Girl, Interrupted— a modern story of someone with Borderline Personality Disorder
As I sit here and write this, I am having a spiral.
Spirals are weird. I can feel them coming, but I cannot stop them. They are a force to be reckoned with. They can be as short as 30 minutes or as long as two days. While I don’t have any disassociation issues, I can almost watch myself from above. I can feel the sensations of the darkness, feel my heartbeat begin to quicken, feel my brain decide to turn on me. The above me calls out to the me below, warning me of the impending doom, and while the me below can hear the warning, there’s nothing I can do. I will succumb to it, but only partly.
To succumb completely would submerge me deep underwater and hold me there until I drown. I never let it go that far. But I indulge in the doom because it’s all I know. I let my brain tell me what an unattractive piece of shit I am. I let it tell me that everyone I know will betray me, will abandon me, will leave me to suffer because it’s what I deserve. I’ll never be like my friends, who are prettier and thinner, who have husbands and houses and happier lives. I’ll never find someone who can truly love me, because they’ll use me like everyone else and that’s all I’m good for: an easy lay. I’m not worth meaningful conversations, just sex and sexual talk. I’ll never have children because I’m already 33 and have slight fertility issues. And even if I did have kids, I’d probably be a terrible parent and my kids would hate me. And it goes on and on, deeper into my subconscious, seeping into my veins and finding all the spots that house my fears.
What happened, you may ask? What caused this plunge into the depths of my brain? And I’ll tell you that it was just a sentence. A word. An off look given by a stranger, or a co-worker, or a friend.
Paranoia, fears of abandonment, splitting — these are things I deal with on a daily basis. Almost all my interactions with people have some sort of effect on me, and connect me to the three phases above, among other things. Splitting involves the idealization and devaluation of people, but most importantly, myself. Did someone I admire or have a crush on tell me I looked nice today, or did something correctly? Well, clearly I am amazing and I will ride that high for hours. But did someone look at me wrong, give me a response I was not expecting, or insult me (either on accident or on purpose)? Then I am a terrible, horrible, disgusting human being and I will sit on that belief for just as long as the high or longer. This will usually cause me to spiral, which I explained above. And with it comes the fear and paranoia. Does everyone see me in that negative light? How long will they see me that way? Will they decide to cut contact with me because of it?
For four months, I ran a group of moderators on a popular forum. The position that gave me that “leader” status was an elected one. The time of four months was standard and already decided on. When my four months was up, someone new would take my place. It was around this time I was diagnosed with BPD. The person I had asked to help me lead had other obligations and although he’d taken up the task to assist, he essentially left me abandoned. I was alone in a position of glorified babysitting while others looked to me to lead the pack. We had one person leave the team; he’d been unhappy with my performance and instead of talking to me, vented to others. By the end of my four months, I’d frayed at the seams. Someone better took over the position. An amendment was passed to allow the “leader” (whoever it became) to run consecutive terms. This person was voted in again almost unanimously.
I spiraled for a full day following my four months, and again after the amendment passed. I had been unhappy with my performance and apparently, so was everyone else. They’d never asked for a consecutive term for me. I knew the amendment was not for the person who took over, but I also knew it had never been a thought until they were doing it. Even talking about this right now is threatening to add another brick to the pile; threatening to pull me under the rocky waters of my psyche. The whispers in the brain begin. You weren’t good enough to be their leader. You weren’t good enough for your friend to help you like he said he would. He couldn’t even tell you he couldn’t help you. You’re not even worth it for someone to talk to you about how they feel. You were a terrible leader, and everyone will remember how bad you were to make sure you never are able to do it again.
BPD makes you selfish. It makes you turn inward. You know that there are other reasons for things happening, yet you can’t listen. If you were involved in any way, you’re at fault. Others’ situations don’t even come into play. You will always blame yourself. My therapist believes my BPD was likely dormant for years; the switch being an emotionally abusive ex boyfriend. The gaslighting and other emotional stresses have made a big impact on the things I worry about in my life. And now that the switch is flipped, it consumes me.
Mental illness still has a stigma attached to it, and it seems worse for illnesses deeper than depression. I struggle for people to understand how I interpret things, and I fear really expressing myself because I don’t want them to know how crazy I am. I’m still a functioning person; I go out with friends and I go to work and I can laugh and have fun. But my brain works overtime to distract from the whispers of paranoia and doubt. When I lie in bed at night, I have to use fantasies (not sexual, but just fun situations in life or meeting people I admire) or even playing a movie or TV show in my head in order to relax so I can sleep. I use phone games to distract when I have nothing to do. If I’m even walking down the hall at work, I have to use fantasizing again to keep my brain from thinking of stressful things.
I want to be normal; I crave the thought of having one day, just one day, where I don’t spiral. Just one day where I don’t take something that someone says and turn it into the thousand ways that I am fucked up. I heard that having BPD is like having third degree burns: no matter what you do, it’s going to hurt. And I hurt every day. And I wish that I could turn my features into a mask. I want to hide how I feel. But when it comes to my mental health, I have no poker face. It’s out there for everyone to see. And if I don’t say anything, I sit and simmer in my feelings. I don’t know which is worse: having someone you care about know how you’re struggling, or keep it bottled up and have it hurt you. It will eventually release, but how? Will I hurt someone’s feelings when I lash out? Will I just end up hurting myself?
I recently re-read Susanna Kaysen’s novel Girl, Interrupted. Susanna was hospitalized for 18 months in a mental hospital in the 1960’s when she was diagnosed with BPD. In it she details how she was diagnosed, her stay in the hospital and those experiences, and what it was like when she got out. I still love the story but I had a really hard time identifying with her. BPD is not a catch all; you can have some symptoms and not others. Susanna dealt with impulsive behaviors that manifested through promiscuity and disassociation. As mentioned earlier, I don’t disassociate. I wouldn’t say I’m promiscuous, but I certainly have had my share of flirting, particularly online, and I crave the attention that comes when someone is sexually or emotionally attracted to you. That being said, I’m loyal in relationships and don’t enjoy one night stands. I have a hard time compartmentalizing sex and romantic feelings. If I’m flirting, I’m into you, although the level of that varies, depending on how much I know about you.
Other than that, I did not find the majority of my symptoms in what she experienced. I already feel like quite the outcast in my social circles and this amplified the feeling. I still have not come to terms with the things I’ve been told: this is an illness, one that is not my fault. There’s something wrong with my amygdala, which is no different than someone having an issue with their leg or their eye, or their heart. It’s in my head, but it’s also very real (“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”). But it’s so difficult to do so. I fear that everyone sees me as someone who isn’t worthy of love, worthy of friendship, worthy of happiness. Stay away from the mad girl. She’ll just make your life more difficult simply by existing.
I’m writing this as a 2019 take on BPD; a modern spin on a disorder that has been around for a while, since before Susanna Kaysen was diagnosed and had the experiences that shaped Girl, Interrupted. I’m sure that there will be some sufferers that cannot identify with me. But maybe there’s someone who can. And if you are, just know: you’re not alone. And your brain is telling you lies. You are good enough. You can fight this. You’re more than your diagnosis. Keep pushing forward and against it.
And maybe some day, I’ll be able to heed my own advice.
