“I never would have guessed you have BPD.”
I wasn’t sure if I should have been comforted, or insulted by this comment, especially considering it came from a person who worked in the mental health field. “I mean, I’ve worked with people in the past who had BPD, and you’re nothing like them! You’re actually.. Normal.” This was the point where I began to feel something shift inside of me. The phrase, ‘you’re normal’ just wasn’t sitting well.
She began to tell me the story of a patient, one that had been admitted, and (from what I can gather) suffered from not only a sever case of BPD, but also many other factors as well. She told me how this woman constantly felt “wet” and “dirty” or like she was leaking water, how her comfort place was in the shower. If allowed, the woman would spend hours upon hours in the shower, yet it was the nurses job to make sure that wasn’t allowed. It was on one particularly bad day that this woman had a complete break from reality, screaming that she was “leaking” and needed help. The nurses scoffed at her and told her off, telling her to spend an entire day in the shower, see if they cared to stop her. It was reported that this woman speak the next 16 hours in the shower, not daring to move or possibly even disassociating, and flooded the facility. The cops were called when the nurses could not get in, and as a result of this, the woman leaped from a window, and fought the cops while completely nude.
This was the expected characteristics of what I should be like. This was the stigma that surrounded my mental illness. Yet I was deemed “normal”.
People who suffer from BPD are, first and foremost, people. We are not raving lunatics unable to cope or process the world around us. We are not crazy. We are people. We are able to function in a normal society setting, we are able to go about life in a normal manner, and we are able to be around people without “acting like a person with BPD”. We have BPD, that does not mean we ARE BPD.
Just like any mental illness, some suffer worse than others, and some are able to accept treatment with ease.
Does that make the ones who have a harder time with this illness bad? Not in the slightest. BPD is (most commonly) developed as a result of early on abuse, whether that be physical, mental, sexual.... Or because as a child they were placed in a situation that left them in a continuous state of fear or sever discomfort. Not everyone faces the same trauma, not everyone goes through cookie cutter examples of abuse. This in no way disvalues what they suffered on either end.
I wanted so badly to make a snide comment to her, tell her “Did it seem like I had BPD when I slit my wrists open just to watch myself bleed? Did it seem like I had BPD when I sat, dissociating, in the forest for 5 hours alone after I had smashed my phone? Did it seem like I had BPD when I smashed my head into the floor repeatedly because I was trying to crack open my skull so the bad thoughts could escape? Did it seem like I had BPD when I ruined relationships, and cried wolf, and did everything I could to push people away so that I could beg for them back?” Or was it simply the fact that I was able to sit in her kitchen, sip tea, and talk about our shared interests like a “normal” person, that made it seem so unbelievable.
I was diagnosed with BPD when I was 23 years old. I am barely 26 now. This is an illness I have suffered with since I was a teenager, but was too scared, too unwilling, to speak to a doctor about. It took me over a year of seeing doctors before I was given my diagnosis, and the first thing my doctor said to me when I finally went to see her was, “You’ve been experiencing these feelings.. Since the age of 12? And you’re just now seeing a doctor at 22?.. I mean, it’s about time and I’m glad you’re here. But, wow.”
I suffered quietly with my illness. I let it grow and fester inside of me with no outlet, no knowledge of what was wrong with me. I, for the most part, thought it was almost normal to feel this way. It was only after I began to fully break down, that I realized I needed the help of a doctor.
So to anyone out there thinking, “Am I crazy? Is this normal? Should I seek help?”
I hope that in some way, I can answer your questions and help those seeking answers.