It’s Not Manipulation, It’s The Emotional Rollercoaster of BPD

I have found myself becoming more and more aggravated by articles that claim people with BPD are manipulative. While anyone can be manipulative, having BPD does not mean you have a higher chance of manipulation nor does it mean you are some kind of liar. This whole manipulation debate only adds to the stigma of the disorder and eats away at the already fragile self esteem borderlines suffer from. When I read an article, usually on Quora, you have these “experts” chiming in on everything and anything and it puts knots in my stomach. Hardly any of their information is accurate and yet people read these articles accepting them as fact! The articles that refer to borderlines as being manipulative are usually written by spurned exes or by family members who are too close to the situation to see it clearly or who have not researched the disorder. Saying every person with BPD is manipulative is like saying every person with diabetes is overweight. It just isn’t true. Yes, borderlines have a terrible mental illness. Yes, they may overreact or show inappropriate emotions at inopportune times. They may even threaten self harm or suicide during a “Borderline Rage”. Note: A Borderline Rage is when someone with BPD has reached their breaking point. It’s when they have given all they can and they have nothing left, or have been so overly stimulated that even the slightest stimuli is too, too much. Once they reach this point the smallest thing can set them off and you witness a breakdown that seems almost impossible in it’s intensity. Anyways, all of these things can appear to be manipulation, but 9 times out of 10 they are not. Our feelings are real. They are as real as anyone else’s. We just happen to cycle through those emotions more quickly than the average person. To me, manipulation requires a certain amount of pre-meditation. You set out to get what you want from another person and use what you can, good or bad, to achieve the outcome you want without thought to how it might effect others. With the majority of people with BPD, we loathe to hurt the people we care about. Oftentimes we are reluctant to hurt people we barely even know! There have been many times where I have worried that I offended a complete stranger. Seriously, it will eat at me for days.

I understand how our rapidly cycling mood swings can appear to be manipulative. I can be incredibly upset, unable to do even the simplest of tasks like the dishes. Maybe it’s depression, maybe it’s anger, or maybe I’m just emotionally exhausted. I’ll explain how I’m not in a good place to my significant other, and that’s why the dishes are piled high. Then, 20-30 minutes later (after he has done the dishes) my mood might suddenly switch. I’m happy, full of energy, and ready to take on the world! What he sees is me “pretending” to be too depressed to do any housework. Then as soon as the chores are done I’m “back to normal”. But that is not the case at all! I can rarely control when a mood shift will happen. When I say I am too depressed/upset to do anything, I really am too depressed. I did not set out to make him do the dishes. I didn’t sit there and plan out how to make him bend to my will. In actuality I end up wracked with guilt for not being able to get past my emotions. I feel guilty that he had to do the housework after being at work for 10 hours. This is a very simple example but it’s one that is true and can be used across the board. Maybe the person with BPD couldn’t get themselves together to get to work that day. Maybe they couldn’t make it out of bed and that’s why the kids are home from school. Maybe they cancel plans last minute. The list is endless. At the time it happens it is real. The pain is real, the sadness is real, the anger is real. And so is the guilt we feel.

It can also go the other way with positive emotions. I can have every intention of attending that Board meeting. I can be thrilled about an out of town trip. I can love and adore the person I’m with. Then something switches in my head. Anything can cause it. Getting cut off while driving, hearing a song that for whatever reason brings me down, witnessing some perceived slight, or just overwhelmed by socializing too much or having to go into a crowded store. Maybe nothing happened, maybe my mind just went to a dark thought. The next thing I know, I’m drowning. I’ve had friends and family ask how I could be fine one moment and the next minute I’m ready to lash out so I run and hide. Running and hiding can come in many forms. I can become silent and sullen. I might cancel plans at the last minute. Or even abruptly leaving wherever I am, needing to get out so quickly it will make your head spin. And again the guilt hits. People who are manipulative aren’t prone to feeling guilty, at least not from my experience.

One of my close friends was extremely manipulative. She did not have BPD but looking back I wonder if she didn’t have Histrionic Personality Disorder. She rarely had remorse for hurting others in an effort to get what she wanted. You don’t have to have BPD in order to be manipulative. Of course there are some individuals with BPD who can be manipulative. My biological mom is a great example. She has undiagnosed BPD and while some of her reactions are emotion based, there are others that are pure manipulation. It comes down to the person, it doesn’t matter if they have a mental illness. Having a personality disorder and/or mental illness does not make you more likely to lie, deceive or manipulate. It comes down to the person you are, not the diagnosis you have. You need to understand the diagnosis you are dealing with and also the person with the diagnosis. So the next time you come across an article or book that seems to set a stigma, please take a step back and examine it from all angles. Understand that one person’s experience is just that, one person’s experience. Learn what you can about the diagnosis from reputable resources and get to know the person in question for who they are before jumping to hurtful conclusions.

