There is a hole in me. It sits right below my skin and consumes all the parts of me that are not blood and tissue. This hole lacks any light, you cannot see into it, you can not pull anything out of it, you can not put anything into it. It just exists, moves with my bones, my breathing, my heartbeat. It has no name, no face, no personality. It is nothing.
There is no longing, no love, no hate, no anger. It is nothing.
This is where most people know who they are. They know who they are attracted to, the kinds of food they like, their favorite color, what hobbies they enjoy, what makes them angry or happy. They pull from this place their ability to be genuine and authentic. I have never really known.
I made all the self-destructive decisions I could. Took myself to the brink, to the edge, repeatedly.
My whole life sucked. I had decided that it was just the way it was, and I was never going to get better. I was never going to be better. I was never going to get better. There was no hope. No hope for me. And then I called him a Moose Knuckle and was fired.
The day I was diagnosed there was this excitement that sparked in me. Finally, there was an answer to the question “Why”. You know the feeling when you hate your job and put in your two weeks’ notice. Those last two weeks are the easiest two weeks you have ever had at that job. It was that feeling. I finally saw an end to the misery I felt, an end to the life I was living and a beginning to having the life I thought I should have. There is just something so freeing to knowing “its not really your fault”.
Hearing that I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) was like someone telling me who I am. But in a good way. I had no idea who I was up until this point, other than a “bad person”. I had done so many things that I felt so much regret, guilt, and shame about that the only thing I knew about myself was my ability to do bad things, hurtful things. It was such a relief to hear the DSM definition read and mentally place checkmark after checkmark. I was excited. For years I would do those same mental checkmarks for various diagnoses. Depression, check. Anxiety, check. Post-Partum, check. Addiction Disorder, check. And while all those fit, none of them felt right. BPD felt right.
We talked about different therapies and comorbid diagnoses. She gave me resources, places to call, prepped me for the acceptance process for DBT, printed out my list and sent me out into the world to figure out the next steps for myself. I was walking on cloud nine. I was unbelievably hopeful and optimistic. I wanted to tell everyone, shout to the world that I had found the answer, that I was on the right road now.
I sat in this place for a few days, called the people I needed to, left voicemails, checked my insurance coverage. Still so happy and encouraged and ready to start treatment. I anxiously waited for the call saying that I had been accepted into the program. Then, I googled BPD and realized I was only sitting in the eye of the storm. The other wall was about to hit me.
Borderlines are manipulative. Borderlines are dangerous. Borderlines are violent. Borderlines are liars. Borderlines are abusive. Borderlines are crazy. Don’t have kids with borderlines. Don’t date or marry a borderline. Don’t trust a borderline. Run! Run! Run! There is no help for borderlines. Borderlines do not change. Borderlines can not be treated. Run! Now! Go!
It took me three days to start finding anything impartial about BPD on the internet. Most of what was out there was about how awful people with BPD are and then some were about how you can still live a good life with BPD. I found nothing about all of the things that made life with BPD so amazing, and the parts of me that I loved, that were also attributed to my disorder, were now tainted. Now those parts were also bad. I was devastated and hopeless again. I learned to keep my diagnosis a secret. My recovery was going to have to be a road I walked alone. I felt even more empty.
I have been walking this road for almost two years now, I have found that I am most certainly not alone and that when the storm didn’t blow me over, it was because I was anchored by the support system I had counted out. Now, I see myself and my hole as one. That hole in me is a part of me. I may never know myself the way others are able to. I may never not have a hole. Part of accepting that is not being afraid of all the parts of me.
Borderlines are creative. Borderlines are passionate. Borderlines are intuitive. Borderlines have heightened awareness of other people’s emotions. Borderlines are empathetic. Borderlines feel every emotion bigger and more intensely than others. Borderlines are compassionate. Borderlines are relatable. Borderlines have an energy unlike any other. Love intensely with a borderline. Create a life worth living with a borderline. Be free with a borderline.