The story that is Beautiful Disaster…

 

I suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder (among other things). I’ve been diagnosed with BPD, OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), Major Depression, Mysophobia, Agoraphobia, DPD (Depersonalization Disorder) and GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder). I know, it’s a lot. Most of these disorders I am able to control with the help of medication. A few years ago I wouldn’t leave the house (despite medication I often still  have a problem leaving the house). I wouldn’t shake people’s hands, use the same utensils others used, I couldn’t touch damn near ANYTHING. I couldn’t stand being touched by people, hugged or otherwise. I still can’t deal with hugs properly. I freeze up when someone hugs me. I only feel safe being hugged by 3 people in this entire world.

I was diagnosed in my teens. BPD was brought up as a possibility when I was 12 years old. I immediately denied any possibility of me having such a thing. I figured that I was just going through some stuff and that I could solve it on my own. I was a big girl, I was extremely mature for my age, as I always have been. As the years went by and I went through hell and back, I started therapy and medication. I got diagnosed and I started coming to terms with my diagnosis. I would look up any information that I could find regarding BPD. I wanted to know what I had. I found out that there were more like me, that was some what of a comforting thought. I wasn’t alone! I wasn’t crazy! At the time I refused to do group therapy, this was mainly because of my severe dislike for people.

The medication would work for a while but we (my doctor and I) soon discovered that I had a high tolerance for medication. It certainly explained why my sleeping pills didn’t seem to work on me as they should have. I didn’t lose hope. I continued my therapy and whenever the current medication of choice would stop working, we would move on to the next.

From age 15 until about age 18/19, I was what some people would consider “reckless” and “impulsive”. While I have never done drugs in my life, I started abusing my medication. I would mix my medication with alcohol. I liked the way it made me feel. When I did that I could “escape” for a while. I didn’t have to deal with the real world. I didn’t have to deal with MYSELF. Then I would sometimes smoke weed. I became what you might call “promiscuous”, for a while. I used to cut. I would cut in my left arm. They became pretty deep cuts, I would bleed heavily. Every time I cut I would feel better. It was like I felt relieved. I was at the height of my BPD. In those years I did things that I don’t ever wish to do again. In fact, a big part of that period is a blur to me. Due to the medication and alcohol abuse and because I’ve blocked it out. I don’t like thinking about it. But it is a part of me and my history so I’ve accepted it.

During this period I also had a person in my life that was absolutely destructive to me. I let him use me (mentally, financially and physically). I was very well aware of what a bad influence he was on me but I was blinded. I was convinced that I loved him and that he cared for me. Somewhere I think that he did indeed care about me a lot, but it all just went to shit after a while. After a long while I finally cut ties with him and tried moving on with my life. I still think about him occasionally and long back to those times. As stupid as that may sound. And I am deathly afraid of him returning. I am afraid of how I will respond, I am afraid that I will drop everything and run right back after him. This thought often haunts me.

For a while things seemed somewhat stable. For as far as that was possible with someone like me. During all of this, during my entire “period”, I went to school and I worked. So please don’t think that I spent my days abusing medication and alcohol and had no life. I saw my friends, I went to school and I worked. My school career has been somewhat “weird”, to say the least. But more about that later.

I moved out on my own and everything was going fine. Until I started slipping away again and this time it was worse. Because I saw it coming this time. I reached out for help, I did the best that I could, but I still slipped away. Depression hit again. It took me a while but I eventually came out of it bit by bit. My therapy got more intense, different medication, you name it. But even though I did the best that I could, things still went down hill again. It’s like a roller coaster, up and down.

Things went south for me and I was going to be evicted out of my apartment, I hadn’t kept up with my rent payments. I had gone through a very impulsive spending spree, all on credit. I had a bunch of creditors tracking me down and I was being sued left and right. It was driving me absolutely INSANE. I am very sensitive to what happens around me. It can affect my moods very easily. I then decided to de-register out of the country. If I wasn’t registered, they couldn’t find me.

I then spent a few months in Norway in the country side, I needed to clear my head. I came back in the winter and I had gotten a job offer in Ireland, that I accepted. But circumstances didn’t allow me to move there for the job. A few months later I got offered another job, as an Au Pair. I moved to Sweden and I spent a few months there. I quit the Au Pair job I had there due to certain circumstances (the mother was bat shit crazy, that’s why!). I then moved to Denmark. In this period I had started a new medication, Prozac. Life was GREAT! I had met a great guy, we had started a relationship, I absolutely adored him, and it was mutual. Things went really fast.

As always, a lovely black cloud followed me and cast it bad luck upon me. My lovely boyfriend? Major issues (psychological). And I had no problem with that, at all. It would make me a hypocrite if I did. But being a typical male, he refused to open up. I could go on for hours about him and his short comings, but I won’t. Not now.

After about a year I came back to Amsterdam. It’s my home, it’s where I spent damn near my entire life. I came back to be with my Grandmother. Right now my days don’t consist of that much. I go and see my Grandmother, I spend time with her and with my cousin F. She’s pregnant and I’ve been real involved with the entire pregnancy.

I started up therapy again at my old practice. I didn’t go to therapy for a year while I was in Denmark. I’ve started all kinds of activities at the practice. So far I’ve taken up painting and flower arranging. I will soon be starting Mindfullness training, yoga, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, fitness and also Schema Therapy. I started yet ANOTHER new medication just over a month ago. It’s been working so far, I hope that it doesn’t STOP working like all the others have. I have an insanely high tolerance for medication and alcohol. So hopefully my days will be less boring and filled with all these activities. Because I have been doing NOTHING for months and it’s driving me bonkers. I mean it. I need to be stimulated.

I like to think of myself as a smart person, luckily many other people agree with me. So I feel completely useless just sitting around and doing nothing. I used to write, paint and draw a lot. But I haven’t felt like it for a LONG time. I only started painting again since about 2 weeks. I just need anything I can find to offer me distraction. Even though my medication work (for now), it’s still absolutely busy in my head. I need distraction… from myself…

I hadn’t cut in almost 6 years, but in October of 2012 I broke down and I cut. I was so devastated because of my boyfriend’s behavior and everything else that was stressing me out, that I just broke down. I was staying with my mother and the time and she was out of the country (as usual), so I was home alone. It frightened me so bad that I checked myself into the psychiatric hospital in Copenhagen. I stayed there for a few days. It did me good. I never wanted to cut, I really didn’t want to. It was something that I thought I had put behind me.

About 2 months ago I was extremely suicidal. To the point of planning how to do it. I had never in my entire life felt that way. I have been suicidal before, but never as much as this last time. It scared me, it scared me a lot. My doctor then prescribed me Cymbalta, because my Prozac had stopped working. Luckily it kicked in on time and my suicidal thoughts faded. But it was really scary, being in my head. I actually WANTED to die. All I wanted was for the pain to stop. That is all.

I will wrap this up, I’ve given you a pretty good impression of myself I think. For now at least. Can’t give you everything at once. Thank you for reading, and even if no one read this, this is like my diary. It’s to get it all off of my chest.

-Beautiful Disaster

 

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