The Internet and the Octopus

This week I was told to 'get some perspective rather than drippy clichés' by a fellow Twitter user. Why? Because I tweeted using the hashtag #BPD(Borderline Personality Disorder)Chat about how I'd rather 'explore a shipwreck at the bottom of a colourful ocean than a cruise ship full of people all heading to the same destination'.

On receiving this response by somebody of whom I had never heard before, I felt annoyed. Not because this person had challenged my silly idea, I'm cool with that shit, but because it seemed like such a waste of time on his part, especially considering all the other stuff that's happening in the world and on the Internet.

I asked myself why somebody would seek out a completely random tweet which was intended to brighten up a handful of people's lives for ten seconds (at the most) and that was favourited by a maximum of seven and maybe retweeted twice, just to tell me it was inaccurate and drippy?

Now, I'm not in the habit of name calling or finger pointing. I enjoy Twitter and the people I interact with. We're all human and entitled to our say, we all make mistakes, we can all live our lives the way we want to and agree/disagree with whatever the hell we like. But nevertheless I checked his timeline and decided to pinpoint the state of his spelling just as casually as he targeted my mental health related tweet, and a couple of other boring things I'd mentioned in the days running up.

That's pretty much the end of the story. Other than to say that I don't think this guy was an accident. I think he showed up to remind me how to easily accept and allow the thoughts, feelings, anger and even infantile comments of others to flow through me without them having to feel any different from the positive and lighthearted communication I'm more used to within my group of friends on Twitter.

I'm not proud of my reaction or retaliation but I certainly won't be losing any sleep over it. It's been years since I experienced any untoward behaviour on the Internet. I'm 34, I'm a mum, I'm a teacher. I figured it was just a matter of letting go and getting on, letting go and getting on.

And so, without more ado, even though the above person attempted to continue our discussion further, I was quite desperate to get out of my drippy cliché diving gear, remove the octopus from my arsehole, let go and get on with the bloody dinner.

BPD Experiences Explained.

(Good luck)!

 

I don't speak very often about my mental health experiences.  Mainly because I didn't realise my experiences weren't 'normal' for a great many years.  Like a lot of people suffering MH issues I always just felt 'different' and 'misunderstood'. 

It took 32 years and my sister finding me in tears on my bathroom floor after a long, lonely binge drinking session and a few desperate text messages to finally push me through the door of a local psychoanalyst who claimed he might be able to help me.

I have had problems for as long as I can remember.  I was a blue baby, born temporarily without oxygen.  I didn't sleep through the night until I was almost four years old and chose to scream my way through the dark instead.  My mum wanted to suffocate me.  She doesn't deny that fact.

As a toddler I would have tantrums that would turn into fits of anger, lashing out at anybody who came too close.  Eventually my mum took me to the doctor who told her not to let me eat sweets or drink orange juice.  Which led to me not being allowed to go to birthday parties in case I ate something I shouldn't.  Like a Gremlin!  He told her I had a tartrazine intolerance and that the best way to handle me was to lock me in my bedroom- which I destroyed by ripping up my carpet and writing all over the walls.  I wrecked every room in the house!

And I would scream and scream until I fell to sleep.  Completely unable to comprehend why nobody would hold me through the wave.  But as soon as I would start to calm down I would feel deep sadness, alone and totally misunderstood.  I spent hours in a heap behind closed doors.

Growing up I tried my hardest to please my parents and keep the peace.  I already felt like I'd let them down being such an emotionally sensitive and difficult child.  My Relationship with my dad was nonexistent.  He was a police man.  I'm not blaming his work but he was very strict and I find it upsetting to talk about but he would take his stress out on our dogs at the time.  And also my sister.  I was so scared to make the same mistakes I kind of deleted myself from existence.  It seemed far easier to stay locked away in my bedroom, draw and write poems.

As a teenager I slipped in and out of several relationships.  The first lasting two years with a young man who took care of me.  He was my best friend.  I was very close to him but decided to break away when I started to go out drinking on a regular basis.  Drink took over my life for a few years after this.  I would go out with friends and intoxicate myself to the point of no return.  I don't know how I got home on most occasions.  And sometimes I didn't.  I was once taken home by the police (my dad's work mates) after asking the driver of the taxi my friends had bundled me into to drop me off at a random house a few miles from my own.  I then tried to convince the family who lived there that I was their daughter.

