Ativan & 19 Crimes
*Trigger Warning*
I promised you unedited, raw, and the ugly of my life with borderline personality disorder.
So here goes nothing… we’re about to get real in this. I’m serious. Grab your pet, tissues, and popcorn. It’s time for a lifetime movie.
Remember I said I’ve hit rock bottom more than I’d like to admit?
I started these articles to help cope and to bring awareness to mental health, specifically borderline personality disorder. BPD tends to be glamorized and misinterpreted in films and media. I want to change that. I want to create a community- a community I wish I had growing up for others coping with any mental illness.
I want to note; this is by no means attention-seeking or a cry for help. That’s the last thing I want. The purpose of being honest and sharing my story is to start a dialogue and to let others who are suffering in silence that they are not alone. Everyone is battling a fight we may not see at the surface.
Please don’t be ashamed of it. I mean, I get it — easier said than done. Writing these posts also holds me accountable for those choices I made.
I was sectioned on July 23rd for chasing a bottle of Ativan with an intoxicating amount of red wine.
I don’t know what to say after that. I feel a bit of relief writing it down and knowing it’s out there. I’m not hiding it, it’s not my dirty little secret, and I am not going to be afraid of it or ashamed. I am not proud of it, but I keep telling myself this is part of the journey… this is part of the healing process.
Because of this incident, it’s become more prominent with my healthcare team that I am not as great as I portray myself to be. It’s hard to open up. It’s damn hard to ask for help. Why would I? Nobody did anything when I was six years old?
The system failed me then, so it’s going to fail a 26-year old who holds a respectable full-time job living in the city with her oh so perfect husband. The system waits until you’re in crisis mode to realize oh shit, this person is actually depressed, huh?
Instead of getting help earlier on- I subsequently was on medical leave and doing a partial psychiatric program with a hospital in Boston this past month after the emergency visit. In this experience, I learned the true value of “you never know what someone’s going through.”
The program consisted of myself and 12 other individuals. Is it weird to say we look normal? I don’t know what I was expecting, but my first thoughts were; we look like ordinary people. These are the people who shop at my local Market Basket, the people who commute beside me on the blue line Monday to Friday; these people are friends and family. Everyone has some shape or form of a battle they’re dealing with.
Since writing these articles, so many people have opened up to me on their battles. Imagine a world where we all spoke about our battles? Would there be more compassion in the world? Each and every story I heard broke my heart but, at the same time, allowed other parts of me to heal. These are the conversations that start the healing process.
Now, I am not going to say this process is all rainbows and butterflies. I understand the concept of self-care and self-growth to allow time to heal but keep in mind… it’s sometimes painful and ugly before it starts to scab over.
“If you feel lost, disappointed, hesitant, or weak… return to yourself, to who you are, here and now and when you get there, you will discover yourself, like a lotus flower in full bloom, even in a muddy pond, beautiful and strong.” — Masaru Emoto
Something I wanted to do for a long time is to allow others to share their experience in a safe place. I want to provide you with that safe place- if you wish to tell me or share it on this medium anonymously or boldly. I am here for you, as you were there for me.
“I walked in on a family member trying to commit…I hid under my bed for an hour while the police stormed my house. I grew up with no emotional or verbal support. My distorted core values grew louder in my head as I got older. I now avoid my negative self-judgement by self medicating, engaging in risky behavior, obsessively exerting myself and staying silent. I end friendships the moment I feel abandoned. I rely on romantic relationships to show me love because I don’t love me. I take everything for granted not because I don’t care but because I am convinced it won’t last long in my life. I am working on living a healthy life with borderline personality disorder because I can’t change my genetics. I am learning skills of mindfulness; distress tolerance; interpersonal effectiveness; and emotion regulation to stop feeding into the disease and to stop history from repeating. My motivation is the daughter or son waiting to meet me”. — Anonymous
