The diagnosis given to me by the doctor at the Mental Health Services clinic last Monday was something not new to me. All these years I have known that I have been living with Borderline Personality Disorder. I first came upon this disorder when I was dating a guy who had a medical background of some sort (don't ask me what as I have long forgotten already) and he said after a few dates that I was "difficult to handle" and I should consider seeking help for my BPD. I remember though that I felt shock then rage for what he told me not realizing that he was right all along. My friends started noticing my self-inflicted pains, my moods that swung like a pendulum, and then they finally sent me off to a shrink when I failed in an overdose..
Let me tell you, it was an "a-ha!" moment when I finally found out I have BPD. I felt a sense of relief that finally I am able to understand why I do what I do and why I think the way I do. Why it was hard to make friends and keep relationships. Why did I push people but inside I want them to stay. How I can feel such deep love yet be consumed by profound rage simultaneously. And it helped me see why I cut myself. I was able to move past the desire to harm myself in order to feel something. But the depression, anxiety, the black and white thinking, the emotions the emotions the damn emotions stayed. I was starting to be better in keeping relations but at the same time I know that I was just hiding from them how bad I was because I didn't want them to judge me. If they knew how bad I really am, then I'm certain they will make fun of me and leave.
There's the stigma that come with the knowledge of being afflicted with a mental illness. Mental illness runs in my mother's side and I remember how they mocked my uncle who seemed to have lost his marbles. I didn't want to be defined by what I have so I thought if I worked hard enough and I become nice enough then people will start liking me and I can pass as a "normal" person. Most of all, no one needs to know that I have BPD. No one.
There are no secrets that time does not reveal. No secrets that can be kept from the people we love. After being with B for more than than three years, the real D started seeping through the façade I have created. We fought more often and my insecurities were getting the best of me. Getting married only made it worse as I realized there is no turning back, I become a sitting duck to pain and rejection in case he cheats on me or realizes I am crazy and leaves for someone better. When I am most rational I see how I was recently irrational and I know that B is slowly wondering where was the vibrant, confident, laughing woman he fell in love the first time.
And that was why I sought help. Now I am ready to face the skeletons in my closet and exorcise the ghosts of my past. I know it is not easy. I know there is no cure. I know that medication will not work (as I've tried it before). It's not going to be cheap also but I am hopeful that I will be better and I can live a life not burdened by so much emotions. I wish though that B will not get tired of me and that he will develop the necessary skills to support me. And I hope he won't call me 'crazy'.
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