Survival Of The Fittest

Ohh the holidays. If ever there was a time of year that pushes the limits of even healthiest of people, it’s the holidays. I used to love Christmas. I enjoyed it growing up, once I moved out and got my own place I really enjoyed it. After my son was born I loved celebrating Christmas! Over the past few years I noticed it was getting harder and harder to work up the energy to decorate and get into the holiday spirit. My husband always had a certain disdain for Christmas, even though I always went out of my way to make it special. As my son got older he cared less and less as well. This year I had zero desire to celebrate anything. I miss my best friend terribly and wanted nothing more than to be around them and no one else. I refused to decorate, and when asked why I told the truth. That no one cares, so why bother? Family and friends used to tease me about my wrapping, gift wrap would always be over-the-top and it would take some serious determination to unwrap my gifts. This year everything was thrown into gift bags, and the few gifts I did wrap were simple with a cheap stick-on bow slapped on them. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with that, but being the creative type I always felt the presentation should be as fun as the gift inside. I usually berate myself after going through a phase like this. I’ll feel guilty for not being in the mood, and beat myself up for not putting more effort into the gifts I give. Not this year. I’m too tired for guilt. It has nothing to grip onto. The strange thing is, I’m ok with it! I’ve been known to feel guilty for not feeling guilty. Who does that?!!! Anyways, there was also the expectations of family gatherings. I have asked repeatedly for my family to be honest about how many people will be at any given function. If I walk in expecting 7-8 people but 20 show up I have to leave. Then people act like I’m being rude by leaving early. I have never been good in crowds, whether I knew the people or not. So recently I have been asking how many people will be in attendance for any given situation. If it’s too many, I explain that it is too much and politely decline. Or I will attend but I will make sure to set limits, like how long I stay, making sure there is a quiet area I can escape to, etc. This works with some people, but not with my family. Actually it is 2 family members it doesn’t work with. My youngest sister and my dad. Both will say “it’s just going to be so-and-so, real small, not a lot of people”. I don’t know if they realized I don’t go to bigger functions so they lie, or if it just doesn’t occur to them how uncomfortable I actually am. I mean I ask every time! I was told by my dad that Christmas dinner at his house was just going to be “us”, as in immediate family only. He did mention he might invite my aunt and uncle but left it at that. That would’ve been 10-12 people which is doable for me knowing that the majority of that number were my sisters, significant others, and nieces and nephews. I walk up to the house thinking “you can do this, it’s going to be small, you’ll be fine”. I get into the house and my heart starts to sink. There’s other extended family already there, and my step-mom says to put coats in the bedroom. Uh-oh. I know that means there is probably more to this than I was told. Next thing I know people are piling in. As I was trying to get to my bag in the bedroom for my emergency meds I had to answer the door twice! I finally get my meds and somehow manage to make it out back before bursting into tears. It took awhile to calm down and I did something I haven’t done in a long time, I mixed my meds with alcohol. I wasn’t driving and I knew I had to calm down before I made an even bigger fool of myself. I could feel the rage building but I wasn’t sure if it would erupt in tears again or anger, so I dampened it the only way I knew how with the resources I had. I didn’t go overboard, 2 glasses of wine only, but I’m still confused if I made the right choice. It was a better choice than flipping out, it was a better choice than over medicating and/or getting sloppy drunk. I still wonder if it could’ve been handled differently though. Oh well, it’s done, and it got me through. I just wish people would respect what I go through, and if I ask for an accommodation for a situation, that it’s for the benefit of everyone involved. I would never expect to be catered to, and I don’t want people going out of their way. I do think I deserve enough respect that people acknowledge my limitations and are honest with me.

I thought today was going to be a recoup day. Ha! Silly me! That’s another thing I try to do, if I know I’m going to be in situations that are mentally/emotionally exhausting I try and make sure the following day or two are laidback days. But life doesn’t always follow our plans. It might be December, but we are in the middle of having work done in our complex, specifically around the pool which means I get to unlock and lock the gate, plus the restroom even though I should be sleeping in since it’s winter break. So this morning I unlock the restroom and apparently one of the workers had cut themselves yesterday while working. Blood was smeared on the trashcan, large drops were on the floor, on the wall under the paper towels and smeared all over the faucet. There’s nothing like being awake for a whopping 45 minutes and finding out you get to clean up bio-hazardous material. I wish it ended there, but it didn’t. I had a neighbor start texting me complaints about another neighbor (all superficial), numerous phone calls that I had to answer (unfortunately), and also got a message from my stalker. I thought he was gone, but I realized today I was sorely mistaken. No therapy this week either. I’m sure I had some point to make when I started writing but I can’t remember what it was. The holidays are difficult, for just about everyone. When you throw in something like BPD they can be almost unbearable. Have patience with yourself. If you don’t have BPD but know someone who struggles with this disorder, have patience with them. I’m not saying you should give into demands, but ask what you can do to help (within reason of course). If you notice them withdrawing into themselves, reach out but don’t push. Find the balance that works for you and for the person struggling. I always try to remind myself that there are people worse off than I am. Maybe they have no family, maybe they have no food, or are unable to spend time with those they love due to circumstances beyond their control. While it’s important to remind yourself of this, it’s also important to keep your own needs in mind. I’m still trying to find the balance of giving to others without leaving myself empty. My goal for tomorrow is to take time to recharge while still being respectful of my responsibilities. That means not taking on other’s problems, not responding to texts/calls/messages that aren’t an emergency or are pointlessly negative, and sticking to my personal boundaries without guilt. Not my strongest quality, but I’m working on it!

Wait… I’m Confused…

I have a question for all the “typical” people out there. You know who you are. The ones that handle stress and emotions in a healthy manner. The ones who seem to take any type of adversity in stride. My question is how do you do it?! I’m serious, because I have no idea how you people live life. It confuses and confounds me. I have no idea which of my emotions are “real” and which emotions are a byproduct of my BPD. My old therapist said all my feelings were real but not all of them true. What is the difference?!

I just had one of the worst breakdowns I’ve experienced in a very long time. It has literally been boiling under the surface for almost 3 days. Today it finally broke through. My eyes hurts, my shoulders hurt, and my throat is on fire from the outburst of rage that just occurred. I feel like I’m about to throw up because my entire body is still trying to recover from what it just went through. The screaming and crying, the tensed muscles that were so tensed it’s a wonder they didn’t tear apart. I’m glad I was home by myself, although I keep expecting one of neighbors to have called the police. I tried to keep it contained to my room and the screaming and sobbing buried into my pillow. But I’m sure someone heard me. When my emotions boil over like that, everything is confusing. Not only for me but for others as well. I don’t always have the luxury of having the house to myself and family members have most definitely witnessed this madness. In my late teens and early twenties a couple friends had also had the misfortune to see these overwhelming outbursts. When I say “overwhelming” I mean it. It overwhelms my body, my brain, everything. There is no control left, I am at the mercy of the emotions pouring out. So yeah, back to it being confusing, it confuses anyone who is present. I think the times others have seen my outbursts it confuses them because it seems to come out of nowhere. They are just minding their own business and the next moment they are dealing with this hurricane and trying to figure out exactly when the storm rolled in. Since I’m a quiet Borderline there really is a lack of warning. I hold every single thing inside. Every annoyance, every criticism, every fear, every rejection, the list goes on and on. I was raised where only positive upbeat emotions were allowed to be expressed. If someone cuts me off in the supermarket, or a friend hurts my feelings, I bury it down and throw a smile on my face. When something big happens, like being stood up or someone who I care about avoids me, the emotions that have been buried for months (sometimes even up to a year) start to ramp up. Every tiny thing that happens after that feels huge. Someone forgets to text me back? It’s like the death of a loved one. Someone is late? It’s like they stabbed me in the back. Even small physical things, like tripping over the bathroom rug, is a huge deal. It just builds and builds. Then, the last grain of sand is dropped and the hurricane unleashes itself.

