Borderline Truth

Your truth. My truth. THE TRUTH.

It always amazes me how people see the truth as such a subjective matter that can automatically invalidate another person's experience. Being a person who has struggled with big emotions for a long time, it hasn’t always been an easy concept for me to grasp – the difference between my truth, your truth, and the real truth.

Once my Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) was diagnosed – it became impossible for My Truth, to ever be even close to THE TRUTH again.

It’s not that it wasn’t truth… in fact, more often than not, the BPD that I have felt weighed down by, has in fact made things more clear and concise; my fear of not being heard or properly understood, ensuring that I analyse everything that I say repeatedly before I ever actually speak… with only a few selected people allowed in to see more than what I allow to pass through the filter. Unfortunately though, the truth does not always set us free… and being labelled as a ‘borderline’, has crossed my thoughts and emotions into this territory marked ‘over-emotional’.

Over the last couple of weeks specifically, this label – this assumption has plagued me with self-doubt, unease, and a familiar depression; as I was slammed emotionally into a darker place. Speaking out at first was not an option… and when I did speak out to a few friends, it was filled with self-pity, self-loathing, and full on fear – fear of not being heard, fear of abandonment, fear of them taking the ‘other side’, fear of a lack of understanding, and fear of not being articulate enough – of going too far, or exaggerating, or straight up making things worse. But my biggest fear was simply being told that my experiences weren’t the truth.

Because for the past four years, that was what I was told that borderlines did. They lied, manipulated, exaggerated, blew up, had a lack of emotional regulation, and destroyed the lives of those around them. Those in my life have said to me in the same sentence – ‘don’t blame your BPD’ and ‘that’s your BPD talking’. It’s a double edged sword, that really has no merit.

Because along with the BPD diagnosis – I did something else - well several things actually -  over the last four years. I have received counselling, I have worked through DBT (a therapy program specifically for BPD), I have built an understanding and emotionally stable support system around me, I have attended for a time a recovery step-program, and I have continued to implement and put into place those skills, the knowledge, and the analytics to know and pinpoint my behaviour better than ever. I’m not perfect, and I have moments – hell, sometimes I even have days, where I slip up and I feel defeated - like I will never gain freedom from this diagnosis… but I can honestly also say that I have never been at the place of self-awareness I’m at now. Mistakes happen. Emotions can still get the better of me at times… I have hurt people in anger or pain, and I have allowed them to hurt me, because I’m not perfect. Because I’m human.

And where I’m at now is angry.

This week I was told once again, ‘that’s YOUR truth, not THE truth’… another hint at the BPD, and a history of unstable emotions. Another sentence made in anger, so that I would doubt my experiences – not as a BPD sufferer, but as a human. Automatically, because I was hurt, because I refused to allow another human to determine my fate, and because I am in the midst of a painful experience; my thoughts, emotions, and words were automatically considered invalid because of my BPD.

I’m angry, because for a long time – I didn’t know that they were wrong. I couldn’t separate the fact that just because another person disagrees with me, that it doesn’t make the truth any less true. I have been convinced for so long, that because of the BPD, my voice did not deserve to be heard in the midst of trauma or pain. 

Psychologically, I’m facing a major trauma that I should have dealt with many years ago. When I tried to place it… to change things within my life and work through it; I was told ‘I’m sorry you feel that way, but that’s YOUR truth, not THE truth’; simply because the person involved didn’t like what I had to say. When I pointed to supporting evidence, it was ignored – as though my BPD mind, simply made it up… poof.

The past week has been brutal. The previous couple of days, darker than some of my others as I allowed someone else to convince me that I was broken – not good enough, unstable, and incapable. I allowed myself to nearly make a major decision, based on another person’s opinion of how difficult a person I can be due to my mental illness. I doubted myself, because I’ve been taught to doubt myself and question every thought, emotion and word.

Today I did a quick google search on BPD. Clicking through some of the links, I was amazed at some of the references to ‘surviving borderlines’ – aka, how to tolerate someone with this diagnosis. As though we are somehow less human, less than capable of loving and being loved. With a focus on the instability of our emotions, we are labelled as difficult to treat, difficult to love, and difficult to even be around.

When I scrolled through some mental health groups that I belong to, there was a stark contrast between those with the disease, and those who love someone with the disease.

I saw the patterns emerge and I was in awe that they seemed to replicate my life. BPD’s have mood swings – intense and unstable mood swings. Until we manage to figure out ways to begin to manage them – they never really disappear, but we learn coping strategies to deal with constant fluctuation. The difference is, that when something big happens (positive OR negative) our reactions can seem to the outsider, extreme. Trauma is especially bad. But the commonality in all of it, was that it continued to get worse – the stigma strongest against this specific diagnosis, as we are taught to doubt every thought and feeling before it’s allowed to be ‘truth’. And unfortunately, in my specific case,  the more work that I have done to combat the 'out of control' nature of the disorder, the more it upset the balance in life. Where once, my BPD could be used as an excuse, a distraction, or as evidence of instability... I now have changed viewpoints, perceptions, and an incredibly strong sense of self-awareness (most of the time anyways).

