I was stunned and horrified to read in the news that a five-day-old baby had been punched in the head by an old man in the middle of a supermarket while out with her mum and sister. Yes, you read that right – an old man punched a baby. All levels of WTF right there. Of course, people on the internet have been commenting on this absolutely fucking up piece of news, and I came across a spectacular exchange over on reddit when someone suggested that this man could be suffering from Alzheimer’s:
User 1: That’d be pretty early onset. More likely a personality disorder or other mental health problem.
Me: Even with a personality disorder, there is no reason to punch a baby. (I have BPD, wouldn’t punch a baby.)
User 2: Depends if your “B” is bipolar or borderline. I can definitely see someone with borderline personality disorder punching a baby if they were in the wrong frame of mind.
That’s right folks, if I was in the wrong frame of mind I may punch your baby!*
WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK!?
I found out this week that it’s likely that I won’t be able to drive in the immediate future, because of my BPD and the fact that my disorder means that I could be dangerous behind the wheel should I drive in the wrong frame of mind. Even if I learn to drive, by disclosing my condition then I likely won’t get insured. On that topic, I want to get life insurance when I have children because death is expensive and I don’t want my children having to deal with that shit. GUESS WHAT? You know those ‘no medical, no hassle’ policies that are always being advertised? Nope, muggins here will have to go through countless medical assessments and if there’s any history of suicide attempts? I can probably kiss that life insurance goodbye.
I have had people who have previously called themselves my friends turn on me the second I’ve shown unsavoury symptoms of the disorder they are fully aware that I have. I’ve been called toxic, spiteful, manipulative, vindictive, damaged, fucked-up, psychotic, insane, mental, broken – both before and after my diagnosis. I have tried to wear those words like armour, but it is fucking hard not to let it break you. This fucking disorder gives me a very warped perspective on the world, and on people. If someone shows me an ounce of affection, I’m pretty sure they’re going to hurt me or want something in return. I have given myself to people who have ended up damaging me in ways that still affect me to this day. My mood flips so rapidly, I’m surprised my brain doesn’t have whiplash.
When I’m put into situations that I know from experience to be harmful, then I dissociate and split into a different personality. And then I’ll drink, cut, spend, fuck, anything to take that pain away in that moment. It’s supposed to be a method that my mind has developed to protect my fragile state from further harm – all it does is make things worse when the fog has cleared. It’s not otherwise known as emotionally unstable personality disorder for nothing.
Do you wanna know what else this disorder gives me? Empathy, and more love than I can handle at times. I can hate in equal intensity, but I love with everything I have. Because of what I faced as a child, I am especially protective of children. I would rather die than hurt a child. I want to be the adult I needed as a child, because fuck knows I needed someone to shield me from the shit I faced. I am learning that I have seen my childhood through rose-tinted glasses for far too long, and what I went through has built me into the person I am now. And not all of that person is awful, I’ll admit.
I am many things. I do have borderline personality disorder. I can take enough of the stigma on my shoulders. But to think that there are people out there who think that someone with this disorder could punch a baby because they’re in a certain frame of mind makes me want to scream. Being borderline doesn’t make us unbalanced monsters. Fuck anyone who thinks this.
I don’t know what kind of person would punch a baby. It’s not normal or reasonable behaviour, and there should be no reasoning for it. But stop blaming this kind of fucked up behaviour on a mental illness you barely know anything about.
Before an angry borderline woman turns up at your door and punches you in the face. We’re apparently good at that sort of thing, HAR HAR.
*Disclaimer: I do not punch babies.