Sometimes I know it’s coming, I don’t know exactly when, but sometimes there are signs. I knew yesterday it was coming and coming fast. I tried to head it off before it hit. I took extra meds (just an extra half a pill, nothing crazy), I tried doing an intensive cardio workout, and I tried journaling. Nothing was working. I was despondent around my family because I was afraid if I opened my mouth, even to say “thank you” or “excuse me” that the hurricane would unleash. My own confusion comes from a lot of factors. I’m rarely able to pinpoint what first started the emotional buildup. Dissociation plays a big part as well, where I don’t know what’s real. This takes many forms. Sometimes I don’t know if I’ve said something out loud or just thought it in my head. Sometimes I feel separated from my body, like I’m watching a play but there’s a thin fog all around obstructing my view. Other times it’s like time slows down yet speeds up at the same time. That one really throws me off. I also deal with doubt about what is true and accurate and what is a distortion of the truth.

I don’t know how to change this part of me. After over 4 years of therapy, this is an area in which I have made little progress. How do typical people not let the little things bother them? How do they voice their negative feelings without offending people or having them get mad at you? How do they get over people hurting them? How do they trust themselves and the people around them? I’m tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally. I’m scared of what happens next, waiting for something else to happen that will start the cycle all over again.

A Lot Can Change While Staying The Same

It’s been a long time since I have posted anything new. I go through phases where no matter how interested I may be in something (or someone), I eventually drop it. Whether it’s on purpose, due to a bad experience, or on accident, like needing a break from things and then forgetting about them. There was no bad experience with this blog, I had just hit one my phases where I took a break from all social media and the next thing I knew a year and a half had passed by. This is pretty typical for me and I have heard other Borderlines experience similar situations. The problem I have is that sometimes, if I go too long, it becomes very uncomfortable to return to those situations. I will feel like people look at me like I only want attention, or maybe they think that I wasn’t that interested in what I was doing. Take my art for instance. I love art, in all it’s forms. I draw, paint, write, love photography, and am a creative person in general. There was a point where I was drawing and painting every single day. People thought I should go to school for it (which I did for awhile), or make a business of it somehow. Out of the blue I got burnt out. I had nothing left to draw or paint and had absolutely no ambition to find inspiration. Some people started saying things like I couldn’t be as interested as I said because otherwise I wouldn’t have dropped it so abruptly and for so long. It was actually years before I picked up a paint brush again. I know I shouldn’t take those things so personally, but when you have a fragile sense of self to begin with it does a lot of harm to hear people say that you aren’t who you portray yourself to be.

I don’t know why it has taken me so long to write this post. I get a sentence or two typed out and then get interrupted or distracted and it takes forever to get back to where I was. I believe I’m on day 4 or 5 of working on this…

So what’s been happening over the last year and a half? A lot, but not much. One of the bigger changes that occured was that after being with my therapist for 4 years I was given 2 weeks notice that because of insurance issues she was going to have to transition me to someone new. It about killed me. I had come far enough and trusted her enough to know she wasn’t abandoning me. At the same time though, I was terrified to start this process all over again with someone new. I am still adjusting to the new therapist but I need consistency and she tends to have to reschedule appointments or change our appointment time. I even suggested meeting on a different day which helped for about 2 weeks. She actually just now sent a text saying she had a cancellation and wants to move our appointment. I have her first slot of the day and the person who cancelled has the second slot. So she wants to push my appointment back so she can come in an hour later. I’m actually pretty ticked off at the moment. We didn’t meet last week due to her not being available on our usual day and I didn’t have anything else available the rest of the week. Knowing me, and not wanting to make anyone mad, I’ll rage internally but text her back and say that’s fine. Why? Because when you have BPD you can’t handle anyone being mad at (or disappointed with) you. EVER. It doesn’t matter if they are friends, family, co-workers, neighbors, strangers, etc. It doesn’t matter if they work for you or you work for them. Honestly, it doesn’t even matter if you don’t like them! They still have to like you! It seems ridiculous to type that out. The extremes a Borderline will go to, even if it’s detrimental to their health and well-being just to please someone, is… well… extreme! This is constant too. It’s with everyone. It’s all day, everyday, of trying to keep others happy. Eventually the limit is reached, where I just can’t keep up anymore and one of two things happens; rage or depression. I’m reaching my limit actually, and the fire in my stomach tells me it will most likely be rage that wins out. Being a “quiet” Borderline, it is rare for me to rage at other people (and it is never directed at the people I’m angry with). I will rage at myself. It usually involves slamming things, breaking things, always my own property, or worst case, if it is really bad, self harm. I am not at the self harm point right now, I just want to be honest with my posts on how things evolve with me. I have safety plans in place and more often than not I utilize them.

As usual I kind of veered off subject. My therapist texting threw me off. I’m kind of glad she did, since it allowed me to begin to put words to my own internal struggle. It also knocked down the remains of whatever was blocking me from writing. Other things that have changed, yet stayed the same are my family, my friends, and some big changes with the best friend (as mentioned in previous posts). I will go into more details about these things, but I really want to get this posted so I get back in the habit of writing.

I believe self awareness plays a big role in overcoming any struggle. Be it addiction, mental illness, or even something as mundane as getting into shape (exercise/diet). It’s hard to look at yourself honestly, and to pay attention to how you react to stimuli and why. But I truly believe if you can access this part of yourself you stand a much better chance in achieving your goals. It isn’t easy, but I refuse to give up. I will find my inner peace and be a better person for it.

Much love and respect,

J.J.

