Where’s the ‘Off-Switch’?

While I was driving home from visiting my mother this morning, I realised I was holding my breath. I think I had been doing so most of the morning, as I was terrified (yes, really terrified) that if I didn’t that ‘she’ was going to come out of my mouth.

‘She’ would come bursting forth from what is usually my nice, kind mouth with ‘her’ negativity and judgement. This fear has been building all week and was being triggered by the actions of a staff member at the Dementia Home where my mother lives. I am never impressed by this woman, in total contrast to my usual reaction and appreciative support of the rest of the staff. I don’t like many of the things she does and I don’t think she does her job well. That’s fine, but for some reason she triggers the ‘On-switch’, and I want to tear her to shreds. I think I even want her to lose her job (I am shocked by the strength of my feeling).

That’s right. I’m not always a nice person. Actually, I can be vile. I can be a total bitch. That part of me has been in existence for what seems like as long as I can remember, but actually, my memory of her just goes back to my teenage years when ‘she’ would come burst forth to spew her vileness particularly at my mother.

The explanation of ‘her’ is that I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). I hasten to say that perhaps not every sufferer of BPD has this fragmentation. I don’t know. What I do know is that I do, and every so often the nice, kind, even friendly Cate will transform into this nasty, cruel, bitchy ‘she’ who I recognise well, but cringe when I realise ‘she’ has revealed herself. I don’t like ‘her’. That is an understatement. I just wish I could ‘turn her off’ when I realise ‘she’ has taken over, but most times, I don’t realise ‘she’ is in charge until the damage is done.

Read about BPD and you will quickly realise that some writers refer to us as “drama queens” (and kings, presumably). “attention seekers”, “bitches”, “monsters” even. I try to stay clear of such writers because while I don’t want to label other BPD sufferers, I know that for my own part, sometimes I am a “bitch” and sometimes I am even a “monster”. Yes, really. You might think you know me. You might think I am a nice person, but that is only one side of me. Thankfully it is the dominant side, but in the dark, lies the monster, and ‘she’s’ not at all nice.

Lately, I haven’t seen too much of ‘her’. While I admit my mother was on the receiving end of her for too many years (we didn’t ever have a good relationship anyway), ‘she’ isn’t there anymore. ‘She’ somehow disappeared from our relationship, and even though I don’t really understand the change, I am glad and relieved. My mother has enough to cope with in life, without a monster daughter. This was also the main relationship in which ‘she’ appeared so it was good to have ‘her’ gone.

There have been times lately when I have felt ‘her’ rising to the surface and about to take hold, but somehow I have been able to dissipate the rising pressure and somehow escape ‘her’ clutches. It is always a palpable relief when I can do this, but I never know exactly how it happens. I know that for me, being able to do this is a sign of mental wellbeing.

But then in the last couple of weeks ‘she’ has been back. I usually don’t realise ‘she’s’ back until it’s too late. Until ‘she’ has taken hold of me, and I am a monster. One side of me cringes as the other monster side delights in the ride. Yes, ‘she’ loves it when ‘she’ gets to be in the driver’s seat, while I just wish I wasn’t there. I quietly hope I’m not doing too much damage as my words spew forth, but ‘she’ doesn’t care.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about having multiple personalities, having Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). This is different, and while I’m no psychologist to understand and explain the brain, I do understand that we all have different parts to ourselves. Maybe for most people, those parts are not the “monster” I see in myself. Maybe they’re not quite so marked.

Scary and a little weird, I actually find myself liking ‘her’ to some degree. I don’t like the hurt ‘she’ can cause, but I do like that ‘she’ just says whatever ‘she’ thinks. There is no holding back with ‘her’ and I like that ‘she’ isn’t constrained by… well, anything. I don’t like the damage, but just sometimes I admire ‘her’ for being free to say anything without fear of consequence. I am torn. I like this ‘me’ but I’m also terrified of ‘her’ because I know all too well the damage that ‘she’ can cause, and has caused.

Aside from hurting people that I actually care about, I have lost along the way. I have lost people. I have lost jobs. Yes, I have lost two jobs where I wasn’t able to reign ‘her’ in. I was, in those jobs, two people. One Cate was very good at ‘her’ job. Staff and clients thought I was excellent at what I did. I got high praise and was rewarded well. But in both situations ‘she’ rose to the surface in my working relationship with a boss. At the time, I had no understanding of BPD and was totally lost. I didn’t understand why this was happening. All I knew was this “monster” would rise to the surface and I didn’t know how to stop ‘her’.

Recently, ‘she’ took over and destroyed what had been a nice dinner out with someone I care about. ‘She’ ambushed the evening while I wasn’t watching and I admit now that I am ashamed of the things I said and did. Once ‘she’ took over, I couldn’t stop ‘her’. I couldn’t take back the control, and part of that was because I kind of liked what she was doing and saying. That is what I am ashamed of most. What sort of monster am I, that I would cause pain and like it?

