Something to ponder for those that judge self-harmers:
First let me say that I realize there are a number of reasons why people self-harm. This is one reason…at least for me.
What do you do when you get an injury? Let’s say you slammed your finger in a door. Ouch, right? You may attempt causing a physical sensation to another part of your body because it takes your mind’s focus off of the pain and onto the new sensation. Now, if you slammed your finger in a door, which we all agree hurts like hell, would a simple finger-point tap to your shoulder, for example, be enough to mask the pain? No way! You’d most likely rub vigorously or maybe even pinch yourself. It’d have to be enough to overpower the pain, right?
Now, those with mental illnesses experience similar situations. Except, their pain is on the inside. And let me tell you from experience, it hurts way worse than a finger slammed in the door…repeatedly. So when we get hurt inside, sometimes we “self-harm”. We cut. We do a number of things. We take such drastic measures, because it’s got to be enough to overpower the pain inside in order for it to work because our inner pain is just that bad. You agreed that method made sense in the first paragraph/scenario. Why is not ok now?
So today has been rough for a variety of reasons. Most specifically though, I had an episode this afternoon. I got instantly overwhelmed with intense emotions about something. I went from just being anxious from all that was happening throughout the day, but still functioning well, to being a sobbing mess of tears flowing on the outside of a body that was filled with torturous unrelenting pain. I wanted to die. That quick life had turned into something that just wasn’t meant for me. Something I needed to hurry and escape before it damaged me any further because I just couldn’t take it anymore. I fought a lot of urges. Urges to self-harm. Urges to curse everyone and anyone out who attempted to reach out kindly because I just couldn’t possibly believe in that moment that anyone truly cared, yet at the same time all I wanted was for someone to reach out kindly and make me feel cared for. I felt like the little girl who trips and scrapes her knees and the only thing in that moment that will make her feel and believe that she is safe and will be ok, is to be held by someone she trusts. Who do I trust? That’s a whole other post. However…
…just as quickly as it all hit…it all left. I found myself not crying. Not even like I gradually went from sobbing, to just crying and catching my breath, to just drying some last tears that managed to slip out, and eventually moving into being alright again. Nope, I was just ok. Like a light switch. And the previously mentioned episode was hardly a recent memory.
Now I’m sitting here sort of numb. I’m looking back at it and thinking…”Wow, Mandi. Are you crazy?” I can hardly remember how or why I felt as awful as I did about the situation, or what it was that even pushed me over the edge. It’s sort of a blur. I mean, I know it happened, but it feels like a disconnected part of me that went through it…not the me that I am sitting right here right now.
Maybe I am crazy. Or maybe I just keep scraping my knees without ever really finding that person or thing that makes it all better before the next trip-and-fall.
There you have it. A very mild episode of BPD. Yes, mild.
This post is about how you tell a new potential partner that you have BPD (or any other mental illness).
This is not to discriminate against disorders or to say that mine is worse than yours, but I do believe that the effects BPD has on a loved one may potentially be more risky than say, just having depression. That’s here nor there.
BPD is like having an inner jack-in-the box. Except what comes out is neither happy, nor something that will make you laugh and giggle, close, and rewind to do it again. (In actuality, I find Jack-in-the-boxes to be rather disturbing, so this analogy seems fitting in my mind.) And just as with BPD, you never know when it will happen. The smallest bump of that trigger handle can bring it right out full force and there’s no turning back.
So here’s how it goes.
Girl meets boy. Boy likes girl. Girl likes boy back. Boy tells girl he loves her. Girl’s BPD says…”You should run. He’s going to hurt you.” Girl loves boy back but wow, this BPD really starts messing with her. Girl goes with her heart and tries to have a relationship with boy. POP! BPD introduces itself into the equation. Boy is frightened, worried, etc. Girl is ashamed and is certain he will now leave her. BPD laughs, hides, and does it’s jack-in-the-box trick again, and again….and again…
So my question is…how do you tell your new potential partner that you have BPD? I’d love to hear your stories, opinions, or advice. I’m an advocate of telling someone up front, but wow. How? And when exactly is the right time?
So hard. Please share!
My skin, my bones, are just a window to what’s inside. Except BPD has broken in and covered the windows to hide what’s really on the inside. It puts up smiles. It puts up curtains. It paints on the outside an image that fakes happiness, stability, and strength.
On the inside, I am held hostage. Screaming, kicking, looking for a door in the dark. Trying to break through the windows, the fake smiles, the imaginary sense of happiness.
Inside, BPD is smothering me. Choking me. Quieting my sounds so no one can hear me…so no one can save me.
I struggle. I fight. I scratch at the walls. I pound my fists…except I’m tired.
When you met me, you met ME. Now that you love me, you’ll meet my BPD…and that’s all you’ll get. I don’t know where I go.
Some days it’s like finding out all over again that I have BPD.
It’s become such a part of me and I guess in a way I’m used to it. But every once in awhile I have this all-over-again realization that I have it, and it feels like I’m finding out for the first time. It’s like finding out you have this incurable disease.
This panicky, life-sentence, heavy feeling of, “Omg…I have BPD…I will always have BPD.” And all I can think after that sometimes is how I just may never be fit for certain things in life…like love, or relationships.
Having BPD is like having an inability to be loved.
I’ve never been a big movie person but I just came across this while channel flipping and couldn’t believe how much it relates to my mindset and some current life events.
In particular, she is breaking down emotionally. Crying, can’t breathe…and she says how when she was 14 her dad left (that’s when my father left as well) and she said it was then she decided that she would never let another man into her life (my thoughts exactly). However, she meets the love of her life (me too) and he passes away. Ok, so the love of my life hasn’t passed away, but there’s a reason we can’t be together.
It’s like God saying, here is what you want, but I’m only going to show it to you and let you sample it, and then I’m taking it away.
I will never understand. How…I don’t even know the word…but how _________ to finally meet the one who manages to break through every wall I’ve ever built, and I somehow fearlessly walk right into his arms, all but knowing that I’ll have to leave them one day.
Heartbreaking…among other things.
And that’s as much detail as I’ll give about that. A lot of my most recent posts have been about this topic. Previously brought up as “the thing I won’t talk about”. There ya have it…sort of.