The Other Disappearing Act

If you have BPD, you may have the same issue I have. Getting super interested in something and putting your all into it, and then, the next thing you know, you realize you haven’t paid it the least bit attention in weeks, months, or even years. That’s what happened to my blog. I haven’t been on here in so long I had to create a new password, I can’t remember how to add photos or any of the fun stuff, lol. I have gone MIA on social media for months at a time before. I have quit art class, jobs, even college courses. Now I love art, in all it’s forms, so for me to quit my classes was pretty shocking to friends and family. But it’s like idealization and devaluation, just on a lower scale. …Maybe not lower, just not as personal. If that makes sense. So my art classes, they were going well, I was enjoying it, and nothing “bad” happened. Maybe it was something I sensed, I’m not sure. It seems like whenever I enjoy something, or I find myself doing well, I start backing away or I find some way to sabatoge it. Or, sometimes, there is a negative experience, like getting reprimanded, or thinking someone doesn’t like me. I was thoroughly enjoying writing these posts, but the next thing I knew it had been a month since I posted anything new. I thought about picking it back up from time to time, but always managed to distract myself. A month turned into two, then four, then it seemed pointless to start back up. Well this evening I received a message from a Ms. Valerie, who left a comment on my song list. I had no idea I had gained a few followers and while I get intimated by followers (even on FB and Insta), I feel like I actually have some people interested in my BPD journey on Word Press. I swear followers on other social media feels more like a competetion, which is why I get intimidated. I’ve never been good at competition. Anyways, I’m getting off subject. I am going to try my best to get back into writing here on a regular basis. If not for other people, then for myself. I found it quite therapeutic and if a post helps someone along the way then even better! Since I’m painfully self-aware, I can’t promise I won’t drop the ball again, but as long as I come back eventually, I’ll count it as a win.

The Bridge

So at my last therapy session my therapist told me I had taken my first few steps onto “the bridge”. I am not convinced that therapy has been helping over the past few years, but she is insisting that I’m not only making progress, but that I’m nearing the point of transition. She explained it like this: There is a long rickety bridge, that stands far above the ground, it’s not a bridge you immediately feel safe crossing. Behind me, a few short steps away is the dark swampy marsh I came from. It has pitfalls, quicksand, it’s dark and full of dangers. Ahead of me, across this scary, rickety, long bridge is a beautiful land. Clear blue water, green grass, white sand, beautiful skies. The seasons change in this new place, but even if it rains, or gets cold, or the water turns choppy and grey it doesn’t last, and even while this is happening you can still appreciate the beauty of it. 

This sounds appealing to me, and I think I’ve seen glimpses of this “land”, like flipping through the pages of someone else’s photo album. However, the dark desolate swamp is my home. It’s the only home I’ve ever known. And as I’m taking these tentative steps across this terrifying bridge, I can’t help looking over my shoulder, longing for the safety and security my home has given me over the years. It has it’s own beauty, even if others can’t see it. I often find myself taking steps back towards this dark and damp place. Back onto solid ground where there is no bottomless void underneath me. But even as I return to the bridge, curiosity getting the better of me, I somehow manage to take one or two steps more towards this new land than I have previously done. But today… Today I want to run screaming off this stupid bridge and plunge myself into the deepest recesses of the swamp. The place where I can throw up walls stronger than steel. Where no one can come in, even if I wanted them to. You see, there’s a problem when you start walking out of the swamp. You are unprotected. Yes, there’s protection on the other side of the bridge too, but it’s very far away and I don’t know how to use the protection that’s there. I’m guessing it’s no where near as strong as the walls I used to know how to make back in the swamp. My swampland sounds very appealing indeed. Why? I can only explain it with this song lyric from The Cure: “I wish it would just stop, I know another moment will break my heart”. My swamp will keep my heart protected. It’s too fragile right now, and I honestly feel like it will shatter into dust with just the slightest whisper. A week ago, I was ready to sprint across that bridge. I thought I could even see a faint light glimmering through the fog that envelops this bridge. Now, knowing that the swamp is much closer than any magic land (I call it magic because my brain can not comprehend what it must be like to live on the other side) it seems foolish to leave what I know. It might be ugly, and dark to some people, full of that quicksand and the pitfalls, but I know how to use that land. I know how to navigate in it, and even if I do run into trouble, I know how to survive. Am I miserable? Yes. And no. Would I like to be able to reach the other side of that bridge and walk around that world with confidence? Of course. But I’m terrified. People get hurt on that side too. What if I reach that side and I find I’m still an outsider? Isn’t it better to stay hidden? Yet… That curiosity. What if I cross the bridge and find I can not only survive, but thrive over there? I lived in world of black and white. I currently live in a world where shades of grey are slowly creeping in. What would a world of all the colors look like? I guess the only way to find out for sure is to cross the bridge.

