image painted based on http://yanakryukova.tumblr.com/
I got diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder a few months ago. Also known as emotionally unstable personality disorder (borderline type) depending on which diagnostics manual the doctor wants to use. I wasn't surprised at all, I had known for quite some time that my problems met almost all of the criteria for the diagnosis. Still, people around me reacted very strongly to this and nobody thought it was an accurate diagnosis for me. They simply didn't see those personality traits in me.
At first I felt sad and then increasingly annoyed until I actually got angry, especially at the doctors and nurses who kept arguing against each other over what my personality was like and none of them really knew me except based on the test results they got from examining me.
I thought it was disturbing how they all seemed to think they knew more about me than I knew about myself. That's when my personality began to change rapidly. Listening and taking in everyones opinions of my person I just realized that none of them had any idea of who I really was and I also realized I had never been sure myself. I've gone through life always hiding my true self so deep I couldn't even see it myself. I used to feel like a character on the sidelines of peoples lives. Not quite real unless someone told me their opinion of me. I changed like an actor changing clothes, depending on my environment I adapted without even thinking about it.
Some argue that people diagnosed with borderline only feel worse after being diagnosed. Personality disorders can be "cured" which also scare many borderlines since getting that diagnosis helps us define who we are since we have no clear answer to that ourselves. The problems become a lifestyle. Mixing intense love with pure hate, both for ourselves and the ones close to us. Scared to death of rejection, because who are we without others to tell us?
Borderlines are not a special breed of people. None is like the other and it doesn't show on the outside. I hate it when people make prejudice into fact and science. I'm writing this post based on myself and the last thing I want to do is to claim to know what all borderlines are like. This is my little borderline.
empty is not who I really am
dripping texture like kitten tongue
lips soaked trickling ice cream
suck it up bitch, just do it
I didn't mean to do it I swear
empty empty - what do you think?
fill me fill me - I need your opinion
I'll make it my own
I'll be good I promise, unless you want me bad?
tell me who to be
so I can make it me
tell me what to do
so I can defy you
run with scissors all night
high as a kite
make my life an adventure
I can't make it on my own
decaying deliberately is all the rage
rage rage rage
don't be angry with me, I'll die
I'm just sad can't you see?
angered you fought myself
spilled like milk in the morning
SUPER! SUPER! SUPER!
no it's all ok
open the music box
it's your turn to decide
my little borderline.
I started to think of my diagnosis as a person. Not entirely me, but a very dominant part of who I was. She's a girl stuck in the mindset of a 15 year old. Sensitive, perceptive and explosive. Creative to the point of losing reality. An intelligent little devil who whispers in my ear how ugly I am, pathetic, stupid and fat. "Everybody hates you, nobody loves you.", she whispers as soon as your senses are triggered. Tensed up, shoulders drawn to her ears she wishes she was dead. She wants to hide and flee, not let anyone see her. She also wants everyone to see, see how much she hurts so they can fix her. She's between child and adult and has no idea how to cope with life. That huge, terrible thing that seems to demand so much of her. She stays alive wrapped in someones arms, close to someones heart. If they let her go she'll fall down and break like an egg shell, useless and thrown away. Crushed.
She's angry, but never lets it show. Passive and agressive go well together for her and her voice seems like toxic strawberry milk when she tells you it's all your fault. You don't deserve to be treated well because you're a fucking horrible little bitch that thinks too highly of herself. Why don't you just die? Everyone would be relieved without you around. If they cry we can laugh at them from hell. They should have cried for us when they had the chance. Go on, pick up that knife, look how beautiful you are, all pale and cute with blood all over. Don't you think?
With her artistic eyes she knows the decay carries beauty. Soothed and calmed by the fact that her demise is like a romantic drama she finds excuses for herself. Regrets instantly, hides, hurts, hates herself even more. Tries to justify to get away from the guilt. Not guilt towards herself but to those she loves. Now they will really think she is useless. Now they will leave her for real. She doesn't want that to happen, anything except that. The only solution for her is to disappear before her safety leaves her. Better kill herself before those she trusted do it for her.
So I started to talk to her, like a small and emotional friend I had. Instead of letting her words get to me I answered all those taunts and paranoid warnings with comforting love. Don't flee, fight! Look the fear in the eyes and don't yelp like a chihuaua, roar like a mofokkin' TIGER! Do it! It took a little while before she dared. Cautiously she stepped out of her safe nightmare and into the identity she wanted herself. When she wondered who she was without someone there to tell her I answered with the question: "Who do you want to be?" and she already knew. Every time she attempted to ask someone for advice or their opinion on her choices I stopped her. I told her we'd do it together, just her and me. With confident laughs we planned our lives together, her and me. Became best friends instead of bitter enemies. Together we have everything. Creative souls, daring originality, witty intelligence and a capacity to feel feels with such intensity that it affects those around us. When we cry we cry, when we get angry we roar and when we're happy we dance until we fall to the ground, laughing so hard it hurts. The good kind of hurt.
my little borderline and I.