So much of the essence of borderline personality disorder is about duality, especially when things are at their lowest – their “most BPDish.” The blackness of depression and the white of blinding rage become the only two emotional options that seem to exist. I oscillate between equally miserable but totally opposite feelings: one moment a long-forgotten shipwreck, watching life and light go by miles above – rotting, disappearing under fathoms of cold, dark silence; one moment a baited animal in a crushing crowd of oblivious onlookers – everything too bright, too loud, too much, too painful, and everyone laughing themselves sick.
Everyone but me.
It is the phrase that has defined my consciousness for about 20 years. Everyone but me has something – I have nothing. Everyone but me has a chance at happiness – I never will. Everyone but me can make real friends – I can’t. Everyone but me does not to feel like this – I do. Does it sound too self-pitying to be believed? It kind of is. Welcome to being a borderline. Realizing (and usually fully agreeing) that no one should have to put up with the annoying, self-absorbed, angry, bitter, evil, manipulative *insert umpteen other negative adjectives* inner you – the real you.
And then I can’t help but laugh at the irony of our absurd predicament. They destroy me with a weapon they have never asked for – one they wield without even knowing it, gouging and grinding me to bits just by standing there, bewildered, not knowing what to say or how to help. How fucked up is that? How utterly ridiculous is that?
That was how I felt until about six months ago. That was how I always felt inside, until I came across the term: borderline personality disorder. And then one by one, the pieces started to fall into place. It feels like most of them are still very much out of place, but even getting a few key ones in there – an explanation, a specific treatment plan, a label that unites me with other people who feel exactly like this – is a big deal. I take so much comfort from the fact that I am not as alone as I always thought.
Even if I had only come across one blog, one single person – even if we never met or interacted – who could describe exactly what my life has felt like, it would have broken my heart with hope. Because it would mean that in no uncertain terms, I have been wrong: I am not the only person that feels like this. And who knows what else I’ve been wrong about in the process?
It’s an odd thing to feel so hopeful about, but I can’t tell you how much of an impact that realization has had on me as I’ve read blog after blog, article after article, comment after comment written by people who clearly do understand.
Thank you seems really inadequate; however, they’re only words we really have for the sentiment. So thank you, to everyone who takes the time to write about their BPD experiences, and, of course to read or comment on mine.
-Cat Earnshaw xx
Half of a Soul - Life with BPD 
Thank you for another great post – it is indeed great to know that there is understanding of a very real kind out there/here xx. I know exactly what you mean by the ‘trying to explain’ stuff – although I’d never really consciously thought about it in those terms until a few months ago. I never told anyone anything about my mental health issues (with one horrible exception over ten years ago), until a few months ago. Now, a very small number of friends know, but I still find myself wondering whether that was the right decision. They were ‘honoured by the confidence’ but were/are completely unaware of what that very ‘confidence’ meant for how I would henceforth think of them, the expectations I would have of them, the way their actions/words/silences would affect me. It’s nice to be able to confide – but one more confidant means one more person who I then relate to ‘bpd fashion’ in my head, and sometimes it just seems far more straightforward to stick with my original plan of never letting anyone really know me, than have one more person who I will feel disappoints me/hurts me/ignores me/doesn’t understand me/doesn’t care about me. I dread/hate the thought of opening up and making myself completely vulnerable, and then not being understood, particularly when that person is someone I care about…….looking forward to another thought-provoking post, Take care x