The bad thoughts 

are talking to me. They’re saying you’re a psycho. You’re obsessed and sad and pathetic. You’re trying to feel better – but do you deserve to feel better?

Rip the hair out of your head but you won’t get rid of me. I’ll always be here. I’ll always be here.

You can’t rely on yourself but you can always count on me to be here. This is where you belong and deserve to live and die.

Here is home. Listen to me. I won’t leave you. You can tell me your problems and woes. I won’t make you feel better, but I’ll always be there to listen.

I will tell you what you already believe. What you want is for people to lie to you. To tell you that what you’re feeling is understandable.

I will tell you the truth. I will remind you that you are worthless and you deserve to be knocked down because frankly, you’ve been happier for much longer than you deserve.

You always get what you want. It’s time you relearn what suffering is.

So take it, stew in it, become it. Become the pain and self hatred.

Become the bad thoughts.

Become me.

I am who you are. Let me guide you.

Let me in.

Let me drive you into the ground where you belong.

Drama queen 

Addressed to my friends and family.

I feel worthless, hopeless, and small. I don’t want to tell you because you’re logical and you’ll ask why. Then when I tell you, I know you won’t understand. Or you’ll think, oh here we go again, when will she learn? 

I am too self aware for my own good – I know that logically the “reasons” I am upset make no sense. I know that. But here I am feeling empty and withdrawn, and I already feel like that. I need help with that feeling. I want to rant about the root of my problem and I want you to patiently tell me the logical way to think about it. Because I simply do not have the ability to think about it logically in this state.

I want you to validate me – tell me that it must be hard for me going through this even if you don’t understand why. That’s all I want. Even if you cannot fathom why anyone would ever be upset over what I am sad about, tell me you understand that it must be hard for me.

I am telling you that I am not sitting here crying for attention and drama. I am not being a drama queen. I don’t want to tell you about my problems and have you jump up and tell me you’ll fix it all, or you’ll beat up who hurt me, or you’ll find justice for me. I don’t want to be dependent on alcohol or cutting or sex or drugs. I want a friendly face, a coffee, dinner, ice cream, a hug. I want you to listen and help me dissolve the pain.

Thanks for reading.

Control

I need to be in control. I want to be in control. But don’t we all? We all crave a sense of control – mainly over ourselves and our lives. When that doesn’t work we may try to control other things. Like what we eat, where we hurt. Maybe even other people.

What is scarier than not having control? Imagine driving down an icy or slippery road and you temporarily lose control of the vehicle. Those few seconds are horrifying, and when you finally screech to a stop or straighten the wheel, you’re left in a panic.

What if you could lose control of your emotions this way? Like when you’re driving, you may drive slowly, and pay close attention to your surroundings. But the minute you hit a patch of pure ice, it’ll catch you by surprise.

Some people’s emotions are like driving down a highway in summer.  It’s easy to see the signs and keep track of the road. Sometimes it rains, and that’s when it’s harder to control the emotions.

Other people’s emotions are like driving down a highway in the middle of a blizzard. They can tread carefully, but there’s a higher risk of losing control. They can put on their studded winter tires and chains, they can drive slowly and turn up their high beams, but they are navigating dangerous territory. That moment of fear and loss of control happens so often that they are stuck in a constant state of fear. Or maybe they have felt it so much they shut it out, feeling nothing at all, not caring if their car spins out of control.

These people may feel awful, comparing themselves to the summer drivers. Wondering why they get into so many more accidents and sustain so many more injuries. What they don’t realize is that the two are simply not comparable.

You won’t like me – I’ll make sure of it 

Every time I bring up an issue with my therapist, the root always comes back to my self esteem and self worth. This is especially true when it comes to relationships. Here’s the issue:

I think I’m a bad person. When people first meet me, I feel like they only like the person I pretend to be. I feel like I can be loved as a friend, but only superficially and especially not romantically.  I believe I am hard to love. So when I become close with someone intimately, I constantly feel like I am peeling back the layers of paint, leading them closer to my rotting core.

