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    Thread: My BPD story. Could people tell me their stories with BPD?

    1. #11
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      You are a strong caring person, you are still here with us, my life also is very similar to yours. I wish I could say something to make you feel better but buy the fact that you took care of your abusers makes me want to say to you try and direct that care in to yourself, say to your self if I had a friend that was going though what I am going though what would I tell them to do, would you not say to them to do nice stuff to take care and treat them self well do that be gentle have a mindfull bath put genteel music on not music with words as that could trigger relaxing sounds. I wish you well.

    2. #12
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      Can I ask how do the journals help you? Also I'm on quotiapine and it has helped me very much so but I've put on lots of weight as I'm contantley hungary

    3. #13
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      My psychiatric nurse has asked for an appt for me to see a psychiatrist to change my meds. I'm on venlafaxine and pregabalin. I said I need mood stabilisers. He said they don't work on bpd but I believe they do and two of u have said you are on quotiapine. He did mention that one. Hearing u say it helps I'm going to push the psychiatrist to let me try them. My mood swings are awful and I shout at the kids at the slightest things and that gets to me. I know most parents do but this is over tiny things. My stress levels are through the roof and I want something to calm me down a bit. I have got slightly better trying to be more patient as I know it's not them but it doesn't help me all the time. I scream then cry with guilt. Xxx

    4. #14
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      My story is embarrassing because it feels like there isn't enough 'reason' for me to have BPD... or BPD symptoms (I've got a specialist appointment tomorrow, and I just have this gut feeling that I'm going to be stripped of the label). I wasn't physically abused as a child, and while some of my mum's treatment of me was unpleasant, and made me scared of her, and is something I can still remember quite vividly today (which I figure must mean it has some strong significance in some way), I wouldn't call it emotional 'abuse'.

      We didn't go out and 'do something' very often, but I understood even then that mum never really had the time and/or the money (she had to work a lot doing not very well paid jobs), so I didn't take it personally. When we did though, sometimes she had a go at me for not 'looking' happy enough, which made her assume I was ungrateful, when in reality I was perfectly happy and simply had male equivalent of 'resting bitch face'.

      She always seemed to put watching TV first, telling me - often angrily - to come back whenever EastEnders or whatever had finished if I wanted to ask her a question. I just stopped asking questions in the end.

      It was her temper that I hated the most; I used to joke that if it moved she shouted at it, and if it didn't move she shouted at it until it did. I hated being on the receiving end of it though, especially when it would happen for doing something minor, like getting down from my cabin bed ladder a bit too loudly (irony - addressing the issue of me making too much noise by making even more noise herself)

      Things got a bit more fucked up when she had a breakdown and stopped working... it meant I never got any respite from her at home. The house was a complete shithole (she was a hoarder, and a 'dirty' one at that... the kitchen was disgusting), and I wasn't allowed to have friends round (not that I wanted to bring anyone into that mess). Eventually the boiler packed up and she wouldn't allow anyone in to fix it, so we didn't have any heating or hot water. The washing machine frequently packed up as well, which meant that every so often I couldn't do any washing until that was repaired... not a problem for her because she didn't go out (ever!), but I had to work, and was generally trying to have 'a life'.

      I moved out to live with my now ex-girlfriend when I was 24 (it's weird now to look back and recall that I was once in my twenties, lol), but I still had a poor relationship with my mum, which eventually led to us falling out altogether. Even then, she did things like send me passive-aggressive cards and texts at Christmas and new year (and possibly on my birthday as well), the former of which was made even more uncomfortable by how it meant she'd found out my new address when I moved.

      We've actually reconciled now... she had a stroke in 2013, and while it left her cognitively impaired in several key and obvious ways, it effectively cured the unpleasantness in her head; she says she remembers being a horrible person, but that the anger she used to feel just isn't there anymore.

      I think the big problem for me was a mixture of needing - not wanting, but needing - to be loved, and not being very well equipped to either obtain it (I'm short, facially unattractive, have crooked teeth and always have done, and as a person I'm a bit awkward and eccentric, and don't have that 'instant charisma'), or to deal with the consequences of the frequent rejections I received.

