By Mariana

I wish I could tell you that this story took place a long time ago. I mean, I started a treatment with medication over a month ago and can see major improvements, lots of things in my life are not only going well, they are absolutely fantastic.

I’m supposed to be fine, no? Am I not?!

Yet it has been some time since I have slept properly. I have also stopped my healthy routine: no jogging, no yoga, no healthy food and no meals on time. I have been smoking considerably more instead; I have poured too much coffee first thing in the morning and gin & tonic in the afternoon.

I have tried mediation and incense before sleeping, breathing techniques, reading a bloody book about the spiritual pursue of joy. But nothing.

I’m currently writing this in bed after another failed attempt to sleep, after looking for a fight. I am writing this in the dark, under the light of my cell phone, at 12:13am on a week night, just after having lost my mind at home.

Before I  knew it, I was covering my screams with a pillow, covering my face while bitterly crying after punching the wall and my face over and over, after hating myself and every inch of the world and everyone in it- except for Pablo, my dog, he’s always exempt from my storms. He deserves the best of me always.

My dog licked my face persistently (yeah, he is unbelievable) and that helped me deescalate, come back to “normal”.

How did I get here again? I reviewed my day looking for a trigger. I had just had a nonsense outburst over text with someone I care a great deal for. They kept saying all was good, but no part of my brain, my body or my soul could receive that message.

My head whispered they lie, in reality things are falling apart, of course they lie.  I felt so sure.

I was merely capable of putting together a couple of words to reply and express the deep anger I was feeling. It was extremely hard to try to communicate without losing it completely.

Their answer was Why? Just smile and be merry and sleep.

(A match in the gasoline, the fire has started)

Fuck off! You all fuck off! I will be fucking merry and smile and fucking sleep then.

After exploding, I translated these sentiments into a reply that said I´m sorry. I was truly sorry my shitty anger had screwed up their night . I was deeply embarrassed, I felt like an uncontrollable monster.  I don’t want to annoy the people I care for nor push them away, but sometimes I can only see the trigger when I look for it in the ashes of what I have already burnt.

(I´m tired of apologizing, makes me feel so flawed)

I had exploded again.  I hate it so much when I cry so intensely I cannot even manage to put my lips together, my mouth remains open in a huge O. I hate that so much!

I felt guilty and stupid. I loathe filling in the BPD stereotype: inappropriate anger, intense feelings that shift rapidly. I am not my BPD! Then why do crises seem beyond my ability to manage them?

Huge frustration appeared, I directed my fist against the wall several times again, until I found one of my bed’s pillows in between. It made me remember I owe myself kindness and love.

I was disgusted because these days have been full of outstanding and positive experiences. I had even told  everyone :

All the effort and intensity I put towards lashing out at myself should be equally invested in acknowledging my accomplishments.

This “positive” thinking did not last long. Fuck me!

(I hate getting so nauseous when I lose it)

(Yes, I’m thinking I should be dead. I should  fucking finish with all this complication already)

So, when my dog’s approach brought me back, I knew I needed to go through my day and find the source of my nuclear reaction. Why did it happen again?

In retrospective, I had looked for videos of people who had tried to die by suicide, I heard their stories. I was shaken.

(Suicide. Doesn’t it suck how people don´t want to talk about it?)

I had also read a link on Emotional Support Animals,  I had been offered to get my dog Pablo certified as my main support.

I spoke to one of my closest friends about Alexander Supertramp* and how I don’t understand life at all some days. How I feel I dislike everyone at times. How sometimes I’d love to leave everything behind and hide in a beautiful nowhere, away from everything.

(Oh, so many times I have prayed to be found like Alexander next to my Magic Bus*)

And the latest in my day, I talked to a different friend about incest and children’s sexual abuse. We shared our  points of view on a very superficial level. I tried to be sensitive, to be careful with my words, but also I felt weirdly comfortable talking about that sickening type of nightmare…and BINGO!

That was it, the source of the fire. Fuck, it’s true. The trigger: I was sexually abused as a child.

It was only after intense work that my therapist managed to unlock those memories.

(It is really crazy how our minds work)

As I have been writing this I feel calmer and lighter. Thanks for reading. I still wish I could say that last time I lost it was long ago, but in reality I just burnt everything again. However, I’m ready to start cleaning up.

I was really hard to pull myself out, but I managed. I was able implement some of the skills I have been taught in therapy and trace my ignition’s trigger to its source. I still find it hard to accept that crises and BPD will be part of my life, but I am hopeful that my commitment to doing what it takes to feel better will pay off. Tonight sucked, but it was not as bad as it could have been before.

As ashamed and disappointed as I am, I remind myself that experiencing crises is OK. With more practice and time, they will be less impactful, more sporadic, shorter.

Before wrapping up, I promise to take care of myself. I swear I will won’t allow anyone to touch me without consent again…and damn, I was even able to write this on the way! 

I guess improvement is actually happening.

Goodnight! 00.59am

 ——————–

BPD is the result of physical, genetic and environmental particularities. Neglect during childhood, violence, abandonment or sexual abuse is a frequent pattern among people diagnosed.

1* Alexander Supertramp is the nick name Chris McCandless adopted during his journey to the wilderness of Alaska alone, after graduating, donating all his savings to charity and cutting all ties with his family. His story inspired the Into the Wild book and film.

2* The magic bus was an abandoned vehicle near Denali in Alaska, where 24 year old Chris McCandless lived for months. His body was found in that bus in 1992.