Borderline personality disorder (BPD) is a debilitating mental condition that can cause a number of problems in the lives of those suffering from it, as well as their family members. It is painful, scary, chaotic, and ever-changing, making it a special kind of hell at times.
Some days, weeks, and even months, I am seemingly wonderful. Suddenly, I can get tasks accomplished, and actually feel good about life. I begin to set goals, maybe try to endeavor into a new friendship and my life is by all appearances normal. Sadly, however, there are other days, where I cuss random strangers out, and cry myself to sleep. I can’t go out in public, and even the ones I love seem like monsters.
I may be snuggled up tightly to the one I love one moment, and then suddenly, without notice, become angry by something they have done, and move away. I think way too much about everything that I have ever done, and no matter how much I think about it, or what kind of situation it was, the memory is too vivid to take. I can’t even handle being overwhelmingly happy.
Because I am sensitive to everything. Even good feelings can be painful to me, like small paper cuts.
During moments of excitement I find myself shivering in terror, because I feel so good, I know when I come down, it will be a hard fall.
After becoming angry with someone, I always doubt the legitimacy of my own argument. Was I overreacting? Was I even listening? Am I just too crazy?
And the few choice encounters I have had with a toxic person (sociopath) I have found that I am apparently the best candidate for gaslighting (the phenomenon where an abuser makes you doubt your own memories) because of my disassociation.
Hell, half the time, I am not even sure that a situation really even happened. And it sure as hell doesn’t help when other people make you doubt yourself. Honestly, to me, that’s my biggest problem: I value myself based on how others perceive me. And, of course, most of the time, I feel insane. Yet, somehow or another, I get up each day and go about my business. All the while, I wonder to myself, how long until they know that I am not who they think I am?
For each person I talk to, I feel like I put on a different mask. Not because I am a fake person, or because I have no true identity. I truly am unsure of who I am, and most of the time, I am so wrapped up in some horrible thing inside of my own head, that I can’t even try to function outside of autopilot. So what does it feel like to have BPD? It feels like pure hell.
But, I will never let that stop me. I will continue to fight day in, and day out, as long as I can.