The Disappearing Act

Here’s the problem having a blog and having BPD; you go through phases of disappearing. Maybe not all Borderlines face this problem, but I sure do. It’s not only my blog, it’s all social media, and it’s from friends and family too. I’m not really sure what happens. I think I get so overwhelmed that my entire self just shuts down. I’ve barely seen my son and husband and we live under the same roof. When I do see them and they talk to me I barely register what they are saying. I usually become bogged down by guilt, because all I want is to be by myself. Maybe it’s the pain that causes this phenomenon. I “celebrated” my birthday in June. My biological mom forgot, and my mom (adoptive mom who’ve I known my entire life) didn’t get me a card or gift. Maybe this sounds self pitying but she has always given at least a card. So I asked my sisters if they had gotten anything thinking maybe it was just one of her phases. No, my youngest sister was given a diamond ring that belonged to our grandmother and my other sister was taken on a trip to a cabin for a few days. Then there is the best friend. Why in the world my brain decided to latch onto him, I have no idea. Well yes, I do, because when he is sober he is the best person I have ever known. But when he’s using, he’s the absolute worst. He disappears (my worst fear ever with anyone but especially with him), he’s cold, he lies, and plays head games. We spent the day before my birthday together and it was so much fun. Nearly perfect. Then on my actual birthday, the very next day, he was a completely different person. It broke my heart. Sometimes I curse my mind for being so fragile. I feel like one of these days it’ll be too much and my brain will just stop working. Totally shut down. Sometimes I want to rush the process along because I’m so convinced it will happen. If I make it happen myself at least then I can control WHEN it happens. Having BPD is always a struggle, there is rarely an easy day. If there IS an easy day you are constantly on edge waiting for it to all fall apart. I’m waiting for my Trazadone to kick in so I’ll actually get some sleep tonight, but who knows. The nightmares have been rough lately. In the nightmares, I’m always lost and looking for someone, usually my best friend, but sometimes other people. If I find them they will say something along the lines of “I’ll be right back”, or “hold on just a second”, and then they are gone again. The worst is where that is going on but I also have faceless “bad people” chasing/stalking me and I need help. But the people I’m beseeching for help can’t be found. They are gone. It amazes me how replaceable people seem to be. My dreams are often a direct parallel to my reality, I see how often I’m replaced in the real world. I’m replaced with drugs, sisters who are more accomplished, new friends who are more interesting (or perhaps more stable), I’ve even been replaced with media. Seriously, TV shows have been more important than me and my needs. That last one was courtesy of my dad. I don’t know. I don’t know how to tell people that they’ve hurt me, so I bury it down, but it’s still alive and tries to dig it’s way back up. It’s a constant battle of trying to keep this monster under the ground. But he always wins in the end, one way or another. It breaks free and I feel bad for whoever is around when it does, because more often than not, the person who has to deal with the monster is someone who I am not angry with or hurt by. They look like a deer caught in headlights, wondering what the hell happened and what they did to receive such wrath. Ok, so my Trazadone is finally kicking in. God knows if this post even makes sense. But this is BPD.

Music of a Borderline: A Comprehensive List of Songs About BPD

This will be a bit lighter than my previous posts. Thankfully! I needed a break! Music is open to interpretation but there are some songs that directly mention BPD. There are even more that hint at BPD or another personality disorder, and hundreds that someone with BPD could relate to. I will section this post into these three categories. If you have come across any songs that are about BPD that aren’t listed here, or have suggestions for songs that you relate to, feel free to mention them in the comment section. I do have two warnings. First warning, many of these songs contain explicit lyrics. If you are easily offended or are sensitive to language, please proceed with caution if you choose to look up any of these songs. I am not including lyrics because this post would turn into a book due to the sheer amount of songs listed. Second warning, and to be heeded, is that these songs could be a trigger for some people. So please, if you are affected easily by music, and are particularly impulsive, use caution if you choose to listen to any of these songs.

Some of the following songs I came across on other sites, others I have found on my own. Thank you to those of you out there who shared your knowledge of music and lyrics.

Songs that specifically mention Borderline(s) or BPD:

1. Black Eyed by Placebo (Brian Molko either has BPD himself or is close enough to someone who does that he has a keen insight into this disorder)
2. Stinkfist by Tool
3. Boulevard Of Broken Dreams by Green Day
4. Strange Boy by Pet Shop Boys
5. Napalm Death by Cursed To Crawl
6. Overdrive by Katy Rose
7. Borderline by Michael Gray and Shelly Poole *There is another version by only Shelly Poole
8. My Extraordinary Mind by No Fun At All
9. Delicate Terror by Thrill Kill Kult -aka; My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult
10. White Shadow by Peter Gabriel
11. Crazy Women by Brandy Clark *There is another version by Leann Rimes
12. Insanity by Kina
13. Spitfall by Pain Of Salvation
14. I Can’t Stand You Anymore by Sleigh Bells
15. Far Away From Man by Sugarplum Fairy
16. Vermillion Kisses by Barry Adamson
17. Switch Off The Moment by Dolores O’Riordan
18. Crazy Happy by Speedstar
19. Beautiful Apocalypse by Kamelot
20. Man Of Straw by Viking
21. Tempo Change by Lillex***
22. Not All Bad by Aaron Sprinkle***

*** I am not 100% sure these two songs are referencing BPD, but reading the lyrics, I believe that they are.

Songs that seem to reference BPD but do not specifically mention Borderline(s) or BPD:

1. I Hate Everything About You by Three Days Grace
2. Hot And Cold by Katy Perry
3. Whatever She’s Got by David Nail
4. Self Esteem by The Offspring
5. Hurt by Nine Inch Nails *Johnny Cash did a cover of this song as well
6. Bitch by Meredith Brooks
7. Creep by Radiohead
8. Doll Parts by Hole (Courtney Love has a BPD diagnosis)
9. Beautiful Mess by Jason Mraz
10. Private Hell by Alice In Chains
11. My Skin by Natalie Merchant
12. Chop Suey by System Of The Down
13. Colour Me In by Kayla Kavanagh (Kayla Kavanagh also has a BPD diagnosis)
14. Fallen by Kayla Kavanagh
15. One Of A Kind by Placebo
16. A Million Little Pieces by Placebo
17. Blind by Placebo
18. Phantom Bride by Deftones ft. Jerry Cantrell
19. Sober by Tool

The following songs probably don’t have anything to do with BPD, but they are very relatable to someone who has the disorder. Lovesong by The Cure is a perfect example. I often think of this song when I want to apologize for an outburst or to warn someone new in my life that despite the words that I say, I don’t always mean them.

1. Lovesong by The Cure
2. Hearing Damage by Thom Yorke
3. Safe And Sound by The Civil Wars & Taylor Swift
4. Wrecking Ball by Miley Cyrus
5. Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge
6. Into The West by Annie Lennox
7. Heroin by Velvet Underground
8. Apart by The Cure
9. Better This Way by Kayla Kavanagh
10. #1 Crush by Garbage
11. Sail by Awolnation
12. Chances Are We Are Mad by His Name Is Alive
13. Colorblind by Counting Crows
14. Daffodil Lament by The Cranberries
15. Disintegration by The Cure
16. Heavy In Your Arms by Florence And The Machine
17. Honey And The Moon by Joseph Arthur
18. It Will Rain by Bruno Mars
19. Little Star by Stina Nordenstam
20. My Love by Sia
21. Special K by Placebo
22. Talk Show Host by Radiohead
23. Slow Life by Grizzly Bear
24. Possibility by Lykke Li
25. Whatever (I Had A Dream) by Butthole Surfers
26. Independence Day by Ani DiFranco
27. Untouchable Face by Ani DiFranco
28. You Say by Lauren Daigle
29. Running Up That Hill by Placebo
30. Fast As You Can by Fionna Apple
31. Hold Me by The Cardigans
32. *Asleep by The Smiths* MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING FOR “Asleep” but it’s also one of the most beautiful songs ever written.