You may have told me I was beautiful and funny and charming – but that was before you saw who I really am. Do you still think those things about me? How about now? I need reassurance. I need constant updates. I keep fucking up and I know one day you’ll change your mind about me.

The problem is, people often assume that others see the world as they do. My immediate perceptions are black and white extremes. After I cling, obsess, or wear a person down, I believe that their perception of me switches from idealization to devaluation.

I believe that anyone I am with will eventually see me for the horrible person I really am. I believe that they will come to despise me as much as I despise myself. So I subconsciously push their limits and test them until I have created my own self fulfilling prophecy.

Once they lose their temper or give up on me, it feeds into that belief that I’m inherently undeserving of love. It’s a vicious cycle that is so hard to break, especially when I’ve lived this way for years. So unfortunately, until I start liking myself a little more I’m going to wreck any resemblance of a relationship I have. I can’t expect anyone else but me to fix my sense of self worth.

Reconciling identity disturbances

Before yesterday, I hadn’t written in almsot a month. Partially because I have no internet at home, but also because I’m typing out long posts and then deleting them when the perfectionist in my head starts pointing out every single flaw. I’m frustrated because I can’t seem to find the words to convey my thoughts when normally it comes very easily to me. Writing was my thing – I always thought I was a good writer, but recently I’ve been really struggling to communicate my ideas.

When I first moved, I made sure to take care of my health. Being physically active was very important to me, so I was at the gym almost every day. My friend here remarked how fit and active I was (jokes on her!). Last week I was bouldering and found myself so fatigued I couldn’t even make it halfway up the wall. And it suddenly wasn’t fun anymore.  I also had a cough that lasted for about two weeks, so I would also be coughing so much I couldn’t properly breathe at times.

I am studying nutrition, so I recognize the importance of good eating, but I also feel the need to fill the role of a “nutritionist” sometimes. I cooked homemade meals every day, I packed healthy snacks, and I made sure I ate at least three meals nicely spaced out throughout the day. Recently I’ve been so busy, I’ve barely had enough time to buy groceries or cook. I’m so tired I’m scrambling to feed myself, and as a result I am grumpy and sluggish.

These areas that I identifed with are currently damaged. How can I be “fit” or “healthy” or “a writer” if I am unable to do any of these now? An unstable sense of self or identity disturbance is considered a core characteristic of BPD. In general, I don’t feel like this is a characteristic that applies to me, but I do struggle sometimes with identity. One way that my therapist suggested I reconcile these difficulties is by identifying with traits, rather than roles.

Many of us, BPD or not, often define ourselves by our roles. This is why relationships can be so dangerous. My identity becomes “so-and-so’s girlfriend”. This is why I know I can’t be in a relationship right now, because I get sucked into that illusion of an identity. What happens when we break up? Who am I then?

I am proud to call myself a student and also a teacher. I am also compelled to define myself as a student and a teacher. Those are roles, though – they are not who I am. What happens when I graduate? What happens if I am no longer offered a teaching position? Who am I then? Instead, it is better to think of the traits that led me to be so successful in these roles.

I carry the role of being a friend, a sister, a person to lean on. But that is not who I am. I am empathetic (too much, sometimes), I am loving, I am protective and I am loyal.

I carry the role of being a teacher and a student, but that is not who I am. I am curious, I am creative, I am a problem solver.

I carry the role of being a writer, musician and someone who tries to be physically active and healthy (not always the case). But sometimes I sink and don’t have the energy to bring myself back up. Sometimes I can’t be a good writer. Sometimes I can’t get out of bed, never mind going to the gym for a good workout. Sometimes I don’t have the will to leave my house to get groceries to cook something healthy.

The thing is, I don’t write, cook, and workout because those roles have to define me. There’s a reason why I write, play music, stay active, and eat well – I want to recover.

