Hello, Eve. Welcome to the life of BPD.

Until it sleeps - Metallica


Great... I'm incurable.... sick. Forever..
No chance of getting "better", only small moments of sanity.
I have Borderline Personality Disorder. Lovely.
I'm not a whole, complete person... I was never whole... I never will be.
'Deven, hello? Say something"
Oh, yeah. Therapy. Woops. Supposed to have an emotional response.
Supposed to be upset.
How?

How did this happen to me in the first place? I don't remember signing up for an untreatable, incurable mental illness... What exactly happened to cause this?
Who... no... WHAT am I??

Borderline Personality Disorder, by definition, means that I don't have the correct emotional responses that a normal, fully functioning and sane person has. If someone has devastating news to tell me, I might not cry. I might not frown... I might not do anything.
I feel. I have emotions. I don't know how to show them anymore, and when I do figure it all out it explodes. That's why I'm being told constantly that I'm unfit. I thought that I could fight through this, that there was a way that I could just do my stupid programs and counselling and get my kids back from Social Services. Nope.

According to my counsellor, my kids are better off where they are because I'm not fighting hard enough. Borderline causes people to have problems with attachment and consistency.
Routine is hard.
I don't know how to make a schedule and stick to it.
I failed. I messed up and I only have myself to blame even though it feels as if I'm not in control.
I have a name for my borderline, because when that aspect of me comes out I feel like I'm not myself.
No, it's not a separate personality, by any means.
It's feeling all my emotions leave my body, watching myself disappear. I am not me anymore.
|Suddenly rash decisions seem good. Suddenly, I lack all common sense, judgement. I don't analyze at all. I hate people. I don't want anyone to talk to me. At all.
If you ever knew me before this you'd know that this is so far from being me.

I used to be bubbly, upbeat, talkative, social, happy.
Now I'm blank. Empty.
"ground control to Major Tom."
The lights are on, but there's no one home.
Eve. Her name is Eve. I was told it's unhealthy to give my inner demon a name. But she exists.
When I'm half-way through a laugh, I stop. Silent. Blank. Empty. Hello, Eve.
When I should be feeling joy, my smile spreads wide across my face, then falls. Hello, Eve.
When I'm being yelled at, or someone says something to set me off and I clench my fists, blink back tears and then turn blank. sigh, and then stop. Silent. Hello, Eve.

I constantly have to keep asking myself if I deserve anything in my life.
Am I allowed to be a mother? am I allowed friends? love?
Apparently I over-Idealize things. I like to paint pretty rainbows on pictures of a shit-hole and call it
"realism". Yeah. welcome to my world, my dear.

I screamed at my therapist today, and that sounds like a fairly normal thing that happens to probably 1 out of every like 4 people in therapy, except my therapist is a little old man. He's relatively happy, kind, helpful, upbeat. What did he ever do to me? is it FAIR that I screamed at him?
half of me says he woke the beast and deserved it. No one, NO ONE says that crap to me and gets away with it. But I know it was a test, he did it to test my emotional responses and I failed, miserably.
He was testing me to see how I would do if he brought up anything that Social Services said. He was testing me to see how I handled anger, depression, sadness.

I failed.
Now I'm a "threat" Because I yelled, I cried. several times. hysterically.
And the horrifying thing? I don't know if it was really a test, or if it was actually true what he said to me. There's no CURE for BPD. I know that. I've ALWAYS known that.
Eve will always be there, lurking.

He said that my children are better off where they are, that they shouldn't be with me because I'm not stable, attached or consistent enough. That he believes I might not EVER stand a chance at getting them back. That if I were to take this to court, I'd fail. The odds are not in my favor.
I would make myself look even more delusional because I'm mentally ill and apparently I'm denying my illness. Hiding it, or else using it as a crutch, an excuse.

Okay, then let's be completely honest.
I'm not always sick, I'm not always sore or tired. I have missed out on a few visits.
why? because I'm having a mental breakdown and part of me is desperately clinging to the little thread of hope I have at getting my kids back, and the other part of me is saying there's no point.
They'd be better off without me because I'm unstable. I'm a mess and I always will be.
No amount of therapy will ever make me sane and whole.

No amount of wishful thinking and fighting and therapy, and parenting classes will ever make me a good mother. I try, and try... and now it feels like there's no fight left in me.
|I am trying so damned hard to get through this, but there is no getting through it.
It's here forever.