Music affects us all differently. Five different people could listen to the same song and you would have five different meanings to said song. I would be miserable without my music. It helps us express ourselves when we can’t on our own, it heals us and helps us through the hardest of times. It provides memories and can be an immediate stress reducer (hello, belting out a song while in the car or the shower!). This list of songs could go on and on but I had to stop at some point. I hope you check out some of these songs and find some solace in them if needed. At the very least, I hope you find a new artist to listen to!

*Updated on 10/19/19*

The Two Mothers

Some people may think it’s a good thing to have two mothers. When both of your mother’s have traits of BPD it is nowhere near good. This may very well be the most difficult post I write. I mentioned at the beginning that I was adopted at three days old. I was taken home directly from the hospital by my adopted parents. They were always very honest about me being adopted, I had children’s books about adoption, a Precious Moments figurine of a child and parents holding an adoption certificate, and they were always willing to answer any questions I had. I was told constantly that I was special. Unique.

Growing up I was a Daddy’s Girl. I loved my dad more than anything. My mom and I never quite clicked though. I truly believe that even as a baby, there was a part of me that knew she wasn’t my mother. It was like an imposter was standing there. I love her, yes, of course I do, but there is something fundamental that is missing from our relationship. She has always claimed that I hated her, and I admit I do have a lot of anger towards her. And I suppose that I did hate her at one time. I think it was both good and bad that they were always honest about the adoption. I couldn’t imagine learning about being adopted at age 13 or something, but being told from day one had it’s own repercussions. I knew I wasn’t “theirs”, that I was different from my cousins and other family members. I have always known that my brain works differently than most people as well, which didn’t help the situation. From a very early age I thought that was the reason my biological mom gave me up. I was convinced that she knew I was no good and that’s why she got rid of me. Of course I was told over and over that she loved me so much that that’s the reason she put me up for adoption. She wanted me to have a better life than she could provide. I was told the amount of love needed to do that was more than I could imagine. My brain could not, would not, accept it. While my parents were in the process of adopting their second child, my sister Kit, they became pregnant with my youngest sister Ann. Kit and Ann are about 9 months apart in age. I don’t really remember, but I think Kit was brought home shortly before Ann was born. Now that I am an adult (chronologically anyways!) I understand how hard that must have been on my adopted mom. She was basically raising twins since they were so close in age and came home at about the same time. She started to suffer from severe panic attacks and I believe depression. That was the 1980’s, so the drug given to most patients at that time was Valium. So here I was, a big sister to two younger sisters that to me showed up out of nowhere. I am 4 years older than Kit, and 5 years older than Ann. Just stop and think about this for a moment. You have a 5 year old little girl who already knows she doesn’t fit in, she feels as if she doesn’t really belong, and out of the blue two more little girls show up. I felt as if I was being replaced. Here were my parents, telling me how special I was, but yet they bring home two more kids. The thinking process of a 5 year old…

Because my mom’s anxiety and depression was getting so bad I was often left to watch my sisters. By the time I was 7 years old I was a pro at changing diapers, feeding babies, and taking care of them in general. Kit and I were particularly close while growing up. Ann had my mom’s temperament and was prone to severe tantrums. It was not an easy atmosphere to live in. Kit and I always viewed it as Ann being our parents favorite because she was their biological child. Looking back, it is easier to understand how much energy Ann demanded. My adopted mom began to show more traits of BPD around this time. She would be so loving and supportive one moment and the next she was blowing up and screaming in your face. Two minutes later she would be in tears apologizing to you. My adopted dad said she would be in a good mood, and he would run to the store, by the time he returned she would be extremely mad at him for apparently no reason. There were a few times that she would become angry with a neighbor, friend, or even a family member, and she would cut them out of her life completely. There are still three people that to this day she has never spoken to since the mid to late 80’s. It wasn’t like these people did anything wrong, but to her, some horrid offense had occurred. One was our neighbor, and was my mom’s best friend for years and years. This neighbor had children close in age to my sisters and me. We practically lived over there, especially when my mom was on the Valium. For whatever reason, my mom decided this lady had wronged her, and she never spoke to her again. Our neighbor was completely and utterly baffled.

By the time I was in high school I had given up trying to understand my adopted mom. I would walk in the door and be verbally assaulted with some crazy reality she had convinced herself of. She isn’t psychotic, but she can convince herself of things that just aren’t true. The emotional abuse was almost unbearable. What am I saying?! It was unbearable. I was very lucky in the fact that when my parents divorced I was allowed to choose who I lived with. My sisters had to live with my mom, but since I was old enough to choose, I chose to live with my dad. But I still had to have visits with my mom, and since she lived right down the street from my school I’d often walk there and go home to my dad’s later. I had a LOT of freedom living with my dad. He was always at work or at Ann’s softball games, or whatever else he had going on. A sophomore in high school who wants nothing more than to escape her misery and has little to no supervision gets into trouble easily. The drugs, drinking, skipping school, failing grades, running around at all hours. It was a recipe for disaster, and believe me, disasters happened.

My dad was so naive. He has never even smoked a cigarette before. The way he was brought up was so… typical middle class. We literally had a white picket fence for Christ’s sake! I would be smoking pot in my room, tell him it was incense, and he never questioned it. Once Kit became old enough, she chose to move in with my dad and me. She began acting out as well, and that’s when my dad was finally clued in to the trouble we were getting ourselves into. We would throw some massive parties while he was out of town with Ann for her damn softball, and cops would be called. He began hearing complaints from neighbors and so he really had no choice but to start paying attention. It really didn’t stop us.

