Suicide - A Part of My Vocabulary

“Borderline individuals are the psychological equivalent of third-degree-burn patients. They simply have, so to speak, no emotional skin. Even the slightest touch or movement can create intense suffering.”

--- Marsha Linehan

This is perhaps the most well-known quote about people who are diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder; and for me, the truth of it hits me like a bag of bricks every single time that I read it.

When I was first diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), I challenged it a little bit, unwilling to accept it as a diagnosis until I did all of the research surrounding this condition. What I researched scared me… but what I realised while researching scared me even more.

I do in fact have BPD. I no longer question this, and through a series of therapy groups and individual counseling, along with constant research, and monitoring of my own behaviours, I can honestly say that I am slowly starting to see a diminishment of the outward symptoms.

Unfortunately though, as a person who struggles with BPD, my brain was rewired at a young age, and as a result these intense emotions, while more easily managed for the most part, will always exist in the extreme. While I may appear to be solid and strong and confident on the outside, it could feel internally like I am being tortured; the pain excruciating and all consuming.

This past week I had a breakdown – the first serious one in quite some time. And while it was reflective of a host of issues that I struggle with, the BPD and the intensity of emotion I experienced almost hit a psychosis of sorts, with emotions so extreme that I wanted to die both during and after the breakdown. Literally.

Over the past week, I have struggled in depth with suicidal thoughts and ideation. I have made plans and I have called friends. I have texted my feelings, and I have hidden away in my bedroom. I have spoken and specifically checked in with my support team because I know that in a second of extreme pain, reason disappears and all that I have left is this need to end my life.

I wanted to share some statistics, however doing a quick search led me to too many different sets of numbers. So instead I will share what I do know from my own personal life, and conversations that I have had with friends, family, and professionals over the last several years:

-          BPD individuals are often labelled as difficult, sometimes even refused treatment due to the extremes that we experience. Early on in my diagnosis, I was turned away from the emergency room when I was having suicidal thoughts. A time when I should have been treated with compassion was turned to guilt and shame when I showed up, completely distraught and thinking that I was making a good choice. Thankfully that was the only time, and thankfully I had a family, and enough of a basic support system to carry me through, but the stigma of that visit, where I was treated poorly, has stuck with me.

-          BPD individuals have an extremely high rate of suicide attempts AND completion. This is known, and for me the suicidal ideation can click into place in a moment’s notice. It is as though life twists, changing your perception, your logic. Sound reason simply does not exist… nothing does except for ending your pain. You are not the same person that you were previously - even just five minute before the trigger hit.

-          BPD is the elephant in the medical community’s room. When I found a new family doctor, the first thing that he told me was that he knew very little about mental illness and the medications used in its treatment – specifically the treatment of BPD.

-          BPD can be treated through therapy, and while the feelings may not disappear, they can be managed.

-          BPD is terrifying for family and friends who are close to you. I have threatened suicide. I have attempted suicide. I have left the house with nowhere to go, no money in my pockets, and once in the middle of winter, with no shoes on my feet. I have experienced emotions come from out of nowhere to verbally attack friends and family, and I have terrified my kids with worry over whether or not I would be coming home. I have 'split' apart from the put together wife, mother, and individual with clear thoughts and reasonable thinking; to become a raging woman, with no sense of time, logic, or space - intent on destroying myself, and convinced beyond a doubt that it is the best decision that I could possibly make. 

For the most part – I’m pretty open about my struggles. I want to encourage anyone reading this to ask me any questions that they might have, and I will gladly answer you to the best of my ability - asking questions, talking, and being open are the only way to end the stigma attached to mental illness and specifically BPD. But I want to ask you a question as well… something that came up in a recent conversation with a friend.

     Would you get me the help I needed if I reached out to you?

     What if I didn’t reach out, but for some reason I was acting abnormally?

     What if I specifically threatened to harm myself?

     What if it was your child? Your parent? Your spouse?

     Would you even know who to call or what to do?

Many years ago, I was struggling with the thoughts of being mentally unstable. The only thing that I knew for sure was that I could handle it… I wasn’t one of those people who struggled with mental illness. Outside of my own fear and shame, my husband, friends, our Pastor… nobody knew exactly what to do when I fell down this rabbit hole. Questions floated through the air – do I call the police? Do I insist that she speaks to someone? Do I just sit and watch her self-destruct?

The one answer I can give… it is not always your responsibility to keep me safe; but I sure do appreciate it when you do.

Two years ago, I remember being incredibly angry when my counselor told my husband to call the police. I was fuming when I was first brought in to the emergency room and admitted… I wasn’t sick. I hated the hospital. I was hurting and in pain. But had I not been forcibly taken in – I would have harmed myself, possibly for the last time.

That’s how I know the answer to my own questions. That’s how I know that I will help you every single time… whether you choose to love me for it or hate me. Life. Suicide is the one mistake that cannot be undone, and I can write this today because I was stopped from killing myself. I was found following an overdose. I was grabbed and pulled back from jumping at the last second. I was dragged to the hospital on multiple occasions because I was sick… I was not thinking clearly… I was unable to make the choices to help myself, and I know that I would have made the choices that would have harmed myself.

Today I still struggle with BPD. I still struggle with severe depressive episodes as part of the bipolar disorder. Suicide is not a foreign word in my vocabulary and I want to give it to you as well.

I want to say it loud and clear. Suicide. I want to encourage you to talk about it… to face the question of what would you do if a friend presented with suicidal ideation or warning signs. What if it was you… or your spouse or your child or your parent or your friend? I want to encourage you to ask each other – ask when you’re well, and know what to look for within a friend who struggles… ask those questions now, listen to their answers – develop a plan in case you are ever presented with this serious crisis, and if needed – don’t ever be afraid to call for help. 

* I want to add on that I in no way hold anyone accountable for the choices that I make when I am in an unstable state of mind. This post's intention was merely to open up the conversation surrounding such a sensitive topic, that is often whispered about in corners, or behind closed doors. Shame and stigma will not end if we don't talk about it, and I encourage you to leave a comment, share a story, or simply speak to a friend about this important topic.