Life with BPD 
Life with BPD is very hard to describe. Reading the diagnostic and clinical descriptions of it makes anyone with BPD sound like a complete nightmare. But what I think they miss out all too often is the crippling emotional battle that’s always going on in my head. "Intense episodic dysphoria" is a clinical euphemism to describe the intense pain and depression that crushes me all too often. And what brings it on is often a mystery. Sometimes if I’m scared (which happens a lot too) then I get so frustrated at myself for not being able to function as a ‘normal’ human that I lose all hope and sink into despair and desperation. I know borderlines are often looked upon as very selfish people – they don’t seem to care about how their moods and behaviour affect the lives of those around them – but in reality at times it’s impossible for me to even consider that there could be someone else out there in the same or worse misery as me. Yes, yes, I know that’s not true, I see that all the time when I’m not in despair, but flinging facts and logic in the face of raw emotion tends not to achieve anything. The pain does become too much to bear and in my head I become the only person in the world who truly knows and understands what it’s like. But that’s not every day, some days are really good and I’m hyperactive. I can achieve loads and the world’s an ok place – "Borderline? What borderline? Nah, mate, not me, no way!! No one with BPD could ever feel like this and get all these things done and smile and laugh like this – there’s no way it can be my diagnosis. Those doctors don’t have a clue!! Labelling me with some shit-tip of a diagnosis just to squeeze me into one of their boxes – who do they think they are? Well I’ll show them, I’ll show them I’m fine and I don’t need them and that they’re so so wrong…" And I believe it, I really do believe it. I probably live about 75% of my life with BPD and 25% of it without it, because there are times when I’m truly convinced I’ve recovered. Ironically, it’s all part of the ups and downs, and denial for me is some way of relieving the perceived injustices of this bizarre way of life. Having no core identity means I’m always scared that something will come and take me over, consume me to the extent that no independent ‘me’ remains. My diagnosis threatens that too – what if I become BPD? What if that is all there is to me? That’s scary – very scary – so I have to strike out and shake it off every now and then. But then that fear of being nothing at all creeps up and I reach out for my diagnosis once again, because it’s at least something to be, and being something has to be better than being nothing, right? My life is full of these ‘all-or-nothing’ dilemmas. Identity is just one of them – I’m either all of something, or I’m nothing at all. It’s hard to strike that balance of being someone who has a disorder, but isn’t defined by that disorder – I’m either all borderline or not borderline at all. I find it hard to believe positive things about myself for fear of becoming horrendously arrogant, because if I’m good, I’m all good. I can’t see my flaws at the same time, and thus would become some figure of perfection, who can moralise and judge others – urgh, what a horrible thought! At the same time, I’m so afraid of making mistakes and upsetting people, because then I’ll be all bad and totally hated by everybody. You see, when I’m angry with someone I find it very hard to remember anything about that person I ever liked. I was cross with a friend the other day who’d done something that upset me. The more I dwelled on the situation the more I came to hate everything about this person, things that were totally unrelated to the initial dispute (stuff like their sarcasm, their laugh, their hairstyle even). Slowly, as my anger dissipated, I came to forget all the bad things and the good bits re-emerged until I’d totally lost touch with the angry feelings or what had provoked them. So you see, if that’s how my mind works, I assume it’s also how other people’s work. If someone’s cross with me I assume they dislike everything there is about me and will never want me in their life again. That’s petrifying, because I’m left to live with this evil beast of a human (myself), who nobody could ever possibly like. Rejection is one of the toughest things for me, because I’m thrown into a pit of negative feelings with no hope of being able to climb out. That’s something which really gets in the way of being ‘normal’ – I’m constantly on the look out for signs of rejection. I read big things into the subtlest of nuances – facial expression, tone of voice, body language, choice of words – to see how someone’s feeling towards me. I do manage to dismiss some people’s images of me – like checkout assistants or other passengers on the bus for example. Even if it’s clear they’re looking down their nose at me, then who cares? Their opinion doesn’t matter. But other people, people I know, matter a lot. I don’t really have an opinion of myself that’s separate from what other people think of me, I wouldn’t have the