Will I ever get my kids back? according to my counselor ? no. Not a chance in hell.
How did this happen to me?! One minute I was fine and then I lost my temper ONCE and raised my voice and cursed at my son, I am killing myself on the inside for it.
I should've taken classes, should've taken counselling.
I was scared. I was confused. I didn't know at the time that I was sick.

But for 4 wonderful years I had my son. I raised him.
So why am I suddenly not allowed to now? oh, right. the BPD.
Funny, I've had it my whole life. So why now? why is it only an issue now?

My life is supposed to fall apart. Because everything happens for a reason, and Time Heals Everything.
Sometimes I feel like carving my hourglass tattoo right out of my forearm. Bittersweet Irony.
" Time Heals Everything" really? all the time in the world will never close the wound left by my children being taken, the abuse I've put up with. The horrible experiences I've gone through.

My raw emotions are being bled out until there is nothing left.
I am going to be a goddamn robot... is that what my kids, family and friends need?

I had dreams. I had dreams of being a mother with a big loving family, a supportive, adoring husband, a career where I could work as a support for struggling teenagers.

If you asked me what I wanted to be in 5 years, when I was a child, I would've said "happy"
Now, ask me again. What do I want to be in 5 years? sane.
I want so badly to be sane.
To be whole.

To be Deven and not Eve.
To be the little girl who had hopes and dreams, I want to be me again... IF there ever actually WAS anything that was actually ME in my childhood.
But I never made smart choices, I always, always over-idealized people, situations.
It was so easy for me to have my hopes and dreams crushed. God, how many times had I been bullied, told I was "gross" or "weird"? How many times had I tried to have that wonderful, floating on clouds first kiss? I thought that my first boyfriend would be someone I'd be with for years before saying " I love you", I thought that my first time would be on a bed covered in silk with soft rose petals, violin music and candle-light. Reality check much needed!!!
I thought Mum and Dad would be together forever, I didn't understand mental illness, loss, suffering. Madness.
I think I noticed the BPD when I woke up in the middle of the night hearing my mother scream.
I remember running downstairs and turning on the living room light to see absolute horror.
My mother had a black eye. Mum and Dad were fighting. Again.
My father had schizophrenia and psychosis  and I didn't know.
My father had a substance abuse issue and drank a lot, and didn't take his medications properly, or at all. I didn't know.

Then the BPD came out again when I witnessed them fighting and ran into my room crying, then suddenly stopped. I stopped and asked myself if it would affect me in a year from that moment, my answer was "probably not", the tears stopped and I became blank.

When my father took his life, I blamed myself for telling him to go to hell, I screamed at him that I was ashamed that he was my father, that I wished he wasn't. I left.
I came back 3 hours later and was told he died.
I was seeking comfort from the wrong person.... My oldest sisters boyfriend.
She told me it was all my fault and he held me in his arms and said it wasn't.
I didn't know what he was doing. Why he was suddenly holding me and being kind to me.
I didn't know. I know now. He was a Pedophile.
The roof of that school will be forever haunted by the memory of him ripping off my jeans and violating me.

I broke down. I over-Idealized even after it happened. I tried convincing myself that he loved me.
That that disgusting act was what love looked like. It wasn't until almost a year afterwards that my eyes opened and I realized that is NOT love. That is a violation. Abuse in the worst way.
That was when the full blown personality of EVE, my BPD was born.

Ever since then, I didn't know about self-esteem, what is was like to love "me"
The borderline came out really bad when I looked in the mirror and hated who I saw. I saw only memories of what that monster did to me. I saw the disgusting things that he did and no amount of bleach could ever wash away the taint.
I threw myself at people, hoping to put new memories in the places that hurt the most.
But it didn't make me feel clean or whole. It made me feel empty, dirtier. worthless.
I looked in the mirror with even more disgust.
I soaked my blonde hair in black dye, then chopped off every strand that I could, hoping to find a new "me", but I only ended up losing myself in the process.
I don't know 'me", what happened to that little girl in the mirror, because I've not seen her for 8 years.
I've not been the little girl I identified with the most, in 8 years.

There are moments when I remember who I am, the little girl in the mirror, the beast is gone.
But, she's only here until it sleeps.


Welcome to the life of BPD.

-TORH <3