nutshell.

I’m doing well. I’ve been doing okay for a while, but I am finally doing well. I am good. I’m pretty great, actually! …says the person who is having to re-type most words due to shaking like a leaf on a windy day. But today’s shaky is caffeine related and not medication related OR brain related so it’s hardly even relevant!

So yeah.

I am doing really well, and it only took four months! 😀

I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell.

Three months in, and I appear to have reached the ’emotionless blob’ stage of antidepressants. The world around me is still wobbling and rippling, and someone’s turned the contrast way up. I feel weak. I feel faint – like I’m slowly vanishing, the way people do in films when they travel back in time and mess with their past and accidentally erase themselves. I have strong desires to do bad things and absolutely no desires in any other capacity at all.

Taking that little white drop of torture this morning was painful. But I could barely even stand up without it.

Where am I? I can’t find me anywhere.

Such tired.

Today the ceiling started falling in whenever I looked up. Today people had skulls instead of faces. Today furniture and its shadows were moving independently, and in different rhythms. Today my skin changed colour and the world tilted slightly to the right and buildings kept changing size and people were enormous. Today was pretty scary, and there was a lot of shaking and a lot of crying involved.

I don’t know what’s up with my head this week, and I’m very much hoping it calms down again soon.. In other news, I am so incredibly thankful for my bed right now!

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