I’m not particularly smart, well-educated, or a good writer. I’ve read so many blogs since starting my own blog that beautifully put the experience of having BPD into words, words I could never express myself, hard as I try. There is, however, one thing I am an absolute expert at: my own story. So I’m going to stick to what I know with this one, and talk about my experience discovering I have BPD.

TW: Suicide, self harm, hospitalization

In my 21 years of life, I have had 14 suicide attempts, varying in degree of severity. I was diagnosed with depression when I was 15, but had been self harming for as long as I can remember, hitting myself, scratching myself, and even biting myself on occasion. One of the few distinct memories of my childhood that I have is from around the third grade, when I wrote on a blank sheet of paper “once this paper rips in half I will kill myself.” For every “mistake” I made, I would rip the paper a little bit more. I remember my sister finding it, chastising me for writing something so serious that I knew nothing about. I threw it away.

I always knew there was more than depression going on. I was extremely hard on myself, always beating myself up for every little mistake I made. I would go to bed at night and analyze everything that I did that day, every social screw up I had, every wrong answer I said in class. This was different from my peers who were also depressed. Along with the darkness that engulfed my life and constant sadness I felt, there was something about the core of my character that was messed up, something that was ruining my friendships, my academics, and my experience in life.

It got worse when I discovered cutting. I will never forget the rush I first got sliding the blade of a pair of scissors across my arm, the feeling of something inside of me stirring as I slashed my arm. I felt relief for the first time in a long time, like I was finally being adequately punished for my mistakes. I have been habitually self harming since. I was hospitalized shortly after for my first suicide attempt. I was 17. During that hospitalization, I was forced to come out of the closet by the doctor, which led to a string of trauma and some of the worst months of my life.

I was hospitalized again at the beginning of college, when I was 18. I had a short stay, my main goal was trying to get back to studying so I didn’t fall too far behind. After this hospitalization, I started DBT therapy, which ultimately saved my life. I became extremely close with my therapist, who helped me work through the trauma of my childhood, and helped me develop feelings of self confidence and skills in dialectical thinking. I would not be where I am today without her.

I stopped therapy about a year ago due to financial reasons, and suffered a major relapse back in October. I had my 13th suicide attempt then (my 14th one was late November), where I attempted to slash my wrist in my bathtub. If it wasn’t for my very persistent, loving roommates, I would have died. I was checked into a mental hospital the next day. I spent long days wondering what was wrong with me, why my depression was so aggressive, so different, so incredibly difficult. I had gone years wondering what was wrong with me, why I was the way I was, why I was on my 13th attempt on my life that countless combinations of medications and therapists couldn’t help.

Talking with a doctor during that hospitalization, we got into some of my specific symptoms: irritability, impulsiveness, dissociation, how I feel empty all the time, how I was cutting everyday, contemplating suicide everyday, constantly feeling like I wasn’t worth being alive. She gave me a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder, which was confusing to say the least. I had a couple of friends who had the disorder, but I didn’t really know much about it. The more I talked about it, the more it made sense, and the more my fragmented memories of past began to piece themselves together. I was reading about symptoms that I just previously attributed to being a flaw in my character. Now I realized that my anger, so vicious and self directed, was the result of a developmental of my personality under toxic conditions. With this new information, I was finally beginning to heal.

My diagnosis is only a few months old, and so is my knowledge of the disorder. My education on my symptoms, especially the more complex ones, has been vital to improving my mental health. The more I understand my disorder, the more I improve, and the more I can explain to myself what is going on inside my head instead of hopelessly thinking “what is wrong with me?” I still have rough days. I still self-harm. I still contemplate suicide, but now I am starting to be okay. I am slowly improving myself, slowly beginning to love myself, and slowly, slowly getting better.

Despite this diagnosis helping me discover myself, I now need to learn to separate myself from it. My disorder has haunted me for too long, and while I will always acknowledge that it’s there, I now need to learn to recognize that I am more than it. BPD will always be part of my personality, but I can and will cope with the symptoms. I am worthy of being able to cope. Despite everything I have been through, despite everything I will face, I am worthy of having a space on this Earth. I am worthy of being alive.

-Sam

On this episode of “Sam tries to tackle another really big topic,” I’ll be attempting to talk about splitting. Splitting is a defense mechanism that people with BPD use to counteract the intense fear of abandonment that so many of us have. It makes us see many people and situations as either good or bad with no in between. Splitting can be emotionally draining and exhausting, and can damage social relationships. There’s plenty of things I hate about this disorder, but splitting has to be the one of the things I hate the most. Let me give you an example.