‘She’ keeps bubbling toward the surface and I find myself holding my breath, terrified that ‘she’ will take over again and that I will lose more relationships. I am inclined to shut myself away and hope ‘she’ is prevented from rising. If I don’t talk with people, then maybe ‘she won’t be able to rise.

This is a pretty negative post. I know that. I don’t expect many ‘likes’. I am ashamed to admit that I am a monster but I know that maybe by writing about that part of me then maybe I can take ‘her’ control away. Maybe by being open to the point of feeling quite uncomfortable with such disclosure, I might take her power away. Perhaps by bringing that monster in from the dark, to bring light onto how she is, I will find a way to take control again. I hope that it enables me to find that elusive ‘off switch’. That has to be a good thing.

One final note. I have called myself a monster and I have related that to my having BPD. But please know that I am not saying that all people with BPD are monsters. Not at all. I am using this word to describe something in myself that I strongly dislike. Something I find monstrous. I do not know enough about BPD and other sufferers to label them as such. I only know about my BPD. Actually, none of those I know who have BPD are people I would describe this way.

Because humans are complicated beasts, the monster said. How can a queen be both a good witch and a bad witch? How can a prince be a murderer and a saviour? How can an apothecary be evil-tempered but right-thinking? How can a parson be wrong-thinking but good-hearted? How can invisible men make themselves more lonely by being seen?

“I don’t know,” Connor shrugged, exhausted. “Your stories never made any sense to me.”

The answer is that it does not matter what you think, the monster said, because your mind will contradict itself a hundred times each day. You wanted her to go at the same time you were desperate for me to save her. Your mind will believe comforting lies while also knowing the painful truths that make those lies necessary. And your mind will punish you for believing both.

— Patrick Ness (A Monster Calls)

Thanks for reading

 

Cate

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Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire!

I was sitting outside (okay, so I admit I was having a cigarette) when I saw one of my neighbours walking up the back path towards me.

I said: “Hi”
He said: “How are you?”
I said: “Good”

And that was it. I had lied through my teeth, but it was okay because he just kept on walking and then walked in his door, leaving me to contemplate what I had just done. The conversations (if you can call them that) I have with this neighbour never amount to much more. I have similar conversations with another neighbour. I lie to him too. But that’s how we talk to most neighbours, isn’t it?

This time I was struck with how easily the “good” rolled off my tongue when actually I was feeling anything but good. Would it matter if I said, “good” in answer to any such questions, for the rest of my days? Does anyone actually want anything beyond this lie?

It’s easy to say, and it’s easy to hear. I’m not requiring anything of you when I answer your question this way. You can just keep going about your day. Even for friends and family, it’s easier that way. No need for you to do or say anything. I’ve given you a ‘free pass’.

But I could get side-tracked by that as I write. It’s easier for me if I don’t tell you how I really am here, on my blog, either. Maybe it’s easier reading for you too. But I’m going to push myself to not opt for the easy. You see, I’m not good. Actually, I’m struggling.

I know you want to read positive stuff on a blog that refers so often to hope, but right now I’m struggling to find my hope.

My mood is dropping and I am fairly sure it has to do with the stress in my life right now. The more stress, and the more I struggle. My stress comes mostly from caring for my mother. She needs more from me now, but has less to give me in return. She mostly knows who I am. She certainly always still recognises me, but clearly has trouble connecting that recognition to the right person. Me. Sometimes she thinks I’m her sister and she used to mistake me for my father. That doesn’t happen so much now. She struggles to remember him at all (he died nearly six years ago). Nearly 54 years of marriage seemingly wiped from memory! This illness is so cruel.

It’s hard. I don’t have expectations of her, but it’s not easy day after day, teaching her the same things. Telling her stories of her life. It would be heartbreaking no matter who she was, but this is my mother. All the things she taught me as I child, I now teach her. And I feel very alone in this.

There’s more, though.

My eating is considerably off track, and to even admit that much takes an enormous amount of courage. Much more will require more than simply an empty screen before me. You’re just not going to get the details, this time anyway.

In the last year, I have lost 17 kilograms with no conscious effort. I know, lots of people would love that to happen, and true I love that I have lost it. I needed to, I was overweight (yes, people who have had Anorexia twice can be overweight!) but I hadn’t done anything to lose it. It has really gone through firstly ill health back at the middle of 2016, and the rest I guess, has been through stress.

The reason I’m telling you this though is that unless you have been where I’ve been you have no idea how tantalisingly dangerous it is. Seventeen unconscious kilos are tempting me to consciously step back onto the eating disorder ‘merry-go-round’ (don’t think for one moment though, that such a move would be the fun of the fair!).

I don’t make it a habit to weigh myself, mostly because of this reason. It’s too easy to get taken in by one kilo lost and before you know it I’ve been sucked into losing 20 or 50. I was weighed when I was admitted to hospital briefly back in July. I saw then that I had lost seven kilos. Then I was admitted to hospital briefly a few weeks ago for an minor procedure. The deadly mistake was looking down at the scales. And I choose to use the word ‘deadly’ because that’s exactly what it can be when you have an eating disorder.