On the other hand, I saw loved ones talking and sharing about their friends or family who had been diagnosed. I saw an interesting trend (in my mind you, quick scroll), that seemed that at first diagnosis, the loved ones felt a sense of relief…. Finally answers. But as the diagnosis aged… every emotion, every problem, every trauma that the BPD sufferer faced was too much for the loved ones to deal with… the BPD was blamed for everything from general anxiety, to feeling hurt over betrayal, to crying over a sad movie. When the loved ones made a mistake or hurt the BPD - it seemed like the instability of the emotions was a scapegoat. Even when the BPD emotions happened as a direct result of the trauma inflicted on a person, they were blamed for having the disorder in the first place. 

It became a mindset. A case of this is what happens in BPD… I better look out for that at every turn. Nothing is real.

As I scrolled through old threads of conversation and examined my own life a little deeper, I felt the anger grow stronger. I remembered the small comments and the sideways glances. The calm and collected talks that became nightmare fights, because everything became a part of my mental illness... even on days where I was in control and doing well... I couldn't escape the weight of it. It’s the stigma  that has existed within my own home.

One of the environmental factors that is a key indicator of developing Borderline Personality Disorder, is a continued pattern of invalidation in childhood/early teenage years. And yet, as soon as someone is diagnosed with BPD, it seems to begin a new cycle of invalidation – it’s all because of the BPD.

Your feelings don’t matter.

Your instincts can’t possibly be accurate.

Those emotions? Too strong.

Your personality? Too much.

Your pain? Not real.

Your experience? Twisted and corrupted by the Borderline Mind.

And so we manage the emotion. We learn to doubt ourselves… our heads. We carefully construct our sentence, our fear of being called overly-emotional, or exaggerated, or outright liars; always keeping us on high-alert… keeping us from speaking out, from being heard.

This year, I made a promise to myself to try and live a more authentic and honest life. It has led me down some interesting paths – I have had anger and resentment cast towards me over the silliest things, and I have hurt some people with my lack of social etiquette in breaching certain topics. I have failed at times to be as real as I want to be and as real as I still aim to be. I hold secrets within my heart, and I sometimes share too much. I’m still learning how to be real and true… in a healthy way.

But this. This is a start. Because I am tired of being told that my experiences aren’t real, just because they are told from my perspective. My truth, is not any less valid than YOUR truth. And if, my truth at times does become distorted – it’s most often not from any disorder that I might struggle with… most often it’s from lies that I’ve begun to believe, because for so long I was convinced... I have BPD… I can’t trust myself.

But the truth is… I can. And I will.

I am not my diagnosis.

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A Picture Worth A Thousand Lies

Last week I posted a series of family pictures on social media from a week off we had all shared together. An hour later I flipped through the images and I froze… seeing the happy, smiling faces in the images and I realised that I couldn’t do it. Quickly, although a couple people had already ‘liked’ the images, I changed the privacy setting so that only I could see them now.

This week I looked through them again and I changed my mind again… why was I hiding them? Who cares? So again I changed the privacy setting back to ‘friends’ and I added more pictures from the last couple of weeks.

But as I’ve continued to think about it, the thoughts coming back to me constantly… I wondered again, why? Why do we do this? Why do we present something so different from our reality to our friends and family? Why don’t we share the whole truth? The whole story?

For me, this picture in particular, hits me the hardest every time that I see it:

It’s the first picture that I’ve been able to get of our family of six in quite some time. The kids are getting older, schedules are getting busier… and quite frankly… nobody has been in the mood to pose for the typical happy family, wall worthy, portraits.

Today, I didn’t crawl out from my bed until after 9am… a habit that has formed this week as I have struggled with intense insomnia – not falling asleep until early morning on most days, and even then… it’s broken, rough. Even still, as I write this post, my energy is lacking… my focus all over the place, and my mood downright low.

This isn’t new… the last several months (nearly a year) have been some of the hardest ones I’ve ever faced. Sometimes I’ve shared tidbits – if you know me in real life, you might have a few more of the pieces to what’s been going on… but for the most part, I’ve tried my best to push forward, put on a front, and smile through the pain.

