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.

Advertisements

Sunrise.

I know the exact moment the depression lifted. My mum came in to say good morning one day and sat on the end of my bed, and the light hit her face in just the most beautiful way and for the first time I saw the lines on her skin and the colour of her eyes. It was the weirdest feeling; it was as though someone had finally given me glasses I never knew I needed.

Every few days after that I’d just suddenly see something in such remarkable detail I’d never noticed before. The world had texture all of a sudden, and light seemed to be reacting with every surface to create a world more beautiful than I’d ever known. I looked in the mirror one day and my face had changed shape. My skin had pores and my eyes were lighter and for the first time in my life I realised I have really great cheekbones.

That was a over a month ago now, and since then whenever I look in the mirror I see something else I hadn’t noticed before. I have the most delightful little lines forming around my eyes when I smile now, and I pull faces in mirrors just to watch them and remember that I smile enough that it has imprinted on my skin.

I’ve shown signs of depression since I was seven years old. And one day seventeen years later, it vanished. Just like that.

Peace.

I’m in a war of swords and guns and all I have to fight back with is a wooden spoon.

My brain wants me dead. My brain tells me to close my eyes and  jump off bridges and play in traffic and let knives slip. It tells me these things in the same way it tells me to remove my hand from a hot oven tray; it seems like a sensible course of action. The dog is currently whining away at the bottom of the stairs thinking I hate her for skipping two walks now, but I don’t really trust myself to be that close to a road today.

Medication has increased to the maximum level and if I ever remember to call during daylight hours I am being referred to therapy again. I’m lonely and I’m scared and I’m dreading the winter.

But if Robin Williams could make it to sixty-three years old then I can hold on too. Bloody proud of that man.

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.

Previous Older Entries