So I admit it. I am back to considering every mouthful. And part of me hates being back there, but I admit, part of me loves it. That’s the ‘deadly’ part.

But then, there is more…

  • My black and white thinking is very definitely more black and less white.
  • There is no light at the end of the tunnel. Whoever said there was, was fooling me.
  • Everyone is against me. I struggle to think anything different. I can’t believe that anyone would be on my side.
  • I said a few weeks back that I would write about anxiety. Meanwhile,it’s just getting bigger and bigger. And yes, more consuming
  • Is the sun going to rise tomorrow? Right now, I just don’t know.
  • I’ve come to a new appreciation of people who choose to keep their curtains pulled shut through the day. Sometimes it’s a way to cut the world out. They can’t get me! I fool myself so easily!

I’m sorry if you came here for a post full of recovery and hope. I guess what I need to say to you is that recovery and hope is not a linear journey. Sometimes the dark overwhelms us. Sometimes people are throwing so many lemons at us, that it is almost impossible to make the damned lemonade. Sometimes all we can do is throw the lemons back. Let someone else make the lemonade, I’d rather have a coke.

Thanks for reading

 

Cate

“To Carry The Universe Or Be Crushed By It”

Very timely was the day of posting about peace on 4 November (see my last post Dona Nobis Pacem – 2016). Just four days before the American Elections.  I am a strong advocate of peace, and of peaceful interaction amongst individuals. I simply don’t see any other acceptable way. But I tell you, beyond this desire for peace is a desire for all people to be treated kindly and with compassion. It breaks my heart that this is not happening right now.

I know that my approach to treat all people with kindness and compassion, even my enemies and those intent on harming me, is a little unusual. I know a lot of people don’t understand my thinking. But then I know that I’m not alone in this quest for humanity. It may be that you consider me weird that I have no desire to harm those who might harm me or my loved ones.  I can assure you that people greatly qualified in weirdness have said previously that I am weird. It’s okay with me.

And maybe you think “what does a (white, heterosexual) kiwi from somewhere at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, thousands of miles from the United States know about anything?” Fair call, except what is happening in the US affects me too. What is happening there affects our whole planet. But perhaps more than anything the US political scene affects me because my American friends are suffering. I hate that. I hate that some of them are in the minority groups targetted by the President-elect.

Over the weekend I learnt a Facebook friend of mine had been told to kill herself by trolls commenting on a post about the Klu Klux Klan’s planned parade in North Carolina. Complete strangers (yes, more than one) telling her to kill herself! I was beyond shocked. I had earlier read it was happening, but when I learnt it affected my friend I admit I was crushed. It literally stopped me in my tracks, and I found it difficult to function for the rest of the day. Firstly, out of concern for my friend but then just pure horror that people treat each other with such disdain.

I kept asking myself, where is the compassion? And you may think that compassion has no place in what is happening in our world. I respectfully disagree, as I have suggested above.

“Compassion hurts. When you feel connected to everything, you also feel responsible for everything. And you cannot turn away. Your destiny is bound with the destinies of others. You must either learn to carry the Universe or be crushed by it. You must grow strong enough to love the world, yet empty enough to sit down at the same table with its worst horrors.”

— Andrew Boyd (Daily Afflictions: The Agony of Being Connected to Everything in the Universe)

I admit that I have been swaying between being crushed by what is going on in the world, and by being able to “carry it”. It’s tough for all of us. Especially those people in the US and people targetted by the President-elect. But for a moment, I need to take a slightly different angle to perhaps explain why it is so hard for some of us.

People with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) usually have a great deal of trouble with feelings they experience to the extreme. That is, we feel it perhaps more deeply than people without BPD.

Whatever your understanding of this personality disorder, and whatever your experience of people you know who have it, let me say that when there are such terrible things happening around the world, even in our own backyard, we have a very hard time. This can show itself in a variety of different ways, but for me, I have this overwhelming need to express compassion and to want to see other people do that too.

For the life of me, I can not understand this hatred, contempt, and antipathy for fellow mankind. I can not understand wanting to hurt another human being (or animal, for that matter). I even can not understand this desire to strike back at someone who harms, or threatens to harm me. It’s just not me.

I am no better than any other person on this planet, but I simply do not get it. I am sure that my particular BPD (and it is slightly different for all of us) is to blame for my desperate need for compassion to spread. And while it doesn’t, I admit I am crushed by it. It is completely overwhelming.

Last night I started to go through my Twitter feed, something I admit I have put off for a few days. There I came across a list of fifty people who were being targetted by those spreading hatred. These were innocent individuals who had done nothing wrong. They had maybe expressed fear or weakness in a recent tweet and that was now causing them to be targets of this movement to encourage people to kill themselves. I put myself in their shoes, and immediately had a sense of how they must be feeling. Punished for feeling afraid. It is simply wrong.