Last September I made an educated decision to completely stop my mood medications. After dealing with side effects that included rapid and uncontrollable weight gain (that I’m only just now beginning to get control of again), shifts to my metabolism, a complete hormonal imbalance, lack of focus, drive and energy, and only partial mood stabili

sation – I made the decision to wean off the meds (slowly and carefully). At first – I hid this fact from anyone who asked. Not because I wanted to lie to them, or because I was trying to hide it… but because I felt like it was easier, and I was confident in my decision – I honestly wasn’t interested in hearing anyone else’s opinion on the matter. I needed time to try and reset my body. I also wanted to see if I could figure out how much of my diagnosis was true genetic/chemical, and how much was in relation to my lifetime environmental settings.

Going through the fall, Christmas, and then a long and dreary winter was difficult… but not impossible. Watching my moods, reaching out for support, and trying to maintain some semblance of a routine helped quite a bit. And even through relationship difficulties, financial instability, and fluctuating chemical/hormonal balances as my body adjusted… I survived… some days better than others.

But as February hit… the pieces began to crumble within me once again.

Already in a rough patch, I made some poor decisions in the midst of an already messy situation which resulted in (what I believed was) the end of a close friendship, a termination of my steady counseling, and even further marital stress.

Less than two weeks later… as I was scrambling on my own to find some steady footing… I discovered that some of my driving triggers, fears, and paranoid ideas… were not so wrong afterall. 

Uncovering an entire marriage worth of secrets, lies, betrayals, and twisted manipulations… I began to spiral down that familiar deep, dark, hole again.

But something clicked in me.

Maybe it was years of counseling and work on my mental health... maybe it was some sort of strength and determination… or maybe it was exhaustion; I’m not really sure. But I actually muddled through the darkness and fought my way beyond depression and anxiety, behind paranoia, and a potential psychotic break. It wasn’t perfect and at times it was beyond messy… but I kept going.

And since then, the last five months have been up and down… new triggers added each day as I face a tough season in my life.

As I’ve tried to swim upstream, some days I’ve felt dragged under by the current. Some days I feel like I’m just drifting, and others I’m caught in a riptide, being dragged out of the stream and out to sea.

The last five months I’ve been trying to build very basic pieces of myself to figure out who I am, and where I belong… as well as what I’m capable of. Because somewhere along the way, I fell apart… my brain actually changing, becoming different and unfamiliar. Things that I could previously do, no longer within my capabilities. Focus, thoughts, and triggers…. They were there but unrecognisable. Somewhere within me, and at a very basic level… I somehow broke down even further. The shift so strong, that I can barely recognise myself.

I want to keep pushing through this, but there are some things, that no matter how hard I try… I just can’t seem to grasp anymore.

Recently, my mental health has taken another blow.

Throughout my life, my history with mental health, stress, triggers, and all of the ups and downs… nothing has mattered more to me than my family… and in particular, my children.

Recently, my oldest son, decided to move out… at sixteen years old.

The situation is complicated and I won’t go into it here. But as strong as I am, and as much as I am the adult in the house, and as much as I only want what is best for him… my heart aches.

And with that ache, comes all of the words I’ve had thrown at me over the years. The reminders that I am not good enough, that I am not doing a good job.

My worst fear has come true.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow… I don’t dare to even try and figure that out.

I want to say that I will find my strength and rebuild the way that I always have… I will come out of this on the other side with funny stories, and battle scars, and a life that I am sure about. And while I am working to muddle through this entire year’s worth of pain and instability… I’m not sure what the other side will look like.

But as I look back at the pictures from just a few short weeks ago, I want to cry... not because of the images, but because that picture is all of the lies that I want to believe.

I want to believe that we are the family presented in the photo. That years of mental health and devastating blows, haven’t taken their toll on this family.

And I wanted to share all of this, because this is the reality.

Tonight I’m sitting at home, my face streaked with tears as I try and pull myself together to watch a movie with our youngest two children. The oldest one is not here right now, and I feel the missing piece with every breath I take. Our second oldest is away at camp for the summer – gone for six weeks. Another ache, knowing how much I miss him. I ache for my youngest two, who are witnessing changes, stress, and heartache… who ask questions and miss both of their brothers right now. The younger two who spend the most time with me, and who notice the changes… but don’t fully understand why.

So tonight I’ll share this post. Because a picture? It’s worth a thousand lies… and if we want to end the stigma against not just mental health, but about all of the triggers that can influence a major breakdown, and that (specifically) a person struggling with mental health needs support in; then the only way to do that is to keep on sharing. Share those pictures of the smiles through the rough times. But share the hard stuff too... because words are just as powerful when filled with truth, pain, love, and support. 

So today, my family is broken. My mental health is struggling. I’m barely able to get out of bed in the mornings, or to respond to calls or texts from family and friends. I’m exhausted and I don’t know if I’m doing anything ‘right’ at all.

And I know I’m not the only one feeling this way.

So let's be real. Life is messy. It’s painful. And it will get easier, if we open up and let each other in.

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