I met my second serious boyfriend right after I was sexually used and abused by my boss in my very first work place.  I fell very deeply in love with him which was actually quite a terrible thing for my fragile heart.  I would have done anything for him.  The love I felt for him was overpowering.  It was almost an obsession.  I lived through him.  I did everything within my power to be with him all the time.  And he loved me back.  I trusted him.  Yet, this very same love and trust turned into something much darker over time.  I started having panic attacks on nights out together.  I started to imagine he would leave me.  I became self conscious.  I began to feel inadequate.  I felt physically unappealing.  I started to compare myself to other women.  I saw their beauty and lost sight of my own.  After several months I didn't recognise myself anymore.  I had lost a lot of weight as my second dealing with bulimia raged.  I couldn't cope visiting public places with him as it was too stressful and often ended in tears. I started to cut myself.  Not all the time.  But when I didn't know how to calm myself down I would lock myself in his bedroom and slice into my legs with (new) surgical blades he had leftover from nurse visits after a minor operation he'd had. 

My outbursts got so violent he would physically have to hold me down on the floor with my hands behind my head whilst sitting on my legs so I couldn't kick him.  Sometimes I would run away, even if it was in the middle of the night.  The anger raged like a fire and running through the cold air with tears dripping down my face would help to cool me down.  Sometimes I wouldn't even put shoes on.  I had no idea what I was doing, I was out of control.  I would tear my face apart with my nails.  I would throw things around, thump walls so hard I lost the skin off my knuckles.  I would throw myself down stairs, jump in front of cars, use rocks and sticks to injure myself if I was outside.  There seemed to be no limit to the risks I would take to punish myself for being so bad.  So ugly.  So evil.  So unworthy.

And nobody else suspected a thing.  I was a happy person!  I was friendly and polite.  Calm, kind and caring.  Always with a smile on my face.  But my emotions were gradually getting more and more erratic and difficult for me to hide and I didn't know where to turn.  I lost my job at the time.  I had several and was terrible at keeping them.  I lost the apartment I lived in because I was clueless as to processing paperwork.  It never occurred to me to pay my rent regularly which got me into a lot of trouble. It seemed impossible for me to live a normal life.  I was irresponsible and lacked self control and discipline.  For a short while I got wrapped up with a group who took drugs and I started to experiment.  Thankfully I was strong enough to walk away from that scene after several months. 

I left my boyfriend and instantly realised I wouldn't be able to live without him.  If it wasn't for my temper tantrums we would be a perfectly happy couple.  But it was too late.  He didn't want me back no matter how many times I called and begged him to forgive me and take me back.  And then I moved to France.

And France was OK to start with.  But it didn't last long.  I went through a few more years of anger and outbursts, depression and bulimia - until I finally married and had children.  And they had the most amazing effect on me.  They were the reason I got up every day - and still are.  They calmed me down and taught me about a love I'd never felt before.  Despite being loved in the past, I had never actually felt it.  I thought I was unlovable.  But my kids loved me and I could feel it.  Every day was a blessing.  And I loved them so much I could hear it ringing in my ears!

I separated from my husband almost three years ago.  I've had some tough times since then but I also have some wonderful memories.  My children live with me.  They have been an amazing support and comfort to me.  Sometimes when I get really sad and cry, I try to, but I can't always hide it from them.  Very often my son takes me in his arms and tells me he loves me.  I often feel guilty they have to see me like this but I always take the time to explain to them why I'm upset and that I'll be OK again as soon as I've had a little cry. 

I have borderline personality disorder and only recently found out.  I am triggered by busy places - markets, towns, beaches, shopping centres. The media - television, Internet, magazines, film, even certain music. And... by loving relationships.  When I'm alone I'm happy.  But when I get involved with somebody I care about I gradually rewrite myself in order to become the person I believe I have to be to keep them.  If I think they like long blonde hair - I'll grow my hair and dye it blonde! 

