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Hi, my name is Sophie and I'd like to share with you some of my feelings after I learnt about borderline personality disorder. When I first began to read about it, I was surprised about how closely it aligned with the way my mind and emotions seem to work. At first, this didn't worry me. My initial reaction was to be relieved that I was not the only one who functioned this way, because that meant that I wasn't so odd after all. More recently, however, I have been more concerned about the implications should I be diagnosed with this disorder. It is the word 'disorder' which bothers me most of all, because it implies that I have a problem, and more worryingly, that it has to be solved. My head is confusing, I admit it, and it's loud. But this is just how it's always been. It would be a lie to say that I am always content with myself, I often get frustrated with myself for reacting so irrationally and intensely. But I feel like it's part of who I am, and I'm concerned that I would be obliged to try and change this.
I self harm, and I have been suicidal. This isn't a problem. It's life. And I'm okay with it. When I 'disclosed' this information at school, I was horrified by the way I was treated, as if I wasn't an individual at all but their next problem to solve. When I voiced my displeasure, they tried to tell me that they had no choice. They are human beings, of course they had a choice. But rather than giving me what I needed (a cup of tea and a listening ear), they went about wafting their various forms of policies, training and qualifications in my face. I hate the system. There, I said it. And my experience with this has made me reluctant to seek any form of professional opinion on the matter, because I loathe the idea of being forced back into counselling and treated like I am a problem. What really gets me was that they began giving each other exasperated looks after a few weeks, as if I was intentionally not getting better to spite them. Well, excuse me, but I personally believe that I am bound to make more progress if I do it when I'm ready. Bam.
A little about myself: I am 16, and I live with my mother and three sisters (aged 17, 13 and 5). My father died unexpectedly in a car accident when I was 13, but we get by alright (the school wouldn't listen when I told them that my self harm was unrelated to this, and that I was not grieving. I hate it when they make assumptions like that). I recently told my mother that I am bisexual, and she took it a little better than I had expected. It still makes me feel kind of awkward though, to be honest. However, I have a very close friend who has helped me a lot, she too turns out to be bisexual, and she has recently overcome self harm herself. My fear is that Mum would think I was being melodramatic (a word she is very fond of using and I can't stand) if I were to mention that I am pretty certain I have borderline personality disorder. She seems to hold the opinion that I am just trying to be different, and making problems for myself by thinking a certain way. But that's just it: I can't help the way I think. I can't help getting angry. It upsets me that she clearly feels like she is walking on eggshells with me, but she is right to. The smallest thing can make me angry, but I force it back down. I remain outwardly calm and collected whilst inside I'm on fire. Then there's the mounting frustration at myself for being so... out of control. Why do I get angry when I don't want to? Why can't I be stable and have one goal to work towards, rather than changing my mind every other day and hence getting nowhere closer to any of them? One example of this is my hair. I had it cut really short a few years ago, and I love it this way. Some days. Other days, I'm sick and tired of it and I want to grow it out. Since I can't make my mind up, I don't do anything with it because I alternate between telling the hairdresser to leave it longer and telling her to cut it shorter. And it's infuriating. So, as I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself, I get angrier and angrier until it just explodes. It makes me very destructive, often self destructive. I know that's not healthy, but it seems fairer to hurt myself than to hurt others.
And then sometimes, I feel nothing but a dull ache which is barely an emotion. I feel invisible, which is sometimes welcome because I am painfully shy. If nobody takes any notice of me, at least they won't witness me stuttering and stumbling over the words. On the other hand, I feel lonely and numb. During these times, self harm pulls me back a little because of the physical sensation of the pain. I don't always understand my own motives, and though I hate the label attention seeker, I sometimes think I am being manipulative. I mean, it is nice to be paid a little more attention from friends. To be supported, to make sure people actually notice I'm there. This makes me feel horribly guilty, and I really don't like myself for it.
The friend I mentioned earlier has helped me immensely, and it's hard to believe that a few months ago we barely knew each other. Embarrassingly, once she said she wanted to help I felt the need to spill everything to her, and I very quickly told her things which used to be close-guarded secrets. She puts up with it, because she is wonderful and her patience never ceases to amaze me. But again I became increasingly frustrated with myself for being needy and clingy. Even though she has assured me she's not going to leave me, I still go to ridiculous lengths to make sure she won't leave my life. I have little self-worth, and hence I find it difficult to see why she would choose to spend time in my company. But I need her to stay. To a certain extent I am like this with everyone; I'll hide how I really feel t avoid scaring people away, I'll text them often and want to meet up to make sure they don't forget about me. And I know how lame that sounds. Even I think it's lame. But I can't help it.
Then there's the intense rapidly changing emotions which wash over me regularly. They make it hard to function because I either feel so elated I can't concentrate or so deeply sad I can't motivate myself. Then, of course, there is the anger which I don't seem able to express.
I suppose my purpose for writing this blog was to ask for advice. Is it worth risking people's opinions to get a professional diagnosis of some kind? How do I tell my mother, and where do I go? Would treatment be forced upon me? Is there any chance things might settle down if I just left it? Has anybody had a similar experience?
Well, I apologise for the unnecessary lengthiness of this blog, and I thank you for your time.
Kind regards, Sophie.