The emotional and verbal abuse from my mom became even worse for Kit and me. I think she was hurt that Kit decided to leave and live with my dad and me. But she would never admit to it. To this day, Ann takes up all her attention. She babysits Ann’s children everyday, and when she’s not babysitting, she’s still over there helping out. They live on streets right next to each other. Ann does not exhibit traits of BPD unless you consider the outbursts of extreme and inappropriate anger. I am not positive what her actual diagnoses are, but I do know BPD is nowhere near being one of them. Kiy also has a diagnosis or two, but no BPD. While my adopted mom has never been diagnosed with BPD, when you look at the traits of a borderline, she fits at least 5 of the 9 criteria.

Fast forward about 20 years. I was about to turn 37, and the state where I live changed the law where closed adoptions became open. You could request your original birth certificate, and after sending the required information and payment to the Dept. of Vitals and Statistics they would send it to you. I had been waiting for this day for as long as I could remember. I had done some searching before, and twice, two years in a row, right before Christmas both years, I thought I had found my biological mom. That was a very bitter pill to swallow to find out that both were dead ends. But here was my chance to find her for real. When I received my birth certificate in the mail I cried. It even had my bio mom’s nationalities. I was told many times that I looked Irish, and looked like I had some sort of Native American in me too. It was always speculation. Turns out I am Irish and Cherokee, with a couple others mixed in. I was over the moon. My questions were finally going to be answered. It took only two, maybe two and half weeks, to find my bio mom’s current address. I wrote to her, asking for medical history at a minimum, but letting her know I was open to a relationship if she was too. I told her about my son who has autism, and a little about my anxiety and depression. I did not mention my diagnosis of BPD, I had only found out less than a year before. I knew it had a stigma attached to it, and I wasn’t about to scare her off. Not many people realize there is a spectrum regarding BPD, and fewer still take into account the base personality of the person being affected. Plus, this woman I writing to had never really met me. Sure she carried me for nine months, but as soon as I took my first breath I had been taken away.

I think I waited about two more weeks after sending my letter when curiosity got the best of me. One of my friends who is always down for road trips drove me down to the address I had for my bio mom. We got out of the car about a block away and just walked around, passing the house a couple times. We didn’t see anyone, and I knew she was living with my aunt and grandma from the research I had done. My friend and I went to lunch and we were going to head home when she suggested we drive by one more time. Of course as we pass, there is my mom walking up to the house. I hadn’t seen a picture of her yet, so there was a small chance it was my aunt, but I knew it was her. She looked directly at me as we passed, I think she might have suspected it was me because I got a reply to my letter about a week later. She never mentioned my drive-by, and I’ve never mentioned it either. When I got her letter in the mail I was shaking. I called my husband and just started bawling. I couldn’t open it until someone was with me. He drove home from work early so I could read it. It was the longest hour of my life waiting for him to get home. We noticed it appeared to be a greeting card with a letter tucked inside. I figured it couldn’t be too bad if she was sending a greeting card. She seemed very sweet and caring. She seemed supportive. She wanted to try to have a relationship. It was everything I could’ve asked for. We wrote back and forth a couple times, and progressed to email pretty quickly. It was about two months later that we officially met face to face. I guess I should’ve had my first clue when we made plans to meet. I have PTSD from a severe car accident that caused me to have almost 90 stitches across my forehead. The accident was in the late 1990’s but it still affects me to this day. I had told her earlier how much I hated to drive, about the accident and PTSD, and that freeways were off limits unless absolutely necessary. One of my more persistent traits of BPD is that I can not say “no” to people. Even when it’s to my own detriment. She had me come down to her part of the city (we are about as far away as you can get in our city, I’m at the extreme north eastern side, while she is at the extreme south western side). I was freaking out needing to drive that far and on the freeway, but I would’ve flown to the moon in order to meet her face to face. We had a great first meeting. It was easy and comfortable, and on my end I felt no awkwardness. She claimed she didn’t either, and I believe her. When we started texting, maybe 3 or 4 weeks after her first letter, we texted every single day. We still text every single day. In the past 2 years, there has not been a single day where we haven’t sent texts. This was my second clue, although it took me awhile to catch on. I have tried to let her know that I have things going on, or was sick, or whatever, and she will say “no problem, I’ll talk to you tomorrow”, but will always end up texting later that same day. She also needs to send the last text. For awhile I would fight against it, just being stubborn, but I noticed if I sent another text back, even if it just said “Night!”, she will text back again. Eventually I just gave up, if she needs to send the last text, then by all means, send it.

As I’ve gotten to know my bio mom over the last two years I have noticed how freakishly similar she is to my adopted mom. Their personalities are so close! My psychiatrist noticed it as I would talk to her, and my psychologist has most definitely caught on. My psychologist is even sympathetic about it. She will call me out when I am being paranoid or not seeing reality clearly, but in this case, she knows it is accurate. My bio mom has the same kind of temper as my adopted mom, and while it has never been directed at me (yet), I have seen it directed at others. Again, just like my adopted mom, my bio mom is very much a “typical” borderline. She has more traits than my adopted mom, which includes self harm and threats of self harm or suicide. She becomes very distant and/or cold when I don’t match her mood or disagree with her about something. There is an excuse for everything and anything, and nothing is ever her fault. I love her, and I do not want our relationship to end. When she is having a good day she is funny, charming, so supportive, and it is fascinating to learn about the family and our history. Plus I’m still holding out hope that through her, or with her help, I will locate my biological dad. That’s not looking so good, his last name (and first name) is so common. He may as well go by John Smith, that’s how common it is.

This post has taken me 19 days to write. I had to keep taking breaks. There is so much more I could go into regarding my moms. I find it darkly hilarious that both my moms happen to have BPD. I never had a chance. I have the genetic and the environmental factors on all sides. I work very hard everyday to not put my son in the same environment I grew up in. I think the fact that I’m a “quiet” borderline helps tremendously. But I still worry about him, terrified I will pass on this curse of a disorder to him or his children. He already has the hurdles of dealing with autism, depression and anxiety. While he is incredibly high functioning, he still struggles. I know everybody has limitations that they need to overcome. Some have it easier than others, and I am aware that others have much more difficult struggles than I do. But this is the life I know and have to live in. I work on what I can to improve it to the best of my ability. I suppose that’s all any of us can do.