I can’t tell anyone else how to act, I can only choose for myself how I will be. But please, think about it. Don’t spread fire with fire. Just because another chooses to spread hatred, don’t be pulled down to their level. I am convinced that if I treat each other (including our enemies) with kindness and compassion then I can contribute to what can be a peaceful world.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I will still speak up against what I see as wrong. Always. But I hopefully do it in a way that doesn’t seek to harm anyone. I’m sure this is possible.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”

— Martin Luther King Jr. (A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches)

PS. Last night, after I started to draft this post, a 7.8 Richter scale earthquake struck New Zealand, north of Christchurch where I live. There has been major damage and so far, two people have died but I am happy (and amazed) to say that I slept through the whole thing. I have no idea how that happened.

Thanks to those people who have expressed their concern for me and my family today. I am a little shaky to be back in an active earthquake region. Here in Christchurch, we could definitely do without that.

Wishing those kiwis cleaning up after this, much love, a speedy end to the never-ending aftershocks and a peaceful night’s sleep tonight. Kia kaha (Be Strong).

Thanks for reading!

 

Cate

 

World Mental Health Day 2016 – Real People

world-mental-health-day-10-october-earth-globe-in-hands

World Mental Health Day. That’s today. It’s the day on which we come together, united in a call for better mental health around the world. It’s a day on which I usually know exactly what I want to say. This year has been different.

In the days leading up to today I have thought about writing about the WHO topic chosen of Psychological First Aid. Something that I have thankfully been on the receiving end of in the past. Those in the crisis and caring professions (for me it was the Police) providing psychological care. It helped, enormously.

Then I thought about writing about stigma, this time about sufferers of one mental illness stigmatizing sufferers of other mental illnesses. Yes, it happens and I had been on the receiving end of this just recently. I am, apparently, “a fruit loop”.

Then I was thinking about the people of Haiti. I wondered how their mental health was holding up. The situation in their country leaves me thankful for what I have, but I suspect that their need for psychological first aid doesn’t get a look in, the need for clean water and housing coming up as seemingly more important.

My friend, Motivating Giraffe wrote a wonderful post about the over-abundance of Awareness Days, and how they just don’t matter if we (including people at the top) don’t focus on what ‘really‘ matters. If you read nothing else on this Awareness Day, make sure you read this one (oh, and mine too).

But then heavy on my heart over this past week has been a story in the New Zealand news. It has unfolded as the week went on. It’s one of those stories that in other countries there might not have even been a raised eyebrow, let alone a news headline. But here, these things thankfully don’t happen every day. They can still stop the nation in its’ tracks.

A man with a mental illness went on ‘a rampage’ here. Only three weeks ago he was an inpatient in his local (Waikato) psychiatric hospital, but this week attacked his parents, leaving his mother dead and his father critically ill in hospital. No one knows what motivated this attack, except it must have been somehow driven by his mental illness.

For the next few days, his location was unknown. Police mounted a manhunt with no success. And then at the weekend came the discovery of more dead bodies in an unexpected location. The mentally ill man had killed another elderly couple and then taken his own life. The ‘why’s‘ will perhaps never be known but four people are dead and one still seriously ill in hospital.

What really strikes me is the emergence of this man’s mental illness. He had schizophrenia, and it might be easy to simply conclude “oh, that it explains it“. But that’s not fair. Not all people who suffer from schizophrenia go on to murder. Not all people who suffer from schizophrenia go on to commit crime. And not all people who suffer from schizophrenia go from there to taking their own life. But stigma will have us believing all these things.

This man had no history of mental illness (described in one article I read as a “nice young man”) and then apparently he used illicit drugs once. And ‘once’ was enough to trigger schizophrenia. You see ‘once’ is enough for some people and some mental illnesses. It seems it is a game of Russian Roulette. And that was enough to end four lives and leave hundreds in mourning. Lives changed irreversibly.

My point? That mental illness, and the tragedy that can follow, can happen to anyone. The stigma that too often is applied, is unfounded. It could happen to you too.

This story really hits home to me because I was a ‘nice young wo(man).

I wasn’t mentally ill. I had a good career, a nice home and I had prospects. I was ‘going places“. No one expected my life to change dramatically with the sudden emergence of mental illness. I don’t have schizophrenia, triggered by a casual single use of a drug, but I have another mental illness now. One for which sufferers aren’t often described as ‘nice’.

My friends and family had no reason to expect such a dramatic change to my life. And perhaps more importantly, I had no reason to expect that change.

I could accept a friend’s Bipolar diagnosis. I could even visit her in hospital. I had no difficulty in supporting her, because I believed it could never happen to me.

I could accept that a man known to my family had schizophrenia. But when he began to stalk me, I very clearly saw myself as a victim and him as the perpetrator. I didn’t once stop to think that he was a victim too. And I never once thought it could happen to me.

It did happen to me. I got my own (BPD) diagnosis and spent far too many times in hospital. My days in psychiatric wards and hospitals may not even be over. I don’t know what lies ahead.