Despite my efforts I was abandoned time after time for being 'nasty, jealous, impulsive, difficult and a pain in the ass'.  It's so hard to explain but here's what happens.

When I meet somebody and we like each other I can see that I'm important to them.  I can feel it.  They send me messages, buy me little gifts, call me often, etc,. etc.  I don't appreciate being spoiled by any means but I guess we'd call this the 'honeymoon' period.  Several months pass and I feel loved.  I feel validated.  "FINALLY!  Somebody loves me! (because I don't)".  And that's a nice thing.  But everybody knows this can't last forever.  We all have lives to lead and other stuff happens.  So these messages, gifts, calls, they start to fade.  And it works both ways, I know it's perfectly normal. 

But it triggers something deep within me.  The fear of Rejection.  And to deal with this pain I deliberately keep my distance.  I try to ignore my partner for fear of being hurt.  I can go days without saying a word, avoiding them at all cost.  But the distance is just as difficult for me to cope with and eventually I crumble.  This is often interpreted as childish and that's probably quite true.  It's a little bit like a game of hide and seek.  Except I don't always want to be found.  I just want to stay cushioned in my bubble of fear and anger.  I don't trust people.  I have a hard time accepting I could ever be good enough for anybody.  And I believe that once a person sees how unworthy I am they will leave me for somebody far better. 

And so I push and push and push them to prove me right.  I want them to show me that I knew all along.  I knew they would find someone much more intelligent, funny, interesting, carefree, beautiful than me.  I LOOK for evidence.  I interpret almost everything as a sign they are about to leave me.  I'm scared of the TV, of the Internet, of films and of Facebook.  Of places where I might compare myself to others.  I try to avoid them nowadays.  It's better that way.

I can't throw promotional crap in the bin when I empty my letter box, I have to go through it and check for people better than myself.  It's absolutely awful.  A lot of the time I don't ever realise I'm doing it.

Bulimia has been a part of my life for about ten years now.  It's a daily thing and I'm not proud.  It's become a part of my life.  I eat and I throw up.  It used to be more complicated because I would binge eat my way through most days, whereas it's far simpler now.  It's just a matter of eating and emptying.  I hide it well.  Even people who know I'm bulimic don't ask me about it anymore.  I guess they presume I'm OK now.  If I don't talk about it - neither do they.  And that's alright with me because I just don't know how to live my life without my eating disorder.  Although I want very much to be healthy, it's just another way I channel my upset. 

And when faced with abandonment, or mainly 'fear of', I will hurt myself.  Not because I want to scare a person into staying with me.  I don't believe in keeping birds in cages.  But because I want to punish myself.  And I have found nothing to control this so far.  That's why I need help and to help myself before I do something too drastic.  I have stepped in front of cars in the middle of Paris.  I have dangled from windows, temporarily ridden my bike on the wrong side of the road, and last year I landed myself in hospital often slicing into my arm.  I believe I am in control to a certain extent because if I wasn't I'd be probably be dead by now.  But I am often worried I will succeed in permanently damaging myself without really wanting to.  Just because, in those brief and very difficult moments, I truly believe I deserve nothing more but to suffer for being so bad.

And that there, is just a glimpse of my experience with mental health and borderline.  I am trying to learn all I can about this disorder and how to battle it on my own.  I use my scars to motivate me.  I often look at my arm when faced with a challenge, be it running, (I'm quite a sporty person) or something difficult and painful and I tell myself "If I can do that... I can definitely do this"!  And there isn't a day goes by where I don't watch my children playing and think to myself how lucky I am to be their mummy. 

Thank you for reading this.  I appreciate it.  And please don't hesitate to leave a comment.  If you know somebody who has borderline personality disorder and you don't know how to help.  Try simply holding them often and reassuring them you love them.  Even if that's the last thing you feel like doing sometimes.  It can stop them in their tracks and avoid a full 'crisis'.  Discuss how you can work together to ease their 'triggers'.  And listen to them without judgement.  What they have is a very serious mental health condition that CAN get better, just as it can get worse.  Be aware of how you treat your loved ones.  They don't mean what they say when they're hurting.  They just don't feel worthy of your love.  Hold them.  Tight!