first idea of how to form one of those. That makes time on my own very hard, because I lose all notion of who I am or how I’m doing in life. This hypervigilance is tiring, I’m constantly on guard, but I have to be to look out for my worst enemy, who is always skulking in the background just waiting to strike. Life with BPD is much like life as an emotional child in the mind and body of an adult. I’m always looking for caregivers or people to act as parents to me. When I’m needy, I find it hard to put off my needs in favour of another’s – just like children. If they’re hurt and upset they need consoling and can’t just stop crying because mummy or daddy isn’t feeling too good either. But when you’re an adult who thinks and feels like a child (in an emotional sense) you just come across as selfish and disregarding of others. Children are very ‘black and white’ in their thinking – so am I. Children spend childhood constructing their identity and a notion of ‘who they are’ – that’s what I’m doing all the time too. But it’s only ok to be a child as long as you actually are one in every sense. I face lots of challenges everyday because of my BPD. I look for support and reassurance in everything, and when it’s not there I fall completely flat – depression, hopelessness and despair. I struggle with my identity all the time – who am I? What do I like doing? If I have a spare evening what do I do with it? If I spend it watching TV is that a waste? Is that what I actually like to do? If so, does the fact that I like it mean that’s an ok reason to do it? I’m rubbish with making decisions because not only do I not know the sorts of things I like, but also I’m worried about picking the unpopular choice. Decisions about the future – ha ha ha – are a nightmare and I always try to get others to make them for me. I’d rather just be given a set of instructions for life and live them to the letter, than have to steer my course for myself. The depression and anxiety that both fluctuate throughout the day have held me back in a lot of things. Sometimes I’m too depressed to care about things and miss out on opportunities, other times I’m too anxious to put myself forward for things or to involve myself in something. I’m not thick – at least according to my academic achievements anyway – I’ve been a ‘straight-A’ student throughout my life. But my emotional turbulence has stopped me reaching the sorts of heights I maybe could have reached. My life just seems to be constructed of barriers and things in the way of ‘being normal’, yet they’re very hard to navigate or break down because they’ve all evolved for a reason. Borderline is as perplexing and paradoxical a life for me as it is for non-borderlines, who often see BPD as irrational and confusing. Like we push people away when we’re scared of rejection – where’s the sense in that?! That’s just it though, there isn’t sense in it because it’s not about sense – it’s about fear, pain and emotion, those are what are truly at the centre of my life, and everything else is an attempt to control or contain them. I struggle with eating problems, chronic anxiety problems, depression, and self-injury, all of which have developed out of finding ways to live alongside my feelings. They’re not good ways – that’s why I have problems – but they’re ways nonetheless. The personal torment is immense, which is why I hate being branded selfish. I would not choose this life if I had a choice. I would not choose to hurt other people and I would not choose to know this hurt for myself either. It’s a constant struggle against constant thoughts, despite the fact that much of the time I can appear normal to most people. It’s hard to let people close and to let them see through the deception, since the reality (at least to me) seems so far away from the act I wear. But I do survive and I am working towards recovery. That in itself is scary because it involves change, which presses all my identity triggers! Oh yes, it’s very frustrating!! But that’s my life in a nutshell! And yet I value the way that BPD has taught me to see the world, and the insights it has given me. I’m very open-minded as a result of my own experiences and never judge anyone. I can offer understanding to other people who live in this confusion, and share a joke about this strange way of life! I hope this account of my life with BPD has filled in some of the gaps that the clinical and diagnostic accounts miss out. There’s real people and real pain behind every label, and that’s what I wanted to point out. For anyone who knows or loves someone with BPD, please know that we try our best, and it’s as frustrating for us as it is for you. But hopefully, with care, time and understanding, the child in each of us can learn to grow up. Then, with the pain and misery buried in the past, that frustration will go and we’ll shine as much sunshine into the lives of those around us, as at one time we brought rain. Get your sun-screen at the ready… Luci, age 21, struggling with BPD-like symptoms since early childhood
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