If you gain nothing else from World Mental Health Day this year, please  know that it could happen to you. I don’t say that to scare you, rather that you don’t judge those who struggle with mental illness.

Even for the cases, we hear about in the news, those are real people who struggle/d with real illness. Maybe they were on the receiving end of stigma. And maybe they didn’t get the support or treatment they needed. I don’t know why Ross Bremner killed those people or himself this past week. Maybe we will never know. But what we do know is that they were real people, just like you and me.

Thanks for reading

 

Cate

“The Untreatables”

I need to clarify something. For my own sake as much as for anyone else. One of the terms I hate most in the psych world is ‘Treatment-Resistant’. I’ll explain why in a moment, but first what was a new term for me. Maybe it’s not new to you, but I wish it didn’t exist at all. I was quietly checking my Twitter feed recently when these two words came flying off the screen at me. “The Untreatables”. Ughhh!

“The Untreatables”? Really? Does anyone else take an immediate dislike to this term? (As an aside if you’re interested, the tweet I read contained a link to this article). ‘The Untreatables’: the people for whom there is no treatment.

If I had skills in the cartoon drawing you would see now a group of ‘Untreatables’ gathering together in what might be some type of 12-step group aimed at recovery from untreatable mental illnesses. But I can’t draw to save myself so I’ve hopefully left the image in your mind.

I think I have gained entry into this group three times. Firstly, I was pretty quickly labelled with the ‘treatment-resistant depression’ label. It only takes two different types of anti-depressants tried unsuccessfully, and you’re there. I don’t remember how it was put to me, that this was how I was now seen but I always thought it was an odd term. I thought it applied to me personally whereas it actually applied to the illness. A small but necessary difference.

There was I thinking”but I’m not resisting my treatment!?!” I had been taking my pills, careful not to miss a dose, and I had been going to my therapy (with a man who seemed decidedly odd. But that’s another post.). How could I be defined as ‘treatment resistant’?

The second time this applied to me was many years later when I was discharged dumped by the Adult Mental Health Service in my city because I wasn’t responding to their treatment. This time, ‘treatment-resistant’ was being applied to me, the person. A social worker had been working with me using Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) and I didn’t respond as I should (apparently). Actually, I suspect the term ‘Untreatable’ was used because that’s really what they were saying. There was no treatment for me.

The same thing happened a short while later with the Eating Disorders Service I had been seeing. There I had been in group therapy (using CBT again) and I hadn’t responded as they thought I should. I was discharged dumped again with my untreatable eating disorder. Fortunately, I had got myself past the Anorexic phase before I even got seen by their Service (sitting on a waiting list for years) otherwise, I suspect I would be dead by now.

My point in sharing what was a very frustrating but also depressing stage in my life is that in each case, mental health professionals were leaving me with a sense that all this was my fault. I was either resisting treatment or I was untreatable because I didn’t respond to CBT.

I accept that in the first case, the psychiatrist involved may well have been clear in saying that my depression (the illness rather than me personally) was treatment-resistant, but in my frame of mind, I took it to be about me. It wasn’t. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I simply hadn’t responded to the anti-depressants he had chosen. It was actually more about him than about me. It was about choices he had made.

When I saw the tweet that hit me between the eyes, I took exception to that term ‘The Untreatables’. It’s an awful description as well as being an easy way out. Class us as ‘untreatable’ and you can send us on our way.

I take exception too, to the term ‘treatment-resistant’ if it is used to describe a person.

To any mental health professionals who happen to read my blog, please think before you use either term whether it is to the patient or not. How you think about it will determine how you see your patient, regardless of whether you use the terms in front of them.

And to mental health patients, please hear me when I say

You are not treatment-resistant.

Your illness may be treatment-resistant, but not you. And I hope that you are never made to feel ‘Untreatable’. Don’t believe it, and know that it is not your fault.

There are theories that some mental illnesses are untreatable, particularly Personality Disorders. I don’t accept that, but then I’m no professional. I think it comes down to how you understand the term ‘treatment’. The Mental Health Services who chose to discharge dump me from their services could have chosen a different treatment path. They could have simply listened to me. Instead, they put a distressed and unwell person out of their systems without support. It wasn’t until a few years later when another mental health professional worked out that I had Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and not just depression and an eating disorder, and that is perhaps why I hadn’t responded to the earlier interventions.

I am convinced that sometimes it is just about having the time to work beyond the ‘treatment resistant’ or ‘untreatable’ labels.

Thanks for reading

 

Cate

 

Human 2 Human

Relationships with other humans have to be one of the most difficult and complex aspects of life. They are for me anyway, and there have been a few issues which have reared their ugly head for me in the past few days.

I know that friendships, family connections and intimate relationships are really hard for me and now days I am inclined to pull back from all of them.

With one failed marriage behind me, along with a string of failed relationships, I am alone and pretty certain that I will remain alone. I believe now that I not supposed to have  someone by my side. I have never believed that there is a soul mate for everyone, nor will everyone find their soul mate. Actually,I suspect my soul-mate might just have been and gone.  And sometimes circumstances just get in the way and block the way for what might have been true love.

