"You hold the answers deep within your own mind. Consciously, you've forgotten it. That's the way the human mind works. Whenever something is too unpleasant, to shameful for us to entertain, we reject it. We erase it from our memories. But the imprint is always there. Nothing is ever really forgotten."
In 1998 I lost my grandfather and my very first best friend, in a span of two weeks. I was only 10 at the time. I didn't know how to cope or think. I attacked my parents, my siblings and tried to kill myself publicly on a school bus because I felt alone and abandoned. I felt I was getting no support at all. Not from family and not from friends. At 10 years old, I didn't know how to cope. I was placed in mental hospitals for suicide. It was then I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and clinical depression. I was only a kid. Just...a...kid. From that point, the struggle became real. The constant fighting in my head and with my own flesh and blood. It is something I couldn't wash away. Couldn't wish it away. I could cry my eyes out but it would never go away. And no matter how much I tried to scratch it away, it never left. And now, 18 years later, I'm still fighting to wash it away. Wish it away. Scratch it away. And it is still here. Do I need to learn to accept it? Yes. Do I want to? No. I can't blame my grandfather's passing or Stephanie's suicide for what happened to me. But then, do I blame myself? Do I blame my family? My friends? I don't know anymore.
Over the years, I got worse, not better. I saw so many different doctors, therapists and was placed on so many medications that my entire body is jacked up. One doctor will say I have Bipolar, while another will say I don't but not say what I actually have without proper tests. I couldn't keep track of how many doctors and medications I was put on. All I knew was I am a teenager with something severely wrong with me, and I couldn't figure out what it was.
I was placed in another mental hospital when I was about 16 or 17. I blacked out so I don't remember much, but from what I was told, I threatened to stab my mother and sister and even myself. Next thing I knew I was in the hospital and after that, arrested. I guess someone like me should of been in handcuffs or in jail. At the time I thought it would be better. I even thought of sabtaging myself when I was seeing the judge so I could go to jail and everyone would be safe from me. I didn't though.
After my time living in New York with my family, going to college on campus and failing, still feeling sick in my mind and felt like there was no hope, Brandon found me. Brandon was my angel and yet there are days I treat him like utter garbage, knowing he doesn't deserve it *sighs*
I decided to get a "second opinion" on what was going on with me.
I got re-diagnosed when I moved to Florida. The doctor tells me I do have clinical depression but I also have something called Borderline Personality Disorder, not Bipolar Disorder when I was first diagnosed when I was 10. When I was told that was my new diagnosis, I did some research. It turns out a person with Borderline Personality Disorder has difficulities regulating and controlling their emotions. It leads to severe and unstable mood swings, impulsivity, instability, poor self-image and very stormy personal relationships. I guess that explains why I only have a few close friends who actually understand that sometimes, my actions are not entirely my fault. I am one of the 1.6%-5.9% of adults who deal with this struggle. It may seem so small to you, but it seems very big to me. Treatment is hard for me to gain because money is always an issue. It is as if no one can get truly better unless they fork over a lot of cash to get it done. And in turn, people like me have to suffer.
As I further researched my condition, I noticed things that were always true about me. I don't want to be abandoned but at the same time, I want to be alone. One of the symptoms of BPD.
I have a tendency to have unstable personal relationships. I can alternate between having some form of idealization or go right into devaluation. Makes sense since there are random days I will treat Brandon like shit, with no reason behind and then personally feel like shit later. Then comes the disorted and unstable self-image of myself. I guess that is why people call me a "defeatist" and yet don't understand how that is possible with me. Another symptom. And it isn't like my impulsive behaviors have stopped.
There are days where I am depressed for no reason and I can never figure out why. And I get angry out of nowhere sometimes. I am surprised I haven't got to the point of a total psychotic break. (-.-)
People say I use my illness as a crutch and I honestly try not to. I will always take fault for my own actions but people sometimes don't understand that I am not always 100% in control off all my emotions. So that "crutch" excuse can go out the window. When it comes to having BPD and clinical depression, it's always an on-going war in my head. Few take time to understand. Most don't give a shit. One thing that bothered me, was someone telling me about labels and how I shouldn't define myself as a label. Then brought up the gay community and labels. Being who I am doesn't involve my sexuality or someone else's. Being who I am involves my mental state. A un-natural chemical balance in my brain. The deciding factor on whether or not I'm happy or I am on verge of physically killing someone. Granted, I am not there yet. But I do imagine that I could possibly get there.
And I understand there are people who have it worse than me. But when someone tells me that, I personally feel even more guilty about it. I mean, make an already mentally unstable person feel more like shit about themselves for dealing with psychological issues beyond their control.
I like being alone. I feel happier alone sometimes. I feel...I don't know...free.
But I know I won't be truly alone unless Goddess forbid I took my own life but....I don't want that. I want to be alive but be alone. I guess in a world with over 100 billion people, I will never be truly alone and it is hard to accept that.
Why am I writing this? Well...one of the reasons is to vent. I can't tell you how my tears glisten my brightly green lit keyboard. I haven't been able to stop crying because....I know I will always be judged because of my actions. But when I try my hardest to control them, and still get criticized and bashed for it, I start coming to the end of my rope. Another reason is just throw some awareness out. I mean, I know I am not the only one who feels like this. I know there are others out there who do as well. And yet, we get bashed. We get bullied. We get harassed. We get classed as disgusting or evil.
My name is Rav. I have anxiety, clinical depression, paranoia and Borderline Personality Disorder. Most of my childhood was destructive. Most of my adulthood is chaos. I'm going to embrace being fucked up and coping the way I cope. And be the so called "label" I was made to be as a child.
Do your research on BPD, Paranoia, Clinical Depression and Anxiety and then come back to me because you will only have two choices: You either stand with me and others like me or get the fuck out of our way cause we don’t want you.
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