All of you who think you can save me, you cannot. I have a death sentence, I do not want to be Borderline. I don’t want to be impulsive. I don’t want to be depressed. I don’t want to have anxiety. I don’t want to take pills that make me tired. I don’t want to hide my identity from those who are not in the immediate medical loop. I have been diagnosed the same by 3 well-known psychiatrists and 1 psychologist. I don’t fit all of the usual behaviors, but I do enough for a diagnosis. I am incredibly impulsive. Sometimes I drive really fast so I drift on the gravel or snow. I dare my car to flip. I enter 30 degree water. I dare myself to get hypothermia. I have no fear of death. I have no fear of needles. I have no fear of heights. I am scared of snakes and spiders. I am scared of being social. I am afraid of people finding out my diagnosis and immediately looking at me as incapable. I think about suicide obsessively every day. I generally push the thoughts aside. If I am tired or upset or lonely sometimes I allow myself to overly obsess and imagine how it would go. I have had ECT treatments (Electro-Convulsive Therapy also known as shock therapy). They wiped out part of my short-term memory, but did not help my depression. I have tried EMDR, but I can’t handle bringing up the past. I have been on so many medications, it would fill a book to write them all down. I have been in therapy for a year. I make progress and then slide back into the hole. I have been in treatment 4 different times, in three different places. Two being Behavioral Health Units, and one being the state hospital, ranging from 5 days to a month. I try and try and try to be normal, but I end up failing and then retreating into my house and ignoring the world. A world that hates me. I work in mental health. It is rewarding because, although they don’t know it, I get their feelings and experiences because I have been there. I have taken too many meds, I became an alcoholic (although I am now 5 months sober). I cut myself over and over, I have caused myself to fail because I don’t feel I deserve to succeed. I fight with myself every day. I hear a voice. People don’t believe me, so I try to pretend I don’t. They say that it is my conscience. Well, then my conscience needs to shut up and stop yelling at me and giving me headaches. I have read so many books on helping myself- I should be a pro. I know DBT pretty well and can teach it to others, but not use it myself. I hate myself daily. My romantic relationship is on the rocks half the time because I struggle to share my grief with others. Therapy helps, but I fear any possibility of becoming reactive-attachment.
I don’t want to be like this. But I am. I keep fighting. I hope that the illness won’t take me. But I am prepared for it to sweep me away in one bad day. I’ll give in. It probably will be peaceful. Those who said that I would call someone will wish they never took themselves so seriously, but ignored my plight.. Those who think that I am just going to “snap out of it:” someday will wish they tried to understand. A label is a label. This label is a possible story of strength or a death sentence.
I don’t want to be like this. But I am.