I had a friend a long time ago who was incredibly important to me. They were so supportive and kind, and I really enjoyed spending time with them. Despite all of their good qualities, they were, I felt, extremely critical of me. It was small criticisms about my drinking habits and some of my other dangerous impulsive behaviors. I mess up a lot. I’m not trying to excuse my behavior, I never am, but being criticized for things that are a result of my disorder, which is part of my personality, can be difficult to swallow. They, of course, were only trying to make sure I was healthy, that I was okay. Nevertheless, I started to hate them. I started to think that they were an evil, horrible person (they aren’t) and that I needed to cut them off. I blocked them on all forms of social media, deleted their number, and never spoke to them again.

It’s difficult for me to look back at some of the things I’ve done when I was splitting. Not only have I ended friendships entirely, but I’ve said some pretty hurtful things that I did not mean. Splitting can make maintaining relationships extremely difficult, and I often struggle to combat what is rational and irrational when dealing with my feelings towards other people.

Splitting is not only restricted to my social relationships. I am often splitting with my feelings towards myself. I can love myself in the morning and hate myself in the evening depending on my actions throughout the day. The extremely high standards I hold for others I often hold for myself. Sometimes I feel like I’m on top of the world, that I am wonderful and amazing and perfect, and sometimes (most of the time) I feel like I’m the scum of the earth. It’s completely unhealthy, and can often send me spiraling out of control.

I can split with anyone. I’ve done it with my mother and other close family members, my best friends, my roommates, co-workers and acquaintances. No one is safe from my ability to turn on them at any moment. I recognize that it is unhealthy, and dialectical thinking is certainly something I work on in therapy. It’s insanely difficult to try to override the impulses that are attempting to protect you, but it’s necessary to maintain healthy relationships with the people I love.

If you’re reading this to support someone who is splitting, know that it can be difficult, and you must always take care of yourself. It’s okay to give me space, it’s okay to give yourself space, and being aware of what is happening can do a lot for the both of us. That being said, kindness can go a million miles. Splitting is incredibly difficult for the person it is happening to as well as the people they love. I have the upmost sympathy for friends who I’ve suddenly hated, who I’ve suddenly turned on. I know it doesn’t excuse my behavior, but please know I do it in self defense, to combat the aggressive fear of abandonment and loneliness I feel every single day. The best thing to do for someone who is splitting is to try to understand, try to educate yourself, and try to put yourself in their shoes.

I hope this is somewhat clear, although it may be difficult to understand. Please reach out if you have any questions, and thank you for reading.

-Sam

I have had a really profound college experience so far, but nothing has been more impactful than the Intergroup Dialogues class I took last semester. The class, for those who are unfamiliar with it, has you fill out a survey before you begin, where you list all of your social identities such as race, gender, SES, and many more. The instructors then place you into dialogue groups centered around a specific identity. The groups are compromised of half of the privileged population of that identity and half of the oppressed population. For example, my dialogue was sexual orientation, so half of the class was straight, while the other half of the class was on the spectrum. As you progress through the class, you dive deeper into controversial topics regarding the social identity, and the conversations that come from it can be simultaneously frustrating and enlightening.

I learned so much from this class, and loved the opportunity to explore my queerness within it, but my biggest takeaway was our discussions on how to actively listen and empathize. I have learned that conversation, not just education, is one of the most important parts of activism work, and a big piece of that is being able to listen. This skill, however, is not just for activists. It is crucial that allies of marginalized communities are able to actively listen to members of the community they are fighting for. This is especially true in the mental health community.

Although some mental disorders are slowly becoming destigmatized, such as depression and anxiety, many disorders are not. Bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, schizophrenia, and other disorders continue to be heavily stigmatized and misunderstood. If you want to be an ally for those who are suffering from mental illness, you have to hear all of our stories, even from those of us with more serious and rare mental illnesses.

If we want to help improve understanding of BPD and other stigmatized disorders, we need people who are willing to hear us, not just listen. There is a huge difference between listening to someone’s story and doing nothing, and hearing someone’s story and changing something as a result. Maybe you stop using to word “crazy” or “insane” to describe people. Maybe you educate yourself on bipolar disorder, how it’s not always just aggressive mood swings. Maybe you simply take someone’s story to heart, and work on changing a bias you previously had about a disorder. We need allies who are willing to listen, change, and take action from hearing us, not just saying “that sucks” and moving on.

I’ve been guilty of simply listening in the past. I’ve thought “this doesn’t affect me,” and left the conversation with myself at that. I understand that it takes time, effort, and practice to develop, but it is a skill that we must learn for the good of everyone. Having difficult, frustrating conversations about mental health is how we are going to make progress erasing the stigma surrounding those suffering from serious mental illnesses. Start getting educated, start having conversations, and most importantly, start to hear what people with BPD have to say.

-Sam