I am determined.  I am strong. I am resilient.

Vulnerability factors

I am doing research abroad for half a year and I can honestly say I’ve never been happier. I left all the bad memories and baggage at home and have started over. I know this is only temporary and I will return, but I do think that I will be more at peace when I return home.

Since I arrived here, I have been happy and there has been no need for me to practice my DBT skills. After a few bumps in the road including a misunderstanding with a friend, I had some reality slapped back into me. Even when I am doing well, I still need to practice those skills. Even when I feel like I am at peace and I am “cured”, I still need to have those coping mechanisms in my back pocket.

Now I’m getting very busy with my project, and I need to take care of those pesky vulnerability factors again. For me, I need to focus on 1) eating; 2) sleeping; 3) moderate caffeine consumption; and 4) staying hydrated. Sometimes it is not possible to eat regularly with the nature of my work, and at the end of the day I feel really awful and hopeless. But all I need to do is have a good meal.

BPD is almost embarrassing in that way. Not only do I react enormously to the smallest social interactions, but I also am very sensitive to things like hunger and sleep deprivation. I joke about how “hangry” I get, but it’s something that I actually feel quite embarrassed about. Like most things regarding my emotions, the difference in my affect is like night and day.

This is something I need to be very careful of. I don’t always feel an intense urge to hurt myself, but there are little things. I don’t care about my well-being. It’s a slippery slope.

Good things happen (in pairs and in threes)

Two nights in a row, I went out with friends, despite that looming negative voice telling me that nobody liked me, that I should hide, that I am worthless.
Two nights in a row I threw a huge middle finger up to that voice and dressed up, did my makeup, and attempted to have a good time.
Two nights in a row, I felt a wave of hopelessness and emptiness that I couldn’t quite shake, that made me want to hide, that convinced me people would be better off without me.

Two nights in a row I was given a helping hand from a friend, who listened and stayed with me until the feelings passed.
Two nights in a row I overcame the hopeless thoughts and fractured self-image and ended up having a good time anyway.
After two nights in a row, I saw a pattern emerge.

I had always known that I had sudden, intense mood changes – but I also knew that these passed relatively quickly. In the past I would just leave, letting the changed mood ruin my night.

Now I see that I can overcome these difficult moments, especially with the help of friends and family.
Now I see that I can weather the storm.

Psychosis 

Possible trigger warning – painful imagery, descriptions of injury

I was riding in the car with my family on our way to a Sunday lunch. As far as I can recall everything was fine. That’s when it hit me. I had never felt so ashamed and abnormal. I felt like a freak.

A thought crossed my mind, completely randomly. You know the feeling of having a papercut? I can’t describe it because that means I need to think about it – but I’m sure everyone’s experienced one. I thought about a papercut, but across my eyes. I winced and closed my eyes.

It was like intrusive thoughts on steroids. It kept attacking me. In mindfulness, we are told to accept these thoughts and let them pass, but these thoughts were different. I could actually feel it. I could sense the pain and felt the recoil and response a body would have to being cut.

The thought of cutting my face and small cuts against my eyes kept appearing in my brain and I felt every single sensation. When I closed my eyes, I felt something pierce through my eyelids into my eyes.

My dad stopped the car, and my mom took my sisters into the restaurant. I was sobbing and screaming, “make it stop, make them go away!” When the thoughts passed for a while, my dad and I joined the rest of my family. The thought would come in and I would shudder and wince very obviously. I must have looked insane. I felt insane. I was insane.

I ran back to the car early so I could curl into a ball. I screamed and yelled but it wouldn’t stop. How do you make something go away that is in your head? How do you get away? You can’t.

This went on for 3 days. That’s not very long, but it felt like an eternity. Was I ever going to be normal again? My parents didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do. I just kept clutching and scratching at my face, trying to get the sensation of blades running across my face off. When my hands went to close to my face, I felt the sharp burning across my hands, so I recoiled. I was banging my head against walls. I was pacing in circles squeezing and hitting my head with my hands. I was humming loudly so my brain would register another sense besides pain.