On the other hand, it was some years ago now that I also came to the conclusion that close friendships were perhaps something I would be best to avoid. You may call it sad but I call it safe. After being let down by a number of friendships, I made a specific decision that friendships I might have been able to rely on were no longer worth it. Yes, I do have friends but not many and I try hard not to rely too much on them. I am inclined probably too much to withdraw rather than depend.

And then there is family. I have been fortunate to date with my family connections. Maybe they didn’t always understand me or my needs, but they did seem to love me. I think they still love me, but their availability  for me to rely on them is perhaps changing.

I know that my Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) plays a part in how I relate to other humans. I’d like to say it isn’t part of the story. I’d like to say that I have it ‘under control’. But it is part of me, part of my personality if you like, and no matter how many ways I learn to control or even recover, I know that it will always be there.

An article I read highlighted for me some of the issues that float in and out of importance as issues for me with BPD:

“Most patients named gaining control over emotions, mood swings and negative thoughts, followed by reduction of municipality, self-harm and other destructive behavior and improving self-acceptance and self-confidence. However, improving relationships and improvement of social participation, social competence and job situation has been mentioned as important.”

It speaks of the issues important to patients with BPD in the treatment they need. But I use it as it easily highlights in a paragraph issues I deal with when connecting Human 2 Human.

It’s hard. It’s constantly hard, and with those issues at play perhaps it is easier to understand why I choose so often to withdraw.

This week someone important to me said:

“I don’t care…” [about you]

Ouch! Actually, it was more than “ouch”. It was fuck! Under my breath, of course.

The rest of their words no longer mattered. I had heard that they “don’t care” I didn’t matter anymore. They possibly weren’t even aware of having said it, but it was loud and clear. Maybe this person was someone I could no longer rely on (for any number of reasons). Maybe this was connected to my having BPD. Maybe I was too much. Maybe I had misinterpreted what another person might have taken differently. But then maybe it was simply about their issues not connected to me. It hurt anyway.

Do you see why Human 2 Human is hard?

Another relationship came up on my Human 2 Human radar. I know my mother’s Alzheimer’s Disease is not about me, but how I respond to something that is ever-changing is totally about me. I can’t escape this one.

In a conversation with my mother, I discovered that her memory has gone so much that she appears to know nothing of my life beyond my name and that I am her daughter (I am thankful that she still knows this). She also appears to know nothing of her life when I have been a part of it. Of course, I knew that this was coming some day but that day had arrived and it cut deep. My own mother doesn’t know me. Maybe even I don’t exist for my mother anymore.

My father passed on nearly six years ago, and it seems that while my mother sits in front of me, she is in some way gone too. I have heard the expression of grieving for someone who still lives, and that is even harder than it sounds. I feel like the wind has been blown out of me.

My parents have always been very important to me, although I admit that my mother and I have never been close, never even been friends. The tension between us has gone now. Something I can’t totally explain. But maybe she has gone too.

Perhaps my feeling of loss this week connects to my BPD. I know there will be a connection because there always is. It’s just that I have yet to work it out, to be able to put it into words. Meantime it hurts. Both instances I have described here. I need to hide away and lick my wounds.

I want the luxury of time with my therapist again, but I have no therapist anymore.

All I can do is write. I don’t claim to have any answers. Just questions. I hope that what I choose to write and share with you makes even the tiniest ounce of sense. I suspect it will make more sense with others who travel with a Borderline mind.

Thanks for reading

 

Cate

 

To See A Light That Shines

Source: To See A Light That Shines

“For me, and maybe for you, if you’re in a similar situation, it became harder to let my light shine as I got older. As my mental illness took over, it became a life and death battle to keep that light shining. Depression wanted to suck the life out of my flame. It wanted to kill the spirit within me. It wanted to change, and even murder, who I was. Actually, there were times when Depression, Anorexia and Borderline Personality Disorder did a good job.”

To See A Light That Shines is my latest post on A Canvas of Minds…

How Borderline Personality Disorder Feels To Me

CAUTION: This post contains issues of self-harm and suicidality, although not in any great detail (but you have been warned).

I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).

That’s no big news for regular readers but if you’re new, it is important that I say this from the outset. I have BPD. That’s the angle that I am coming from.

Many people with BPD choose not to admit to having it, mostly for the simple reason that there is a great deal of stigma attached to the disorder. But that’s not what I want to talk about, although I hope that what I say might be in some small way helpful towards smashing that stigma.

Another reason people with BPD don’t talk about their disorder is that it is a very difficult disorder to talk about. There are many variations (think over 200), and that means that what people feel and experience is going to be different for practically every person who has it.

If there is one thing I have consistently failed at as a writer, it is to describe what BPD feels like for me in a way that satisfied my desire to get it across to others. I have tried many times. I just haven’t managed to describe it as I really feel it. Every time I have written a post about BPD I have finished feeling dissatisfied. I might have got some aspect across, but I didn’t describe how BPD is for me.

