My Kind Of BPD

Is anybody else still out there? I'm still here, despite my fits and starts of disappearing. My laptop broke again, and I've been accessing the internet through my iPad and through a friend's laptop. My memory is no better, and so I forget about things that I usually keep tabbed (such as this blog, and Flight Rising, and Facebook...) when that happens.

Today I've been thinking about stigma, and how even those of us who fight it can still be vulnerable to it. In particular, I've been thinking about the stigma of Borderline Personality Disorder, and the ways in which I've bought into it without meaning to. Have you ever said, "I have BPD, but I'm not a typical Borderline", or something similar? I have, frequently. I seem to always be explaining to people that even though I have BPD, I'm not "that" kind of Borderline. Partly I want to be understood for the individual I am, rather than a stereotyped version of my disorder -- but mostly I'm trying to distance myself from everyone who is "that" kind of Borderline.

And every time I do that, I drive another nail into the stigma-coffin. Every time I say it, I may as well be screaming out that there is a "good" BPD and a "bad" BPD. There's not. There's just BPD, in varying degrees of intensity and with myriad presentations of symptoms. It's all the bad kind. It's all the good kind. It's all BPD.

Given that, maybe instead of rushing to defend myself by sticking that "bad" label on the people with different symptoms, I should quit telling people what my BPD isn't... and start talking about what my BPD is (bearing in mind, of course, that my comorbid disorders bleed into BPD and each other).

• My BPD is a lack of self stability that shows itself in an uncanny ability to unconsciously chameleon. By this, I mean that without intending to, I often change myself according to the people I'm around. This change will include everything from words and mannerisms to thoughts and even beliefs. It's never being sure of who I am, or if I really like the things I like. It's constantly wondering how others see me, and trying to create a self-view based around that, because it's the best I can do.
  
  
• My BPD is excessive self-monitoring and criticism. Everything I do comes under the deepest of scrutiny by my own mind. Was that too blunt, too subtle, too rude, too ineffective? Is that appropriate to do/say/ask? One thing is of particular concern since my diagnosis: "am I acting in a way that reinforces BPD stigma?"
  
  
• My BPD is interpersonal hypersensitivity. It's never knowing whether what I'm sensing from others is their stuff, or my own. It's misinterpreting others' emotions and needs as being my fault in almost every situation.
  
  
• My BPD is intense relationships. It's needing to be part of everything, to feel included. It's always following along, feeling like a sheep or a lost puppy. It's over-involvement in other peoples' lives until I think they're sick of me, whereupon it's backing off and hiding away.
  
  
• My BPD is a preoccupation with, and terror of, abandonment. It's weighing up constantly what I can say and do to not lose the people I love. It's always being the one to say sorry, to shoulder the weight of fixing anything that goes wrong. It's the unconscious chameleon behaviours to fit in, to belong. It's being afraid to eat in front of the people I care about until I've done it enough times to be sure I won't screw it up so badly they don't want to be around me. It's terror of my friends' friends, because there's a perception that the opinion of those peripherals will influence the opinion of the people I care about. It's needing to be part of everything, to feel included. It's being a doormat, because if I give everything I have and am, then people will maybe have reason to stay.
  
  
• My BPD is emotional hypersensitivy. It's feeling everything in an intense way - as though I'm the equivalent of a burn victim, my emotional skin gone and the nerves laid bare. It's knowing that people think I'm a drama queen because everything is so out of proportion, and still not being able to control or damp down that intensity. It's loving so strongly it wants to explode out of me, and it's hurting so deeply I can't bear the weight of my own heart.
  
  
• My BPD is difficulty recognising and managing my emotions. It's being so afraid of my own anger that I am only just beginning to feel it instead of automatically transmuting it to a different emotion. It's crying silently and fighting it the whole time, because it feels so wrong not to. It's fighting every emotion, trying to run and hide from them, and failing every time. It's being overwhelmed almost constantly because I don't even know for certain what I'm feeling.
  
