…ends today. Shit, I didn’t even know.
I was only recently diagnosed, like last year. And made the fool’s mistake of trying to Google it.
It was a fool’s mistake because after reading a few of the links, just the titles, not even clicking, I learned that I was a manipulative, overly sensitive, needy monster who should never, ever have an sort of relationship ever, lest you ruin someone’s life. Even the forums for people WITH BPD had a story or two from someone who didn’t have BPD about a “crazy” ex.
I was even more depressed. I picked through my actions like I was looking for lice in a kid’s hair. Was that post a sign of being needy? Maybe I’m making everyone sick of me by posting about my struggles so much. I talk a lot about being poor and on welfare. Maybe that’s attention seeking. I asked people to help me with toys for my cat. Was that being needy? I still want people to invite me to stuff, even though most of the time I won’t go. Was that being manipulative? A dear friend cleared out my wishlist of sewing supplies. Another, upon me making a post lamenting not feeling well enough to go grocery shopping, dropped off OJ and soy milk on my doorstep. Did I manipulate them into that? What about my relationship with my partner? Is asking him for help sometimes a sign of neediness?
And oh shit, what about when I was the hot garbage mess of my 20s? All those times I thought I was just being manic, where those cries for attention. Was getting drunk and sleeping with a bunch of people me needing validation? How many people tell others about their “crazy” ex-girlfriend and are talking about me?
And so on and so on until I was a nervous wreck. I didn’t want to interact with ANYONE out of fear that this BPD monster inside me would come out and wreck them. Fuck, I just wanted to die so I wouldn’t be a bother to anyone anymore. How many people would be relieved to not have to deal with me and my shit anymore?
Then, I messaged a friend who also had BPD. And we talked. I wasn’t a monster, I was suffering. When you spend your formative years craving attention that you never got, of course it’s natural to crave it, seek it out, NEED it. In some cases, I went about in ways that were harmful to me and others, but it wasn’t my fault. Fuck, all that depression and feeling like dying was the BPD monster yelling in my ear.
Now I knew better, so I could do better. I’m in therapy, DBT, trying to learn how to bring myself to a place of rational sense when the monster starts yelling (or trying anyway, the monster is really loud and my body is made of hair trigger anxiety). I take meds for the depression and anxiety that are also present.
And I know I’m not alone. I can’t apologize to every single person I may have wronged, but I know better. So I can do better.
And now that I’ve made myself sad, time to make it better. Hit it, boys!