Since I was diagnosed at the age of 24, it has absolutely changed my life. However, I can’t say it has been for the better
Due to the stigma of my disorder, I learned early on that its diagnosis is one that comes with a hefty label. You see, as many other mental health patients, I have been labeled more than a recycled Campbell’s Soup can. And while each diagnosis may have been different from the other, the diagnosis of BPD has stuck.
At first, I read all the books I could read, and I joined groups to obtain information. Honestly, for awhile, I was so wrapped up in my diagnoses there was no way I could have ever have healed from it. During that time, I let my diagnoses define me.
I begin to dive headfirst into the pool of symptoms and embraced them for the parts of my personality that they were, rather than trying to correct them. If I was already impulsive, reckless and angry, I became that way exponentially more upon my diagnoses. I was so angry at the world, and to me, if people were going to label me and hate me anyways, I might as well go big or go home.
And while I dabbled with my medication and therapy, I never truly received any benefit from it.
Sadly, I went on a sharp decline, because once again, I let my disorder define me. I was so wrapped up in my own prognosis that I couldn’t see clearly. And I made some horrible decisions. I basically had a Benjamin Button moment and began to regress.
Thankfully, now, after years of torturing myself, I made it out alive. I am not healed from my BPD, but I am healing. And if you don’t believe that’s possible, well shame on you, because it is. However, it takes work. I have to monitor my moods daily and take a handful of medicine each night. I have finally grown to understand the importance of self-discipline again, and have begun to sleep and eat on a real schedule.
While this may not be the exciting, chaotic, rollercoaster through hell that I was once on, the boring, monotonous, day-to-day shuffle makes me happy. It is my sense of normal. I won’t say that I have recovered. And I won’t say I don’t struggle because I do. Maybe even more so. But, I don’t give in. Why? Because I am tired of letting my disorder define me.
When I have a moment of weakness, I remember that if I let my disorder say who I am, if I let it get the best of me, I could and probably would die. But that’s not how I want to go down. No, I want to be remembered for my recovery. I want people to remember that I am a survivor. I am not weak, and I am not my BPD. Instead, I am on my personal path to recovery, and I won’t ever give up.