My experience with BPD

The following is a little something that I wrote in an attempt to effectually capture and communicate the very essence of the borderline personality, and well as try to make sense of the otherwise tumultuous whirlwind that's going on inside my head. Please lend me your thoughts and opinions, if you so desire. I posted this on my tumblr, and so I figured that I'd go ahead and post it here, as well.
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My Borderline Personality: The Finite Features of Psychological Terrorism

I really don’t mind if my transparency regarding my experiences with BPD are inimical to my image in the public sphere—because, let’s be honest, my anonymity is almost guaranteed in this little ‘hole-in-the-wall’ blog site of mine. I don’t even know where to begin, or if I should offer the chronological markers regarding my development of the disorder…I suppose that I’ll go at this thing with no hesitation, equivocation, or premeditation. I can’t recall the time period which would qualify as the precise “onset”, per se, but I do remember that, throughout the duration of my childhood and adolescence, nothing has ever felt quite “right” (if there even exists a universal conceptualization of such a thing within the confines of reality). My father always told me that if I didn’t get a handle on this thing, I’d find myself in a mental prison—good God, I wish that I’d listened to him…but, with the utmost candor, I don’t believe that listening or even attempting to put into practice his suggestions would’ve thwarted the emergence of this diabolical ###$, because its derivation precedes anything that I can logically deduce or even remember. However, for purposes of avoiding that close-the-damn-page, rant-y flavor here, I’ll commence this with something of mental tangibility…and instead, save the autobiographical details for a time during which I am better-afforded a sense of clarity and confidence.

I have to admit that if it weren’t for some rather recent developments and adjustments in my life, I absolutely would not be writing this…or probably anything else. I’d likely be God knows where, consumed with self-infliction and -medication, using only the grittiest, most destructive of vices to materialize and prolong my inner-turmoil, infantile emotionality, and underdeveloped sense of identity (a few of the rather choice hallmark features of the disorder). Thank the heavens, though, that this isn’t the case—at least anymore. Borderline personality disorder has simultaneously been the most defining and hallowing feature of my personhood, breathing transient gusts of livelihood, resiliency, efficacy, and enterprise into my psyche one minute, and gutting me out the next…sometimes in what seems to be a matter of microseconds—rendering me desolate of purpose, and leaving only pain that is as often physically-evident as it is psychologically omnipresent. It has all of the veneer-ish properties of narcissism, with its essence being something that of a Jekyll and Hyde-syndrome-inflicted, abandoned child. Rapid vacillations in myriad capacities - particularly mood, life-objectives, self-esteem, and perception - borderline personality disorder is the ultimate sadist, deriving a perverse sense of gratification and pleasure from the infliction of pain and suffering on behalf of its victims…all of this occurring in the mind of one person: the “borderline”, herself. I hate using that word as an adjective, and I particularly dislike ascribing gender to the noun (in this case, the sufferer of BPD), but, truth be told, most borderline personalities are in fact female…and believe me, I’ve postulated my own personal theory on this…about which I’ll discuss in a separate post. Sometimes, it’s the best lover you’ll ever have—whispering sweet nothings and accolades filled to the brim with adulation and glimmers of seduction; others, the vile, backstabbing best friend who wants nothing more than to partake and bear witness to your debilitation…and in extreme cases, your ultimate demise.

My love affair with BPD has as much been one of strife and disdain as it has of cherubic adoration and psychological autoeroticism. While I don’t hate BPD’s accomplices (as, in my case, they’re really nothing more than the emotional- and behavioral-remnants of familial dysfunctionality and invalidation), I hate the times during which they reek havoc and disempowerment in my life…propelling me towards self-damaging behaviors and the destruction of relationships. When I’m on BPD’s good side, I find myself infinitely capable of achieving anything (and I mean anything) - like King Midas whose touch turns everything to gold - endowed with a seductive uniqueness and ability against which no person of said “normalcy” could ever possibly rival or contend with. I feel absolutely beautiful, special, gifted, and exude a very-much deserved sense of entitlement and grandiosity that, dare I say, captivates and encapsulates friends, professors, employers, and virtually anyone with whom I come into contact. I find myself deeply introspective, creative, and of tremendous intellectual and virtuous caliber—and honestly, what BPD’s most hateful and ignorant critics may deem as “manipulation” really is nothing more than interpersonal strength and enterprise, its derivation being deep, empathetic fiber, a love for people, life, and vitality. My personality seems to adopt multiple layers of color and dynamism, and although most mental health professionals would agree that BPD-ers don’t necessarily have a personality, per se (although I like to believe that I’m the exception to the rule—probably an indicator of BPD, itself, haha), I find myself experiencing transient epiphanies related to purpose and meaning, catapulting me into the realm of self-actualization. I don’t say these things with even a minute semblance of exaggeration or delusional belief that I am, in some way, shape or form, the literal embodiment of the qualities I’ve discussed (as no one person goes without fault or shortcomings), but seriously, this is in fact how I feel. During these ‘moments’ (and I do mean moments, as they are, to my dismay, terribly short-lived), I can’t even fathom ever feeling as bad as I’ve felt before…and sadly, I’m always well-aware of the fact that such wonderful states of being are never permanent…or even just lasting enough to allow for any meaningful transgressions towards self-construction.

