It’s been two years today since my BPD diagnosis. Before that, I’d been destroying myself and hurting others in the process. A year after that, I was in a much better place and was making plans for life. Another year has passed and it’s all a little wobbly as we speak.
I can’t say that I’m in a bad place, because the darkest times are very far behind me. But I’m not great. The plans I’d made last year seem to have fallen through my fingers – something that has happened too many times in the past, hence why I am always reluctant to share any happenings with friends and family.
“So how’s university going, Claire?”
I had a breakdown and had to drop out. I’m going to a different university to study something else.
“Oh. Well, how’s that going?”
Had another breakdown so I’ve dropped out again. Now I’m working in a shop.
“Okay then, you enjoying work?”
I want to train as a mentor in schools, because working in Blockbuster is depressing.
“A mentor? That’s good. How’s that going?”
Mom died. Left my job. Started another job and had to leave. I’m now studying Psychology.
“That’s not too big a jump.”
Education still isn’t for me. I enjoy writing but trying to do it for a living is killing me. Trying to get a job in a shop.
Maybe I should go back to college and do an art course?
In those months where I was waking up feeling positive and looking forward to the day, there was a serious sense of impostor syndrome. Was my BPD real? Had it all just been in my head? Well, mental illness generally tends to be in your head… I felt good, great even. I’ve focused on getting my medication changed, I’m now on the list for therapy, and even with bad episodes where I’ve self-harmed and wanted to kill myself it’s never lasted for long. No-one has been hurt. Everything has been fine.
So you can imagine the unrest coming from everything seemingly coming undone over recent weeks. I’m still working towards the above job, but I’ve given up on studying for the immediate future at least, and I’m even struggling with writing. I fucking love writing. But it’s becoming harder to pick up a pen or open the laptop. People tell me to give myself a break for a little while at least, but when I do that I tend to lose sight of things I’d planned to write. Even now I know there’s articles and posts I want to get done, but I dread even starting them.
I guess all of this shows that no matter the good periods, my BPD isn’t going anywhere. It’s a permanent fixture. Two years of official diagnosis in the grand scheme of things is still very new, I’m still having to find the right treatments both in medication and therapy.
Without trying to sound big-headed, I know people look up to me in terms of my openness and honesty about my mental illness. It’s hard for people to speak out about their mental health thanks to stigma and general ignorance on the subject – I’ve lived through it myself and it sucks. I guess with this post I want to say that even folks like me who seem to have a handle on their illness, don’t always have that handle. Right now I don’t. And I’m trying to tell myself that’s okay.
Days since diagnosis: 730. Days until I’m completely 100% okay and functioning: ???