While I was diagnosed as having BPD some five years ago, I admit that for as many doctors who have said I had BPD, more said I probably don’t. They said I wasn’t typical of people with BPD. Even more said it wouldn’t be good for me to have that diagnosis (in my mind a strange thinking for diagnosing a health issue). Only those who said I do have BPD were willing to listen and hear that my experience is that BPD matches both my emotions and behaviour.

To me, it wasn’t specifics that spelt BPD but rather an intrinsic way in which I deal with my emotions and my relationships with others. Face it, that’s hard stuff to talk about.

But here are the issues for me (in no particular order).

I  am completely paranoid. I expect that friends/family are about to leave me or say awful things about me. They are constantly (in my mind) one step away from leaving me or hurting me.

You name it, a lightbulb might blow… to an argument with a friend/family member, and I will (over) react by thinking it’s time to kill myself. Yes, it’s time to kill myself because it is an assumption that one day I will commit suicide and people would always be better off without me. It’s just a matter of time! Remember this is thinking rather than actions, although given enough thought and common depressive thought, BPD will drive me in that direction.

I think that the best thing for me is to leave you… before you leave me. It would be best to quit my job just in case my boss is about to sack me. Actually this is exactly what I did in my last job. I thought they were about to sack me, so I quit. Actually I later found out that they had no intention of sacking me and were disappointed when I suddenly left.

While I haven’t self-harmed for about four years, I regularly mull over thoughts of self-harm, particularly if something in my life goes bad. It’s not that I ever got any form of high from my years of self-harming (it was about control), but I just don’t value my body enough to say “no!” to myself. Thankfully it has been four years of fighting the urge rather than actions, but to be honest, it doesn’t get easier.

Self-harm, for me, is not just cutting, etc but also includes substance abuse, extreme dieting, smoking, and excessive exercise. That’s my way of thinking about it and I accept that you may not agree. For me, it is all the negative ways I use to control myself and my body, not to mention exerting pain on myself. Not surprising now that I experience more physical pain through fibromyalgia, I am less likely to think about exerting physical pain, through self harm, on myself.

I constantly think in ‘black or white’. Good or bad. Right or wrong. I can’t for the life of me even comprehend ‘grey’. It would be so much easier if I could. I try, but I am yet to master seeing the whole spectrum.

It is possible for me to have no idea what I feel. Is it happy or sad? Is it hate or love? It is difficult, at times, to know. Maybe I feel both, at the same time. It can be right on the borderline.

My emotions can cause me pain. The great Marsha Linehan says that people with BPD are like emotional third-degree burns victims. Personally I’m not fond of that analogy, but perhaps because I don’t see that my emotions hurt me as much as physical burns victims suffer from their injuries. I hasten to add though that I claim that statement as my own but not for others. I get that for others their emotions cause as much pain as physical pain. I know many people who have BPD who would say Marsha Linehan’s analogy is completely appropriate for them.

I admit, with some reluctance, that I am inclined to think that everything is about me. In a time of extreme unwellness, I thought that 9/11 was about me. I can’t remember my reasoning but it made perfect sense to me at the time. But more commonly I assume that negative events, such as arguments and the like, are my ‘fault’. Interestingly I don’t apply the same logic to positive events. Perhaps I am only interested in destroying my health, happiness or well-being.

I have a tendency to be impulsive. I admit I have shoplifted (ok, so only once). As a child, I regularly stole from my parents. I constantly have to be careful not to engage in compulsive shopping, spending, drinking and thinking. All that said, I have rarely been impulsive in relationships, even if at times, I have failed to think things through as much as I ought

And lastly, because this is one that appeals to me, people with BPD are sometimes prone to, what one author I read called, magical thinking in which they use unrealistic thoughts and beliefs to solve problems in their life (Robert Friedel in Borderline Personality Disorder Demystified, 2004). I admit that I do this (I’m not going to go into detail), although have never before seen it attributed as relating to BPD. My psychiatrist prefers to call it my ‘weirdness’.

Having written all that (and apologies for the length), I think I have gone somewhat closer to describing BPD as it feels to me, but, I am somewhat terrified. Firstly, how are you going to treat me now that you have seen inside? But secondly, I need to remind you that this is me. It is not how it is for others with BPD. Maybe some of it might apply, but just as easily, some of it won’t.

With the distinct possibility that I have not succeeded in what I set out to do with this post, I am including a link to another person’s version of what BPD feels like. I found it very useful and the temptation was to post it simply as it is. But I needed to do the ‘Cate version’, which would only ever be written. I hope you take time to watch. For each person who chooses to tell what BPD feels like to them, I believe more will learn and experience what BPD really is, and maybe one day the stigma against us will reduce.

I have such an unstable sense of self that I fear my post will somehow destroy me and my relationships. Somehow it will confirm what I have suspected to be your earlier suspicions that I am a fake, a fraud and just too much work. I am posting it anyway because I know that writing this has somehow been a good journey for me. As much as I hope you have learnt something, I know that I have learnt. It is good for me to be able to say “this is how it feels to me”.