In my personal (and forthcoming, professional) opinion, the fundamental and defining problem of BPD is essentially that we borderlines are both wonderfully gifted and terribly cursed with a sense of self-complexity that is overwhelming and irrepressible against our inner-fragility and precariousness. While there are seemingly innumerable aspects involved in our personalities, there exists a gaping discrepancy between our ‘public’ selves (as this tends to be the case with high-functioning borderlines) and our ‘actual’ selves, which, as carefully explained in the diagnostic criteria used to identify the presence of the illness, remain largely fragmented. Sadly, this knowledge doesn’t effectually moderate the experience or expression of my borderline symptoms. In actuality, it more often than not exacerbates them, leaving me deeply conflicted and ashamed that an otherwise capable and intelligent person such as myself can arrive at self-awareness, yet cannot possibly muster the ability to fuse the two. What’s more is that, borderline personality disorder sufferers like myself, who realize that our public and private faces are incongruous, are perpetually disturbed when our pathology is further compounded with perfectionism. In other words, not only are we bombarded with the need for consistent upkeep of this tiring dichotomy, we’re also plagued with this picturesque and overly-romanticized conceptualization of what we ought to be…which, not only markedly supersedes what we believe to be our abilities, but also discouragingly contrasts with what we believe we actually are. Not only do I feel that I fall short of the characteristics with which I’ve successfully managed to sway people into thinking that I’m “normal”, but I feel utterly hopeless in perfecting the qualities that I so desperately wish to possess. And that ominous shadow of a thought is often what transforms me from the bright and capable young woman that people perceive me to be into the most self-loathing, frazzled, emotionally labile, unlovable, and self-damaging person who I, personally, have come to know. It’s like demonic possession for which, at the time, there exists no cure—unless of course I re-familiarize myself with the degeneracy and self-abusiveness of the tried and true coping mechanisms of the past. Instantaneous and fleeting in their entirety, these episodes dissipate almost as quickly as they come on—and are always triggered by what would appear to anyone else as something random or mundane (such as not making consistent eye contact during conflict resolution (the conflict usually having been invoked by one of these splendid episodes, themselves), or having overeaten (what I consider to be overeating, anyway), or being blown off). There exists a cataclysmic dichotomy in the mind of the devil on BPD’s shoulder—one side being acutely emotional, hypersensitive to perceived rejection and/or disliking, susceptible to crying spells and breakdown, and having a propensity for self-harming behaviors; the other, vindictive, hyper-critical and demeaning of others, sharp-tongued - spewing venomous insults and character-assassinating comments - ornery, unloving, jealous, and accusatory. My inner-fragility is as impetuous as the psychological wrath with which I disparage my victims—those usually being the ones I love the most, and the ones by whom I am the most terrified of being abandoned.