      I don't think I can 'process' rejection... I used to get told that it becomes easier, that you get used to it, but it got worse; it's like rejection has an accumulative effect on me, and every rejection piles on top of all the others, giving ever-more weight to the persistent thoughts that torment me.

      Not good enough. Not loveable. Too ugly. Too weird. Have to have perfectly straight teeth or no-one will want you. Deserve to be alone. Will always be alone.

      I first self-harmed when I was 12... I got so angry and upset and frustrated about a girl I liked preferring my friend, and suddenly I got the urge to hurt myself. I think it was to 'punish' myself for 'not being good enough', and doing it taught me that the immediacy of physical pain can be a welcome distraction from emotional hurt. I didn't become a frequent self-harmer though.

      I don't know if it's significant, but the only sustained bullying I ever received at school was from two girls in my early teens. It sucked because it was emotional - things like undermining me in front of a girl they knew I liked - and I felt powerless because as a boy I felt like it wasn't right to hit back at girls, either physically or verbally. The school wasn't much help either... they basically told me to wait until year 10, when we stopped having classes according to our form groups. However, even then, I still had to put up with them in morning and afternoon registration, which meant I was constantly wary until I finally left school altogether.

      In my late twenties it reached a point where being rejected romantically caused full-on breakdowns. I've lost jobs over this, as no employment I've ever had has ever really required much of my mind, and so there's too much 'bandwidth' left which leads to me being constantly bored at work, which in turn invariably leads to me ruminating on dark shit. As I found in my last vaguely full-time job, 'putting on a face' for customers when inside you hate yourself and want to die, and doing this for endless identical days which stretch into the future beyond time's horizon, is just exhausting and stressful and a soul-crushing, pointless existence.

      I went to university in my early thirties, and I went a bit 'native' by making friends with students of normal age - I even moved into a student flat (in many ways I've not really matured beyond adolescence, so I actually felt more like my natural self at uni than I did in the adult world, where I kind of had to put on an act to make it seem like I'd 'evolved'). Stupidly though I let it all go too far, and fell completely in love with one of my friends (she was a couple of years older than the majority, but still a decade younger than me)... I got backed into a corner where I had admit how I felt, she didn't see me the same way, I got upset and bombed out of uni over it (I just could not be in that place... it wasn't just having to risk bumping into her at any given time, but the echo of memories - if that makes sense? - it contained. Too many memories. Too recent. Too vivid. Too painful. Just too fucking much), she got angry and cut me off completely (I've not heard a single word from her since Xmas Day 2011), and as a consequence I had an implosion which, truthfully, I think was always going to happen at some point; it was just a case of when, and over whom.

      I knew in my heart that it could happen; I'd known since I was a teenager. I just hoped that I could somehow find the right person before I got broken completely by a wrong person, but that didn't happen and lost all hope, and any real meaning, from life. Now I'm just entertaining myself as best I can, passing the time as quietly and stress-free as possible, and waiting to die. I don't want to be *with* anyone anymore - that last experience was so hard on me that I'm now more scared of being rejected than I am of being alone; it's now harder for me to cope with getting turned down than it is to handle feeling unloved and unwanted. I feel so perpetually empty though... the only thing I ever really wanted from life is gone, and it's left a vacuum that nothing else has been able to fill.

      I do become 'attracted' to women from time to time but I never approach them, and I no longer feel any regret about that because I'm so utterly sure that anyone I might *want* wouldn't want me; I've not lost potential opportunities - I've saved time, energy, and pain by not looking for, and getting confirmation of, what I already knew.

      I've become avoidant and distant with others, because my friend turning on me like she did over me wanting to be closer to her, and just finally realising and acknowledging how friends treat others when they want/find a partner, has made me realise how much even platonic relationships can hurt me, and how mercenary friends can be... you're just someone to pass time with until somebody special comes along, or when that somebody special has other things to do. Something which really contributed to this feeling was when a close friend expected me to accept her cutting me off because her junkie, alcoholic, football hooligan, attempted murderer of a boyfriend couldn't handle her having male friends. So, obviously, I'm the one who became surplus to requirements...

      When you're a perpetually single friend, you get used. And when you're ugly, you're supposed to accept this being as good as life gets... and to accept being patronised about wanting something too much from people who never themselves go more than five minutes without it.
      Hug BPDevil hugged this poster.

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