All those horrible depictions of mental illness and psychosis you see on tv was my reality for those few days. You see people screaming and hitting themselves and scratching away at their face and it’s horrifying. You think it’s horrifying to watch? It’s even more horrifying to experience.

It hasn’t happened again since, but now I have a wider understanding of what others may go through. I can’t imagine going through that every single day. I don’t think anyone could.

I always say this: people with mental illnesses are having normal reactions to an abnormal situation. If any “normal” person was hearing voices, feeling sensations that weren’t there, or having visual hallucinations, I don’t think they’d fare too well either.

Fetishism isn’t flattery

I am Canadian. I was born here, my mother was born here, my entire immediate and extended family lives here. However, my ethnicity is “Asian”. I don’t need to be too specific to get my point across here. I haven’t been in too many situations where someone was outright racist to me, but there have been small jabs throughout my life. The fact that I grew up in a country that places value in a eurocentric ideal of beauty has been very apparent.

Let’s go back to junior high. A classmate of mine was asking about my race, and when I told them, they exclaimed, “I can’t believe you’re full Asian. Your eyes are so big, you look only half!” The way they said this and the way everyone around me reacted made me feel like this was the best compliment I could have gotten. Now, if I heard that, I would be far from flattered.

I really do think this classmate meant well. We were young, around 12 years old, and they were trying to tell me that they thought I fit into the widely accepted standard of beauty. And while this was a nice gesture, this also has darker implications. I would compare myself and always end up glum because although I had some features of a white girl, I wasn’t a white girl. Therefore, I figured, I would always be second, less pretty, compared to a white girl. And it’s not just me – this is such a widely held belief. For Asian males and females – we have grown up in a society that tells us white is beauty.

A year later, things took a strange sharp turn for me. This was back when MSN messenger was a thing. I was messaging with one guy who actually did think I was pretty. This was my introduction to the Asian fetish. Our conversations became less than innocent after a while. Whenever I tried to turn the conversation around and talk about something else, he would tell me not to be so frigid and relax, take a joke! Me, being young, shy, and too polite for my own good, learned that it was best to brush these things off. I started high school with these people, and the comments would come to me online and in person.

Is it true Asians are the tightest? Is it true they will do whatever their man tells them to do? They’re always loyal and submissive. Some of them pretend to be innocent but they’re actually sluts. Are you an Asian hoe? Hey my friend hooked up with an Asian girl and she let him do this and that. Would you let a guy do that to you? I’ve only been with one Asian, I need to change that. 

This is the kind of talk I would hear from the time I was 13 and lasted throughout high school. I have an old conversation from MSN saved because my friends didn’t believe me. Here’s some choice excerpts.

You can hang out with me and my friends. That is, if you don’t think they’ll rape you. 
They would rape me? Why would you say that?
Well what if they were drunk and you were acting slutty? They like Asian hoes.
Ok, but I don’t act slutty.
No, but you should. You could get so many guys. You’re Asian.

By the time I left high school, just hearing his name would make me want to throw up. I couldn’t look him in the eye and I would go out of my way to avoid him.

If you tell me you think I’m beautiful or hot or whatever, but then you mention you have “yellow fever”, I am exiting that situation so fast. It’s not flattering. You assuming that I should be flattered for your attention under any circumstance is bullshit. You can be attracted to whoever you’re attracted to – but don’t think that telling me that you have a special place in your pants for Asians is going to go over well for you.

Yes, I’m more desirable to some, but it’s because of my race. That’s telling me that I can be easily replaced by another. That’s telling me I’m your hunting trophy or another number for your “Asian girl” count. I’m a landmark story you can tell your friends. I’m not a person to you.