  
• My BPD is an overabundance of anxiety and depression. It's everything I already covered under terror of abandonment & emotional hypersensitivy, and so much more besides. It's fear of being imperfect, fear of losing control. It's shame, and guilt, and the weight of clinical depression bearing down on my shoulders. It's fear of, and difficulty adjusting to, change.
  
  
• My BPD is impulsivity. It's acting in the moment, despite my intentions to follow a different plan. It's spending hours scrutinising myself, and then out of nowhere blurting out something utterly inappropriate. It's writing out a shopping list, then ignoring it and spending all my money on junk food and craft material instead. It's taking out something for dinner, then deciding at the last minute to eat something else, and doing it on a regular basis.
  
  
• My BPD is self destructive behaviours. Sometimes, it's suicide attempts because I don't want to be here anymore, because I'm done and I just want out. Most of the time, it's self harm, alcohol abuse, disordered eating. It's mixing uppers & downers because I know it messes with my body. It's over-eating, under-eating, and it's eating foods that will make me uncomfortable. It's giving up just when I get near to reaching my goals, and it's pressing on [emotional] sore spots. It's making decisions based on what will cause me the most amount of harm/pain, because all I really want to do is destroy myself.

My BPD is a disorder and a disability. It's not the good kind of BPD. It's not the bad kind of BPD. It's just my kind of BPD. What's your kind of BPD?

Dichotomous Christmas

I know I'm now too late to wish you all a Merry Christmas, but I hope everyone had a wonderful day yesterday, whether you celebrate Christmas or not.

My day... was a day of firsts, and a day of tradition. It was a day of great happiness, but it was a day edged with grief and regret. Unusually for me, it was also a day of healing and growth - though I don't expect to see concrete results of that any time soon. Finally, it was a day of learning. Most of the things I learned were small things, it's true, but small things add up and gradually become bigger things.

Although Bumface and I began dating shortly before Christmas last year, I spent most of the day with my biological family, only meeting up with him at the end of the day. Normally, we would go to my brother's for Christmas, but this year I made the decision early on that I wouldn't be doing that. Bumface isn't comfortable with my family (and given the way they've treated us both, I certainly understand why), and I didn't want us to be apart for Christmas, so we decided to have it here -- that way, too, we could invite Baby Bear to join us, as well as any other friends/chosen family with nowhere else to go. We did invite my mother and Jerry, (her best friend who has been like a father to myself and my brothers) especially as it's the first Christmas my younger brother hasn't been here for, but they declined to join us. As a result, not only was this my first real Christmas with my partner... it was my first Christmas ever without a single member of my biological family.

This year, I pulled together some of my favourite Christmas traditions from my childhood, and I made a few changes where appropriate, to create a Christmas that would work for us. I decorated, with the help of Baby Bear and her friend. I put together 3 stockings (one each for myself, Bumface and Baby Bear). I made my favourite Christmas recipes (minus the trifle which I'll be making once we've eaten some more of the food we already have left over). Baby Bear joined us and we enjoyed plenty of nibblies as we exchanged gifts. After a brief rest, we had my family's traditional salad lunch. All my favourites from my childhood were there, and a few others I've picked up through the years were added as well.

It was a good day, but there were still things I missed. Mostly, I missed my nieces and my nephew. Without them, the chatter of children was missing, and the magic (and the laughter!) that brings to Christmas was a small wound in the day. It left me aching a little for my own little girl and boy.

I didn't miss calling my father and wishing him a Merry Christmas, but I wish I could say I didn't feel guilt over it.

This year, I learned, as I learn over and again, that some wounds don't heal. I learned, as I learn over and again, that family is about so much more than who gave birth to whom. I learned, as I wish I'd realised earlier, that coleslaw dressing and caesar salad dressing are not interchangable (worst coleslaw EVER). I learned, as I think we all wish I'd learned before making the pasta salad, that regular peas should be shelled. I learned, as I learn over and again, that just as there can be sadness in the midst of beauty... there also can be beauty in the midst of sadness.