The Perfect Drug…

“…you are exactly my brand of heroin.”

–Edward Cullen, Twilight

When you have BPD it is inevitable that at some point you will become addicted to another person. It sounds ridiculous I’m sure, but it’s true. They can affect you so deeply, and seem to be your perfect match in every way. The more time you spend with this person, the more addicted you become. It can become so intense that when you’re separated from them, even for a short amount of time, it causes physical pain. Depression can set in and a sort of withdraw takes place. Nothing feels right until you are with them again. If you have never had an addiction, even if just coffee, and you don’t have BPD, you will never truly understand what I’m saying. It’s being in love, but the deepest (almost dysfunctional) type of love you could ever imagine. It’s beyond lust, yearning, and needing. It constantly feels like you’ll break into a million pieces. When you are with them, you’ll break apart from the happiness. When they are gone, you’ll break apart from the pain. But always you want more. It doesn’t matter if other relationships suffer, or that you may blow off work/school/responsibilities just so you can spend a little more time with them. Love is our drug of choice. For people with BPD, everything we do, everything we look for, comes down to love. So when we find it (or think we’ve found it) we become obsessed. We think of the person constantly. Not a moment goes by where they aren’t on your mind. You would gladly be smothered to death if they were the one smothering you. It’s a drug. It’s stronger than cocaine, pain pills and heroin combined.

I get that this may sound like the beginning stages of stalking behavior. And who knows, maybe a lot of stalkers have BPD. I don’t know. I personally have never stalked anyone, regardless of how strongly they have affected me. I’ve thought about it, but never acted on it. Well… maybe a little on social media, but I think just about everyone over the age of 20 has stalked someone on social media! Be it an ex, best friend, ex boss, whatever. I am not making light of stalking. There was a guy who stalked me for almost a year and it was truly frightening. I still suffer from PTSD because of it. Thankfully this was before Facebook, Twitter and all the rest were around.

So back to our drug of choice. Love. Everyone craves it, everyone needs it. It is essential to human survival. Why though, do people with BPD need it so much more than typical people? Is it purely our heightened emotional state? Is it because most Borderlines have had some sort of trauma in our lives where love either wasn’t given or was given in harmful ways? I don’t know the answer to that. I do know that when we feel love this strongly it’s often referred to as idealization. You place this person on a pedestal so high that you’d think it impossible for them to ever come down. You adore every look they give you, you would kill to have them smile at you, you cherish every touch and embrace. And you are completely and utterly terrified it will be ripped away from you at any moment. You become so in tune with them that you often know what they are feeling before they know it themselves. But then it begins to shift. Every bad mood, or even just boredom, seems to be directed at you. Or so you think. (As you progress in treatment, if you’re in treatment, you will learn that this is rarely the case.) The doubts become more and more insistent. You don’t stop to think that they aren’t calling because they are sick, busy at work, or their phone is lost under the sofa. No, they aren’t calling YOU. They hate you, you get on their nerves, they’re mad at you, sick of you. You re-read every text and email, go over every single conversation you’ve ever had. Searching for what you did wrong. The pain becomes more and more intense. You start to lose your identity, and you just know they are going to leave you alone, just like everyone does. It’s here that devaluation steps in. Another survival mechanism in the BPD arsenal. This person you loved above all else, they aren’t so great! That pedestal that was higher than the heavens themselves? It starts to crumble. Tiny pieces at first. Small chips of stone here and there. Then they call or text or show up. Wait!!! They aren’t so bad! And you NEED them, remember? So you patch up the pedestal, ignoring or not seeing the cracks that are starting to form. But then they say that they can’t hang out, or cancel an arranged afternoon at the last second. What?! They suck, you hate them. Why would they do this to you? Don’t they realize what you’ve sacrificed for them?! The honest answer (most of the time, especially for Quiet Borderlines) is no. No, they don’t realize how much time and energy you’ve put into the relationship. I’m not talking about just romantic relationships either. This can happen with friendships, family relationships, even workplace relationships. It does tend to be strongest with romantic relationships and close friendships however.

Thus the “swinging” continues. Getting faster and stronger at every pass. The timing between idealization and devaluation becomes shorter in duration. Sound exhausting? It is, believe me. This is a particularly hard time for someone with BPD. We are consumed with this rollercoaster of emotions. Just like an addict who is nearing the point of rock bottom, we want this person in our life so badly we can’t let go. At the same time, wanting them gone, never to see them again. For me personally, silently begging them to go away and to take all my memories of them when they go. The process of devaluation can become pretty ugly. The stronger the love, the stronger the hate. A lot of times the person you are involved with has no idea that this war is being waged. You snap at them, disappear on them, avoid them, say horrid things to them. If it’s a romantic relationship you may even cheat on them or physically and/or verbally abuse them. In my experience, looking back, I wanted them to feel my pain, even if it was just a fraction of what I felt. There’s a song lyric that comes to mind: “Without you I’m nothing. Without you, I’m nothing at all.” – Placebo. That’s exactly how I feel whether I’m in the process of idealization or devaluation. It fits both. I actually plan on doing a post about songs that are about BPD. While I’m not positive, I am pretty sure that Brian Molko, the lead singer of Placebo, has BPD himself. If he doesn’t then he is very close to someone who does.

Anyways, if you are in a relationship with someone who has BPD, I’m not saying that how they handle idealization/devaluation is okay. I do however urge you to communicate with them in an honest and sincere manner. If you need to cancel with them, give an explanation and as much notice as possible. Also try to reschedule if at all possible. If you know you are going to be in work meetings all day, shoot them a text giving them a head’s up beforehand, and if your relationship is close enough, contact them afterwards. If you are living together, and you are going to be home late, let them know and let them know when they can expect you. You do not need to cater to someone with BPD, nor do you need to walk on eggshells around them, but a little extra communication goes a long way. Please understand that we ourselves often don’t know why we feel the way we do. It can confuse us and scare us, giving rise to inappropriate reactions. Since many of us have had traumatic pasts it’s a part of our makeup to self preserve. We may not always go about it in the correct way, but it always comes from the same place; love.