Where I went wrong/ A girl on fire

Where I went wrong:

  1. I wasn’t open and honest because I was happy and didn’t want to risk losing anything. I knew there was a really good chance it would blow up in my face, but I opted to deal with the consequences later. I forgot that I don’t quietly implode. I’m a ticking time bomb and everyone around me is hit by the shrapnel. That’s really the main thing.

If Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)  was a person, I would say they are extremely clever and cunning. Really, everything just works out perfectly in their favor. (Note: I am not blaming my actions on BPD. They are still my actions. But my emotions and thought processes are due to some fucked up circuitry in my brain, and I still haven’t quite figured out how to handle them.)

I have real, valid, understandable worries and fears that are amplified beyond comprehension to others. Does anyone watch Community? There’s this one scene where Troy is brought into a secret initiation into Air Conditioning Repair school. The room includes ridiculous figures such as an astronaut cooking paninis in one corner and “black Hitler” in the other corner. This is to ensure the potential recruits don’t tell anyone about the school, and even if they did, it would be too ridiculous to believe anyway.

That’s what I feel happens to my emotions. At the seemingly smallest events, I react enormously, to the point where others think I am being childish or purposely difficult. And then the emotion dies and I’m 100% reasonable and calm. Absolutely ridiculous.

I have talked about stigma that we carry, including being ‘crazy’, ‘manipulative’, and abusive. I don’t intend to do so, but I do come across as being all those things. I hope you all don’t think that I think I’m a perfect shining example of recovery and strength. I certainly have moments of great improvement, but I’m far from perfect.

You say I’m self-centered, manipulative, controlling but I’m really not. Well, no, I suppose I technically am self-centered because I am so extremely preoccupied with my issues that I forget that people around me have problems too. Though, when we think of a self-centered person, we think of someone who doesn’t care about others and who thinks they are entitled to all your time and attention.

I hope you know in your heart that that is not me. I am not dramatically weeping and wondering why you aren’t paying attention to me like some diva. Rather, I am running around like a chicken with its head cut off because my kitchen spontaneously erupted in flames, but as I’m trying to put out the fire, my room erupts in flames, but then I realize I’ve actually been on fire the whole time.

This is why I believe it’s better to talk over the phone rather than texting: it is easy to detach yourself from the person on the other side of the screen, so their demeanor and intentions are all up for interpretation. I get the sense that you might think I’m sitting around pouting and rolling my eyes, when the reality is I’m in sheer panic mode. I am very worried about what you might say next.

It is not malicious and calculated. It is panicked and out-of-control. That doesn’t make it any more okay, I know that, but I think it’s good to understand the nature of the beast.

We can talk about mental illness and how tough it is for the people struggling, but that’s really not the whole picture. That really doesn’t fully capture the devastation that mental illness leaves in its path. I wrote a piece called Termites, in which I expressed my fear of spreading my “disease” around to my loved ones. Honestly, it is not a completely unfounded fear.

I am a girl on fire. I know that I burn everyone I come in contact with; some more severely than others. I cannot expect my loved ones to hurt just because I’m hurting. When the fire temporarily dies down, I’m left aching and raw, and as the smoke clears from my vision, I can see the damage I’ve caused. I’m sorry I burnt you, I really am. But please don’t forget that I was hurting too.

You might think I’m a manipulative, cruel, monster, but the reality is that I’m a good person who is struggling and in immense pain. The reality is I’m still hurting you, another genuinely good person, and pulling you down with me just because you cared enough to lend a helping hand. I get a sense of burning guilt and helplessness as I watch the situation unfold. I can’t ask you to stay with me or change in any way. In the end it is my struggle to deal with.

I am hurting and hurting others, but people still stick with me. This is a bittersweet realization. Thank you for burning a little bit with me. Thank you for telling me you need space. Thank you, and I’m also very sorry. This is advice I know you’d give me, so I’m going to give it back to you. Please don’t stress over me; first and foremost, take care of yourself.

We set the wrong course
and headed due North
That’s where we went wrong

923580