One last thing I need you to know. You don’t have to try to somehow assure me that I’m not that fake, fraud or whatever. You don’t have to assure me of anything. All I wanted to do is done. I have shared how it is for me.

Thanks for reading

 

Cate

 

World Mental Health Day 2015 – Dignity Or Do I Have To Beg?

world-mental-health-day-300x300

Dignity in Mental Health – 10 October

World Mental Health Day is always an important day to me, and this year it’s been one I’ve been thinking about for some time. The topic set by the World Health Organisation (WHO) is ‘Dignity in Mental Health’.

What does that mean? And how should I choose to write on that topic. In deciding, it’s important to acknowledge that ‘Dignity in Mental Health’ will mean something different depending on where you call home. I live in New Zealand and what ‘Dignity in Mental Health’ is to me will probably be different to you.

What has come to mind is the times when my dignity has not been maintained in either living with my mental illness or being treated for that mental illness. Some of that has been directed to me specifically but other times it has been more of a societal issue. And that’s what I intended to write about today… until today. When I completely changed my mind because of the circumstance I have found myself in.

The term dignity is one of those which we all know but is quite difficult to define.  What do we really mean? So to the dictionary, I went;

“The state or quality of being worthy of honour or respect”

What does that mean? That was the Oxford Dictionary, that which I grew up with. Whether for amusement or clarification, sometimes it pays to take a look at The Urban Dictionary:

“A proper sense of pride and self-respect”

That was one of five definitions offered but is the one I feel most comfortable with. Because it’s about me (or you). It’s about self. That which will give me “a proper sense of pride and self-respect” will give me dignity. It makes sense to me.

Today I found myself in a looming sense of indignity (in terms of my mental health) because I am in a situation where I would have to expose myself more than someone without a mental illness might have to. It was making me feel sick. The more I thought about it, the more a headache came on. Maybe it might seem like no big deal but it is personal and it isn’t going to come easy.

 You might be aware that I am currently looking for some alternative accommodation for six months while my current abode is repaired of its earthquake damage. As is becoming a common task, this morning I went to look at a possible flat/apartment. I liked it. Actually I loved it. It would suit me down to the ground. As I left the agent gave me an application form which I would have to send through to her office.

These application forms are worse than applying for a job. Landlords can be exceptionally picky in this city. There is a huge demand for rental accommodation for exactly the reason I’m looking.  Earthquake repairs and people who have come to the city to work (on earthquake repairs) who need accommodation.

I know that if I had a job my chances of getting this place would rise substantially. You see, the jobless simply don’t stand a chance. We are an underclass and landlords don’t need to acknowledge that underclass even exist. But mental illness makes it worse.

I haven’t worked since 2010, at which point I had a part-time job for 18 months. Before that, I took nine years to complete a three-year degree. And before that I spent eight years in and out of psychiatric hospitals. I have to go back to 1993 to find when I was employed full-time and actually did something those landlords would consider of note.

To get this flat (I saw today) I have to provide something of an employment history and then I have to provide personal references, separate from employment references. Are they kidding? As I said, I had to give up work years ago and I gave up on having friendships some years ago. They hurt too much. With Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) it’s too hard and too painful. I couldn’t do it. I have no one who I could seek a personal reference from. I have no references.

Here’s my point:

There are other people for whom this process will be limiting if not failing. I know that I’m not alone. But for someone with a mental illness, landlords in my city are literally refusing to admit we exist. They simply don’t HAVE to admit I exist because they have plenty of nice, qualified, rich, employed Jane’s or John’s. And those nice, qualified, rich, employed Jane’s or John’s have good personal references too.

My only option is to get down and beg. IF I can possibly find a landlord or agent who will give me even just five minutes to beg they might actually discover… I might not have a job, or steady work record and I might not have upstanding people who know me BUT my mental illness, does not preclude me from being a good, responsible tenant who takes care of their property and pays their rent on time. Hey, they might even find they like me. If they give me a chance.

I am a good person. I will be a good tenant, and actually regardless of my lack of a job my insurance company back me.

But because I have a mental illness I simply don’t exist.

Dignity in Mental Health can be viewed from a perspective of how we are treated by mental health professionals. But it is just important to ask with what dignity are people with mental illnesses treated by society. Do we even exist in the eyes of other facets of society? Do we have to get down on our knees and beg for a place to live, or a benefit or a job?

Maybe you’re a Christchurch landlord and think you have every right to deny my existence. You do have that right but how would you want to be treated if tomorrow you were diagnosed with a mental illness, and your world came crashing down around you? Wouldn’t you want your dignity intact?

I have exactly four weeks to find somewhere to live. And sadly it is having an enormous impact on my mental health. Keep reading and I’ll be shouting from the rooftops of WordPress when I find somewhere to live.

“One’s dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered.” ― Michael J. Fox