Living with it is a constant struggle. Everyday you tell
yourself, hey, I'm okay. But you know you're not. And you're not even being
pessimistic. You know it in your heart. You know it in your GUT. It wrenches at
you and you push it away, telling yourself, look, I'll take it one day at a
time. Then one day comes and you get hit. You know its coming because you recognise
the calm before the storm. The calm where everything's happy, everything's
perfect. You know the calm so well that you don't bother celebrating the
possibility that its really just got better. That its not your imagination.
That you have finally conquered it.
You look in the mirror and you are unsure if you feel like
laughing or crying. Totally fucking confused about whether to be happy that
you're aware, or sad that you're so aware that you know what's coming next. You
pull yourself out of the funk and say STAY HAPPY! THINK POSITIVE! Okay, its
GOOD to be aware. Then I can solve it. But that's what you said last time. And
you broke your door and the guitar and the computer. That's what you said last
time, when you threw out the furniture and tore the curtains and cut yourself 67
times across both arms to beg for the attention you knew you'd be too ashamed
to get by showing the blood. So you cover it up, like the coward you are. But
now I know, you tell yourself. I won't act out. It will be okay.
You turn to the TV, computer, whatever. You obsess about
something that doesn't matter, the interests you tell people you have but
really can't be arsed about, but had to make up because not too many people you
meet can sit for 5 hours staring at nothing and really entertain their own
thoughts. You think up new business ideas, send 200 emails in a day, pack your
stuff, make phone calls, maintain friendships, try something new, "build
character", because you are a High Functioning BPD. That's what they called
you. You are able to work and maintain
social relationships perfectly fine, maybe even better than others. Its what
you do, who you are, little Miss Perfect. So fucking perfect.
You look for a problem all the time, and people think you're
just trouble. You're difficult. No, you want to say, I'm not trying to cause a
problem, see I'm trying to fix the problems, I mean you can only fix them when
you know what they are, right? But they look at you and you know they judge
you. You know they are thinking that you're no fun, you're a wet blanket. And
you scream in your head, I'm just fixing all the small problems because it lets
me focus. It lets me do some good. So let me with my little details. Leave me
alone to fix this. Instead of focusing of the huge problem that is the disease
eating at me every single day.
Then one day you've fixed them. You're done. Suddenly the
problems aren't there. And you think, great, its going to be the new year,
everything will get better and I will live life normally just like everyone
else. I won't have to fight this anymore because there is nothing to fight. But
its all bullshit. You know it is. You've been telling yourself the same shit day
in, day out. You know that you never fought it before, you know 8 years of
therapy only helped you seem alright, seem okay to the outside world. You're a
master of yourself, a master of situations, all that cognitive behavioural
therapy, hell you're so good could give a class. And your friends think you're
so put together. Inside you want to yell, No I'm not, I'm just this good at
acting. You are the brilliant actor on stage, adored by everyone, known by no
one, least of all yourself. You're so afraid to get off the stage because then
what? Who are you? A blank slate. So you find parts to play, loving friend,
disgruntled daughter, active volunteer, social butterfly. And with every
problem you're solving, the curtain stays open, only today you've solved it all,
and the curtains start closing.
But you've been here before. You're a high-functioning BPD.
You know that you have total control over yourself. Yes, you tell yourself, I
will be absolutely normal and not act out and read a book to sleep. You find
yourself glancing at the table for the pills you took for 8 years. Pills that
wiped your memory clean, left you with barely anything. You know so many
people, yet you've forgotten how you met them, what you did with them, what you
did TO them. No, you tell yourself, I don't need those stupid pills, they made
me even more ill. They prevented me from living my life. You're so fucking
aware of yourself, when you were better (when you had a problem to fix), you
pre-empted yourself by throwing every single remaining pill away. Because you
knew this day would come. And you would not be strong enough to face yourself.
Then you shift to positive thinking. COME ON! THINK POSITIVE! This is my
opportunity to really get better. You encourage yourself, its been 6 months
since the last pill, I've done fine, I'll continue being fine without them, thank
you very much.
But then you see, its New Year's Eve, you're supposed to
look forward to it, but all you can think of is that you are empty. You only
know that if you don't act out, don't write a brilliant piece of work for
people to praise you, don't create income.. If you just leave the feeling be,
its not about acting anymore, its about reacting. And you should stop it. So
you stop it. But you're shaking, you get so scared, you know what's next. You
know what happens when you don't do something
to distract from the emptiness, the pointlessness. You know its a matter
of time before you crack. You've already thought of a few different ways to end
it, you know there will be no note because there's nothing left to say, you
know even though you say no one will miss you, people will, but you also know
they will miss the great actor, not you, because no one knows who you are
anyway, not that it matters. And the fact you're scared shitless makes you feel
alive, makes you realise you don't actually want to die. You tell yourself,
I'll get through this, its just been a tough year, but I should be proud of
myself, I did so much, I was brave, I became independent of the drugs and this
is all a learning process. That's what you said last time. And you're so aware
of yourself, so conscious, its painful. You take a deep breath and say for the
hundredth time that everything is fine, you are being melodramatic, just shut
it off and tomorrow will be better.
There is a tomorrow, but there is no better. Everything is
fine, but nothing is ever really fine. And you have gotten so good at repeating
the mantras of highly effective people and how to be zen and at peace and all
that good stuff, you don't even have to talk to anybody. If only you believed
it. So you end up writing a diatribe of what you feel, you want to share with
the world how debilitating BPD is. You know you should hide it because its
stigmatised and painful and it will make everyone think you're weird and
society will use this as dirty laundry against you when the time is right. But
you do it anyway because in your gut, you know you want to. And you don't care
what happens after. This is supposed to be healthy. I am healthy. 2010 is going
to be perfect.
-
You know people will say, Yes it will be! Stay positive!
You're fine! Its all good. And you know you'll say, Thanks for the
encouragement, you're such a great friend, what would I do without you. And
they'll go away happy, thinking they did good, and you will roll your eyes and
feel even worse, completely having reinforced the idea that you are, no matter
how many people care, still fucking alone. Oh wait, there are two of you. You
and you and you and you and you.. and that wretched, wretched disease.
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