This year, I was shown that there are some truly amazing and wonderful people in my life, and I am blessed to know them. I was shown that there are some people in my life who maybe don't deserve the amount of time and love I offer them, as they are unwilling to offer much in return... but there are some who deserve everything I can give and so, so much more.

I hope I do enough that those people know who they are, that they see I understand and appreciate just how much they enrich my life and how deeply grateful I am for all they do for me. They are my chosen family, and although not all of them could join me physically for Christmas, they were all in my heart yesterday, as they are every day, and are ever welcome at my table.

Happy Holidays, my friends.

Even A Knife-Wielding Maniac Can Illustrate Growth

Yesterday, I went to an event held by Open Minds, and came home expecting everybody to be out. After I turned around and locked the door, without even having a cursory look around the room, I turned back to discover a "knife-wielding maniac" standing right in front of me.

Confronted with a similar situation a week ago, the 18yo daughter stood still and screamed. And darn near wet herself. I would have expected that to be my reaction as well. Instead I stood stock still with quite a surprised look on my face and just froze. Completely and utterly. And then my eyes adjusted, I saw who it was... and I laughed.

Since the "knife wielding maniac" was, in both instances, Bumface, I posted about the prank on Facebook as I internally processed all the positive things I had learned from it. Unfortunately, some of my friends seemed to feel that because they didn't find it amusing, I couldn't (or shouldn't?) have, either and I now have a lot to process around that.

But.. between the prank and the Facebook fall-out, I've learned and cemented a few new/emerging thoughts and truths for myself.


1. My eyes might be getting worse and I should probably have them tested. To be perfectly honest, I didn't even *see* the knife until after I recognised Bumface. :p

2. I have grown so much, emotionally, over the last year. I knew that, but this prank really illustrated to me just HOW much, and I'm so proud of that in myself.

3. Despite this growth, in an emergency situation, my instinct is still to freeze. This is probably not the best plan in most situations, so I need to practice forms of self defense (or at least fleeing!) enough that they become second nature as much as freezing.

4. Some of my actions when I believe I'm alone put me at risk. It is a good practice to be aware of my surroundings when I enter a room, to at least make a quick check that everything is in order. I don't mean a paranoid examination of every corner of the house, but a cursory check that there isn't a crazy man less than two feet from me is probably a smart move. ;)

5. I have a great deal of deep trust for Bumface. Not many people could stand in front of me, holding a knife, and still make me feel safe once I recognise them.

6. I don't believe in "if you can't say something nice, then don't say anything at all" - but I believe in something that (I feel) fits that grey a little better. "If you can't say something constructive, then you shouldn't say anything at all" because, let's face it, sometimes it's necessary to say something that isn't nice. If your best friend is dating an abusive jerk, you should probably tell her you can see that he's abusing her and you're there for her. Now, that's probably not the nicest thing to say -- but better to say it than let her think what he's doing is okay because everybody's seeing it and nobody's speaking up!

7. I don't need other peoples' approval as strongly as I used to. I am still deeply hurt by the disapproval and rejection I felt/feel about reactions I received to my post, but there is not so strong a sense of "well, maybe I did something wrong" - now it's a sense that I'm sad that people can't just be glad that I'm in a relationship that makes me happy, is good for me, and has allowed me to grow so much. Still, out of pond muck, lillies grow.


Most of all, I cemented that this relationship really HAS been very good for me over the past year. I didn't doubt it, but it is still nice to have solid confirmation of the ways in which he has helped me to grow. I only hope I've been as good for him as he has for me.

(And that I can come up with a damn good retaliation prank...)

(7 Years After) Losing A Baby

As a woman, when a pregnancy ends and there is no baby to hold, it can feel like your world has literally exploded into nothingness around you. It can feel like there is no hope left in the world. It can feel like you'll never know happiness again.

I know because it happened to me seven years ago when I miscarried and lost my daughter, Elyssami Faith. It felt like my soul was being torn from my body along with my baby.

