Warning: mentions of suicide, self-harm.
Disclaimer: I am expressing myself creatively here, but I want to make it very clear that I am not romanticizing mental illness or self harm.
What if I told you I have been diagnosed with an illness that kills up to 1 in 10 of patients? That’s an alarming statistic. If I told you it was some sort of congenital disease or cancer, you would see me as someone who is a fighter; someone strong and determined. Unfortunately, it’s a mental illness and apparently we don’t care about those as much. Unfortunately, my illness is so lethal because it drives patients to complete suicide. Unfortunately, no one cares like they would if it were a physical illness.
I feel like I’ve always had this eerie aura following me around as long as I remember. When I was 7, I would lie in my bed and worry about people who were sad or suffering. I cried because all I wanted was to be able to take everyone’s pain, hide it inside of me, and disappear. When I was 12 I would write exams or finish projects and wonder, what’s the point of this? I’ll probably kill myself before I graduate high school. I went through a large part of childhood waiting for my inevitable suicide. It was almost like a weird ironic safety blanket I always held with me.
Through high school and university, the blanket became larger and larger until I realized I was suffocating. The depression became less of a wave in the background of my mind and more like sharp, jarring lightning bolts. It was an exhausting roller coaster, to say the least. Some days I would be overcome with intense suicidal thoughts for an hour, sometimes even less, and then be perfectly fine after. The lightning bolts were so intense and fast that I didn’t even have time to figure out a coping mechanism. All I could do to cope was numbing and dissociating. The lightning became more intense and more frequent. I had panic attacks in fear that I would be struck at any moment.
The lightning would disappear as quickly as it appeared, but the numbing and dissociation lingered. Eventually I felt constantly separate from my body. I went from feeling too much emotion all the time to feeling nothing. I started cutting to bring myself back to reality. Sometimes reality would be too overwhelming and then I would cut to distract myself from reality. I kept falling from one lose-lose situation into another. There would be days where I would lay in bed, unable to move, afraid of what I might do to myself.
I was already diagnosed with depression and borderline personality disorder. The latter I completely ignored because I felt like “depression” was a good enough explanation and BPD was never really explained to me anyway. This ignorance didn’t do me any good. I started thinking how this didn’t feel like depression. I tried searching for answers and started losing my mind. I don’t think I have depression. I think I’m just crazy. What the hell is wrong with me? The answer was right under my nose. Once I realized that, everything fell into place.
Borderline personality disorder (BPD) is a serious mental disorder marked by a pattern of ongoing instability in moods, behavior, self-image, and functioning. These experiences often result in impulsive actions and unstable relationships. A person with BPD may experience intense episodes of anger, depression, and anxiety that may last from only a few hours to days.
Some people with BPD also have high rates of co-occurring mental disorders, such as mood disorders, anxiety disorders, and eating disorders, along with substance abuse, self-harm, suicidal thinking and behaviors, and suicide.
– NIMH website