Meaningful romantic relationships are often as painful as they are vital to me, characterized by the pushing away of my significant other (usually in the midst of a heinous rage attack, during which, he is always the emotional casualty), swiftly followed by my pulling and tugging at him—after my intellectual blackouts have abated and I descend back into the depths of reality, becoming suddenly cognizant of how utterly awful I’ve been. The grisly side of BPD ascribes a succubus-like flavor to the nature of its relationships, which more or less shift from sweet love and unadulterated connectivity to the borderline’s romantic partner taking on the role of a both a boyfriend and father. In a constant state of supply and ambiguity (as a result of this angel-devil complex that is the borderline personality), his own spirit and vigor fade into the background…into a sort of incandescence; numbness—bleeding into an all-too-familiar and enduring cycle of giving and receiving love and hate, blandish, illusory romanticism, conflict that knows no boundaries, and apologies. It’s never his fault; his incessant supplementation of the things that can seemingly never be fulfilled - because, as much as I delude myself into believing otherwise, no measure of weight-loss, academic achievement, reassurance, and dare I say, love, seem to be enough - is comparable to attempting to fill a broken glass with water. That is, when an angry or sullen borderline personality has its claws deep into my flesh. As discussed prior, when borderline personality disorder hasn’t cloaked me in seething anger or dysphoria, it’s my dearest, most complimentary friend. To the detriment of any BPD sufferer’s self-esteem, this notional idea that borderlines have an innate incapacity for love can be utterly devastating. And, wistfully, many resentful exes of borderlines and incredulous mental health professionals do, in fact, adamantly make this claim. To be quite frank, I couldn’t disagree with them more, and I feel that, in speaking of myself, I actually have a deeper capacity for love than do most people—the quandary is that I find love to be terrifyingly foreign and the very essence of a realm about which I am fundamentally irresolute. Needless to say, that’s a different topic, entirely. All of this being said, those of us infected with the borderline personality have the greatest, most voracious appetite for love—and, despite the hellion’s temporary periods of occupancy within us, we can and want so desperately to provide our loved ones with love and affection that are of greater magnitude than naysayers could ever fathom. When we know love, we know its in’s and out’s like the backs of our hands—it’s merely a matter of perception and awareness of its defining properties, granting it to the child within us who, through abandonment, neglect, or invalidation, likely never came to know its value or function, and reflecting it back to the ones who are patient, understanding, and worthy enough to be on its receiving end.

In bringing this post to a closure, I hope that what can be taken away from this revelation of borderline personality disorder’s stake in my life is a semblance of demystification—making what is too often mistakenly contrived as obstinacy and unyielding offensiveness translucent, and ultimately, revealing the delicate emotional properties and dynamic of the borderline personality. Whether or not borderline personality disorder will ever holistically become a thing of my past is as much a mystery to me as is the disorder to the vast majority of people—however, despite the challenges it presents, I don’t think of it as a sort of disease, but rather, a re-emerging wrench in the inner-workings of my emotional anatomy…a heart attack of the mind…and a fleeting disarray of the self. Of greater staying power than any clinical diagnosis is my steadfastness and desire to quell this mental adversary; hence, I will continue to vanquish the psychological terrorism inherent to BPD, and welcome and embrace all of the positive contributions that it has to offer. After all, life is merely comprised of moments, as our experience of these occurs through the lens of perception…and I’m confident that, through thoughtful amalgamation of the various pieces of my personhood, I will, sooner rather than later, arrive at perceptible, tangible, and unconditional self-love and acceptance.

Very well said! I must say, it is most definitely, one of the better summaries of BPD that I have ever come across, and let's be honest - it's not an easy disorder to describe, even for those of us who live with it on a daily basis!

Kudos to you!

Awe, thank you! Hopefully it resonates with those who are struggling, and affords them a sense of relatability and community...

Hi Brianna,

Thank you for posting this. I will respond when I have more time. It is something that I need to
read over and over to grasp the full weight of what you are saying.

You describe perfectly the pain of who I am publicly and then who I am in private. And also how
I show up --the reality of my day to day life compared to who I want to be. (how I stop myself
from being fully self-expressed, more successful at work, having a satisfying romantic life and on and on and on)

Are you a writer in your profession? Or do you utilize your writing talents?

You are good!!!

Hi, monkey!

Thank you kindly for the feedback--and no, I'm actually not a writer by profession (although my parents strongly encouraged me to take it up as such, haha)...I'm actually working towards a career in the mental health field (currently an undergraduate student at USC). I'm very glad to have effectually touched on those aspects of BPD, and hopefully in reading this, others will be afforded a sense of community.

Keep on doing it!! You are spot on in your description of BPD. The pain i feel with these
dichotomies...you described it so well.

Yes same with me . Anytime you want to message me.

I hope you are having a good day with as least distress as possible

Monkey