After 7 years, that morning and the first few days that followed are still etched in my memories as vivid as if it were happening now. It's not something I think I'll ever forget, just like I won't forget how much love I felt for that little life growing inside me.

There are some things I wish I could forget, like how I went to work that day and all I could do was cry; or how the physical agony ripped through me as my body let go of everything that had kept her alive; or how my own husband created deep emotional wounds asking if I was "over it" two days later and told me he was glad I had lost our daughter. Some things are better forgotten but they stay in my mind anyway.

There are some things I hope I'll never forget, like how it felt to have that little life growing inside me; or what a miracle it was; or how it felt to love so deeply and wholly even before meeting that little person.

And then there are the things I couldn't keep hold of, just the way I couldn't keep hold of her. That's the thing about a pregnancy that ends without a baby - you don't just lose a baby (as if that wasn't enough on its own). You lose all the hopes and dreams you'd had for her. You lose your sense of safety. You lose some of your innocence. You lose confidence in your body's ability to create and sustain life.

You lose a part of yourself.

And then... nobody wants to talk about it. Nobody wants you to say you had a baby and she died. People don't even want to hear you call a miscarriage a baby, let alone help you honour and remember her. Nobody wants to acknowledge you as a mother, like you don't deserve membership into that special club because your baby never kept you up crying all night -- but they don't realise, she did. The only difference is that it wasn't her crying, it was you.

I've been told that given enough time, all wounds will heal. I don't believe it. After seven years, though, I do believe that we learn how to live around the wounds. You don't get over losing your baby - it's not a hill you get to climb and when you're at the top you get a great view - that's not how it works. It isn't a gap you can fill, a wound you can heal - there is a piece of you and a piece of your life that is and always will be missing.

The thing is, though, you don't have to get over it. You just have to get through it, accept it, learn to cope with it... and live around it.

I'll never forget my daughter. I don't want to. However brief it was - she lived. She was loved. She deserves to have her name spoken, to be remembered and loved. And she will be because I am her mother and I will always love and remember her.

30 Tuesday Truths: One

While wandering the internet awhile ago, I came across a 30 Days of Truth blogging challenge/project over at As The Pendulum Swings. Instead of blogging every day, I've decided to take it on on a weekly basis, posting a new question & my answer every week.


Day 01 : Something you're working to change about yourself

Originally, today's topic was "something you hate about yourself", but I wanted to put a more positive spin on it. I don't need an indepth written explanation of what I dislike about myself -- I already know my flaws and would rather work to accept, improve or change them than to continue hating myself for them!

One of the things I've been working hard to change is my reflex to perceived/actual abandonment and rejection. I don't think I'll ever "get over" it, but it's important that I learn to work with and around it. When I feel like someone's pushing me out of their life, instead of going quietly without questioning it, nowadays I try to at least confirm it first! I still have a long way to go and a lot of work still needs to be done, though.

One of the things I've been doing to bring about this change is to challenge my thoughts and beliefs. If someone appears to be pushing me out of their life, I like to do a reality check -- does it seem that way to others whom I trust? If I were to see it from the outside, such as watching a friend go through it, would I expect the friend to react/feel similarly?

Another thing that helps me is, as I mentioned earlier, confirming it with the person or people involved. I prefer not to do this until after I've had a 'reality check' because I worry that people will find reassuring me too much work if I need it too often, but there are definitely times I would have done better to ask straight out. I'm finding that there are certain circumstances in which I can more easily accept the person's answers as truth/honesty rather than suspecting guilt has played a part (either subconsciously or consciously), so I try to make sure I ask in ways that don't push those buttons, that way I can trust the answers I receive.

Ultimately, I think I'd like to be able to say that I always check in with others and weigh up their possible/probable motivations before I respond to abandonment (perceived or real), and that the negative 'trigger' responses are controlled in their intensity and duration. For now, I can say that there is some progress in coping with the abandonment and the internal responses, but I still definitely wouldn't call it controlled in intensity/duration.


What have you been working on changing for yourself and how have you been doing it?