It’s hard, you know, to break a long-held silence. To write about the
unspeakable. To challenge the strongest stigmas. It’s not easy, but for my own sanity, it’s necessary.
I’m talking about mental illness.
Someone close to me has recently been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). And although there is some relief in finally understanding the disease and accepting that the behaviour is mostly uncontrolled and unintentional, the suffering this mental illness has caused can not be erased simply by knowing its name.
I’ve lived, for well over a decade, in a world that doesn’t follow any ordinary rules. A world where I’ve gone from being idolized to vilified in a nanosecond, for reasons that don’t stand up to logic or even for no evident reasons at all. And before you think that being raised high on a pedestal is an enviable position, let me tell you that it’s terrifying. Even before you experience the first fall, a reasonable person understands that you can never live up to the idealized version of yourself that’s being created. And then the inevitable happens and you either do something wrong, or the borderline perceives that you’ve done something wrong. The whole world shifts as you go from being your loved one’s perfect saviour to the cause of all their problems (including, incidentally, the rage that’s being directed at you). You likely don’t even know what it was you did to wind up here, and you certainly don’t know how get out.
Not that it matters, because nothing you can do will work. Defending yourself logically will increase the rage and will likely lead to counter-arguments so clever that you will question your own sanity. Becoming upset or crying will increase the rage. Refusing to tolerate verbal abuse by leaving the environment will increase the rage (because it feeds the borderline’s deep-seated and self-fulfilling fear of abandonment). You must somehow find a way to survive being the object of an outburst of rage, and then you must learn to always walk on eggshells. You will learn to manipulate your borderline’s environment so that the outbursts will be less frequent, less severe, less long-lasting. You will find yourself willing to compromise anything – ANYTHING – to preserve peace.
For many years I’ve suffered silently through verbal rages, icy silences and occasional paranoid accusations. I’ve been afraid and – frankly – ashamed to tell even my closest confidantes about it until this past year. And then my mother got cancer, and something inside me awoke. It was like I had walked through a door that swung shut and locked behind me. All my self-imposed illusions dissolved and I saw things clearly again. And once that door had closed behind me I couldn’t go back. I saw everything in a new light, and I realized that life is simply too short. That I’ve lived too many years in a landscape of fear and grief and self-doubt. That I’ve been made to feel like I was crazy, and it was time to make it stop.
And I actually have been crazy. I’ve been in and out of therapy with four different psychologists over the last six years, having been medicated twice for depression. None of it worked in the long-term of course, because the illness didn’t originate in my mind, although the ripples of BPD have etched permanent lines of depression on my psyche.
Almost everything I thought I knew about myself, I now see, was written in pencil. And the borderline in my life has spent years diligently erasing it, so I find myself reduced to a frightening identity crisis: who am I? What am I good at? What do I like? I go back now and squint at myself, looking for the faint outlines, the indentations of the words I had written on my soul: my hopes, my dreams, myself. I did once have dreams. Dreams of who I would become, how I would live my life, what I would accomplish. But now those dreams lie in ruins – shards of anger and regret and guilt littering my past, my future.
Who will I become now? What will I accomplish? I’m beginning to be able to look ahead and see hope instead of despair on the horizon, but it’s a faint, faint light in the far distance. There is a long road ahead of me, and sometimes I fear that there just might not be enough of me left to walk it to the end.
Thank you SO MUCH for sharing this, Kath!
I have a very close member of my family, who lives with me that have BPD as well. I have tried to describe to my psychologists over the last 10 years, and I have been medicated for depression as well. None of it worked in the long or short-term because the illness didn’t originate in my mind, as you stated!
I am still struggling witht this daily…done everything and then some to help this person, and to help myself.
I feel like I am sinking in these damn eggshells all over the floor!!!!!!
To have you share this helped me to understand, finally, that I am not alone…that there is at least one person in this world that understands exactly, what I feel on a daily basis.
Brave, brave, brave. The day I read this I thought “Kath is my hero for the day.” From what I have read of your blog over time, one thing you are not is a quitter. You have a fierce fighting spirit and you will not let your dreams die. They are in there, like Jen says, and you’ll get through this and find a way to fly, in just the way you deserve.
oh. lady.
so very brave of you to share this with us. and what Jen said is true – “You are brilliant and beautiful and talented and, most importantly, loved by so many” and I think that speaks volumes. You are not alone. HUGS.
Kath, this seems like a very courageous blog written during a very scary time. Living in a landscape of fear and grief and self-doubt must have been horrible, but I imagine that the landscape was at least familiar. Your courage comes from venturing out to find new landscape. The payoff wlll be in finding a place where you can be yourself. Like Amreen, I’ve only met you a couple of times, but feel I know you from reading your blogs, and feel confident that you’re up to this new adventure.
Another amazing piece.
I have mentioned to you before what I thought you are exceptional at – writing and putting you, thoughts, feelings and emotions into words like no one else I know. You are talented, very talented – you are a wonderful mother – your two gorgeous girls are a testament to that and a wonderful cook (no celery, sweetcorn and peanuts though). You can be anything you want. What has happened in the past is just that, the past – it is behind you and you have to look forward now. You had a dream, there is nothing stopping you living it but your belief in whether you can do it or not. I think you can do it and I know deep down that you can too. Like Jen, we’ll be there all the way. xx
Kath, you are incredibly brave to share what you have been going through. I am so saddened to hear about the pain and suffering you have endured. After meeting you and reading your blogs, I have continually been impressed by your warmth, vitality and incredible writing abilities. Your essence and zest for life have obviously been suppressed by the negative influences of your loved one, but they can definitely come back. Your talent and voice will transcend your environment – you’re so right, life is short and you need to focus on you right now.
Kath – All of those things you saw in yourself, the hopes and dreams, they may need to be modified (as all of ours do) but they are still there. They have simply been waiting for an opportunity to come to the forefront again. What you have been through is hell and I admire your courage every day. But what you have to look forward to is endless! You are brilliant and beautiful and talented and, most importantly, loved by so many.
Whatever you need. Whenever. I will be there to help you pick yourself back up, dust yourself off and start afresh.
Remember, as our very wise mother said, “experience joy every day”. I know some days it is hard to find but it is there waiting for you.
Love you always. xo