A BPD Bedtime Story

Two years ago I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and suspected Autism Spectrum Disorder.

In one psychiatrist appointment, my world came crashing down.

You would think that getting an answer would feel validating. Reassuring. Empowering. Like finally having something to work with.

Instead, the questions started. And the spiral.

If this was going to be my life… I didn’t want it.

It got so much worse before it started getting better.

And yet here we are, two years on, and the battle continues.

Intense fear of abandonment.
Chronic emptiness and disconnect from life.
Unstable relationships.
An unstable sense of self.
Impulsivity and reckless behaviour.

And at its worst, suicidal ideation and self-harm thoughts.

Add in “Quiet BPD” and you have imploding rather than exploding. Isolation and people pleasing. Basically destroying yourself internally while showing up like you’ve got it all together externally.

And whilst I can manage it so much better than I could two years ago, there are still times when it all combusts.

Hormones. Life. BPD.

They come together and everything falls apart and I’m left questioning everything once again.

How can anyone love me?
How can I live my life when I will always be this way?
How can I be a successful coach and do what I want to do, when behind the scenes sometimes I am struggling just to feel happy, content, confident… or “healed”?

Everything will be moving forward. I’ll feel excited and inspired.

Then the following day, or week, something hits.

And suddenly I want to give it all up.

I stop caring. I run things on autopilot and experience.

I show up because that’s what I do.

And I do it because when I’m not weighed down with BPD, the fire in my belly is so strong and so inspired that I know this is exactly where I want to be.

Exactly what I want to be doing.

But it hurts.

It hurts so much.

When the loneliness kicks in and all I have is my own company, I struggle to stay true to who I really want to be.

When fortnightly I face a trigger that is someone with BPD’s worst nightmare.

When I struggle with friendships, asking for help, or finding people with the depth to handle me. Or even the closeness of a relationship where something like BPD could be accepted.

The truth is, I don’t have close friends.

And every friend I’ve had who experienced all parts of me… I blew up.

Because fucking up relationships is also part of it.

If someone hurts you, even unintentionally, it’s hard to see the situation rationally. You “split”. You move from feeling close to them to wanting to get as far away as possible.

Or your sensitivity drives them away.

I try to accept my darkness, because it is a part of me.

And accepting that it will always be a part of me has actually helped.

I stopped fighting it.

I don’t fall into intense shame on a regular basis anymore.

But it is so fucking hard.

And sometimes I am so tired.

They think my ASD is what caused social and emotional problems growing up. Which is the foundation for where BPD can be born.

The confusion. Nowhere to regulate or understand what I was feeling. No validation that it was okay to feel the way I felt.

Wanting answers, but not knowing who to ask the questions to.

I work in an industry where I show up motivated, happy and inspired.

It’s social. Seeing people. Guiding them. Supporting them.

And I guess it drains me in a way that I can’t fully explain.

But it also fulfils me in a way that can’t be replaced.

Living with BPD is the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

To create the life I deserve, that I believe I deserve (unless I’m in an episode)… and then feel like I’m watching it from the outside as I struggle to get out of bed.

Doing the bare minimum.

Hoping I crash on Friday, Saturday or Sunday so I don’t have to cancel on anyone. So I don’t have to show up and admit that my “sick” is actually my brain.

It has been two years.

And it still hurts.

This week, I’m hurting.

I’m struggling to accept that this is me.

I’m struggling to understand how people could choose me. Why people would choose to love this.

The grief of not having a family like I imagined it would be. Of feeling too much, too emotional, too unstable.

Knowing that I need to take so many small and big steps just to maintain a baseline.

Feeling like I want to do so much more… but too much means collapse.

Finding that perfect line. Adapting. Adjusting. Allowing. Listening.

Knowing the moments will pass.

And reminding myself that the darkness does not take away from my light.

But sometimes, I just wish I was different.

I don’t want to be me.

I don’t want this to be my story.

I want peace and freedom, and it always seems just out of arm’s reach.

But I am trying.

And I keep trying.

The brighter moments are brighter.

And since learning this about myself, and everything that came next, there are moments where I am so proud and excited about who I am.

Who I allowed myself to be.

The courage it took to step away from the norm and follow my heart, even if, for someone like me, it nearly cost me my life.

It’s a Wednesday night.

I had a sauna and an everything shower. You know the ones.

The weekend I fell apart. I hid from the world. I didn’t want to be me.

But I stayed safe and regulated enough that I didn’t go into the darkest depths.

I ate well.
I rested.

On Monday I took a step forward. Literally.

I showed up for my clients to break the cycle.

I went for a walk.

I kept showing up.
I kept walking.
I kept eating well.
I played music.

And tonight, as I sat on the lounge feeling sad, alone and empty… I chose to nurture myself.

Even if it doesn’t quite hit.
Even if it doesn’t heal.
Even if it doesn’t land deeply enough.

Sometimes we have to keep doing the things that help, even when they don’t feel like they are helping.

Because without them…

Things would be much, much worse.

And tomorrow, I will keep trying again.

Goodnight x