Borderline Bastard

Most of the people I’m aware of with BPD have been subject to physical, verbal, or sexual abuse. As far as I know, I haven’t been subject to any of those things, so I’ve often wondered what environmental factors contributed to me developing the disorder. Recently, I’ve been piecing together memories  of the invalidation I’ve [...]

Goodbye, Kato

One of the symptoms of borderline personality disorder I have traditionally displayed the most is a series of intense, unstable, interpersonal relationships. In my case, these relationships have been devastating for me, what a therapist might call toxic. Through introspection, learning, and sheer force of will, I’m starting to believe I’ve broken the pattern. Recently, I avoided adding another person to that long list.

Adult Me And My Inner Child

This week I started listening to the audiobook version of Rachel Reiland’s “Get Me Out Of Here.” It’s the story of a woman trying to recover from borderline personality disorder through intensive psychotherapy, including several stints in a hospital psychiatric ward. While my experience is nowhere near as intense as hers, I nonetheless find many similarities. Most notably, we both have awakened our inner children by exploring our pasts, and we both perceive a stark contrast between this inner child and the adult the rest of the world sees.

Minor issues, major annoyance

I’ve seen many papers, articles, and blogs about the deep emotional pain and other severe symptoms of borderline personality disorder. I’ve seen little about the less intense but more annoying aspects of having and managing BPD, like confusion about identity and trying to hide the disorder. Those of us with BPD have to deal with those aspects every day. Most of the time, I’m not emotionally dysregulated or impulsive, but all the time I have to watch what I say, and be careful what I do, to avoid ruining a friendship or my reputation

I’m no Bilingual Borderline

Parlez-vous francais? Moi, oui. I’m conversational in French and can read it well enough to follow a book or newspaper. I also suffer from borderline personality disorder. Does that make me a bilingual borderline? Fortunately, no.

Searching for “The One”

Recently, through hours of coaching and introspection, I have identified a pattern in my life that will be familar to people with borderline personality disorder: a string of intense toxic relationships, each of which ruptures in the end. Long before I knew what BPD was, or that I was going through this repetition compulsion, I knew I was searching for someone. I’ve previously described this search as “auditioning friends.”

My BPD and The Three Floutists

Suffering from borderline personality disorder, I often feel broken, flawed, and less than whole. Intellectually, I know I need to integrate the parts of my personality to become whole, but emotionally, I want someone else to complete me. In the past year, I’ve met three people who all happen to play flute. My head knows they aren’t the answer to my problems, but my heart sometimes feels they are. Especially in moments of sadness and lonliness, rather than self-soothing, I think maybe one of these three floutists will come rescue me.

Borderlines Online Part 2

In my last blog entry, I wrote about how technology can make borderline personality disorder worse through constant communication and the perpetuation of bad relationships. In this entry, I’ll document some ways in which technology can help people trying to recover from BPD.

Borderlines Online

Technology has been vital in fueling my recovery from borderline personality disorder. From various websites, I’ve learned volumes about BPD and how to overcome it. On the Internet, I’ve found a wonderful life coach who is helping me sort through my thoughts and emotions. I’ve been able to express myself through blogging, which provides a [...]

Great Expectations

A wounded child sits in a dark, dusty room with a few broken toys. Crooked pictures hang on the walls, pictures of a childhood lost to neglect and abuse. A rat scurries across the floor, its clicking claws the only sound in the small space. The child’s thoughts race, as always: “Why am I alone? Doesn’t anyone care about me? What happened to my parents? Am I going to die here? What is wrong with me? When will someone come rescue me?” Day after day, week after week, these same thoughts swirl around in the child’s head, interrupted only by tears and sleep. Suddenly, a knock at the door pierces the silence.

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