Today starts "World Suicide Prevention Week", and September is "National Suicide Awareness Month". Suicide is a big issue that isn’t talked about very often. I would know, I struggle with it chronically. The only reason I’m here right now is because of suicide prevention.
I remember the first time I checked into a hospital (after attempting), we were in the ER for what seemed like forever (probably 5 hours). We got to know the nurse and as I finally was leaving for the psych floor, I broke down crying. There were a lot of ugly cries that day. The nurse got down on my level and looked me in the eye, “Rachel, you aren’t a failure. Checking into the hospital, admitting you need help is not a failure. What is failing is giving up and hiding it away, not asking for help.” I think about that moment often and it has gotten me through a lot of shame-inducing experiences: getting diagnosed with BPD, having to go to therapy three times a week, and yes… checking into a psych ward a second time. I haven’t told a lot of people that because I worried people would think I’m incompetent. But it is the reason I’ve been able to keep going, because I got the help I needed.
Suicide is a lot more complicated than “I want to die”. Sometimes it’s because you feel stuck and option-less, or you feel like everything is over. Sometimes it’s a mental illness driving it, sometimes it’s your circumstances. Honestly, most of the times that I feel suicidal, I don’t want to die at all. I just want everything (whatever it is) to stop. Mental illness has affected my life more than I’d like people to know, and chronic suicidal thoughts come along with it. They come and go and I am often reminded . In the six years since I checked in that first time, I’ve met a lot of incredible people and seen a lot of incredible places. I’ve graduated from college, gotten a job that I absolutely LOVE (and helps get me up every day), and made relationships I can’t imagine life without. And, if I’d given up six years ago, or any of the nights I think of it still, none of that would have happened.
I am a lot more than my mental illness; a lot more than suicidal thoughts or psych ward stays. I’m a friend, a teacher, a daughter, a sister, an aunt (yay). I’m sarcastic, sassy, and kind (usually). I care and am wiling to drop anything for anyone. I try hard, fail a lot, and get up again anyway. Suicide might feel like the answer, but it isn’t. Life is #WorthLivingFor
Medications help, therapy works, and ice cream never hurt anyone.
"Instead of the cross, the albatross About my neck was hung."
It's been a while since I read the poem "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner", or even thought about it really. I "read" it in high school- shout out to Mrs. Mucic (sorry I wasn't as good of a student as I should have been)! It didn't speak to me very much at the time, but I vaguely remember the imagery of the albatross around the mariner's neck, the weight it brought and the sinking feeling of never being free. It reminded me of other books I read, one being The Awakening. That trapped feeling, one you can't ever quite shake. The albatross, the sin or weight of mistakes and guilt that hangs over you, was tied around his neck. He couldn't shake it or get away from it, it was always there. I don't remember exactly what the albatross was supposed to symbolize, but this is what it means to me at this point in life.
I've thought about this Albatross symbolism a lot lately. February is hard for me. It's a time where I've struggled a lot with mental illness and it's a constant reminder of failures in the past. It reminds me of my mental illness, and the shame that comes along with it.
There's been a lot going on in my life lately, with details that aren't relevant. I've been stuck and trapped in the mental illness vortex. I think about the choices and situations I've put myself in with my experiences fighting mental illness. The road has not been easy and guilt and shame creep into my consciousness like they are embedded there. I've struggled with making the choices that I think will make me happy or make me a better person. I make mistakes and I struggle coming to terms with the consequences of those choices, often guilt and shame being the biggest consequences.
My therapist said to me once (ok, more than once...) that I would need to "accept my consequences gracefully". It felt so patronizing at the time, as if I didn't recognize that there would be consequences. But I guess I've realized over time that just because there are consequences, we don't always accept that it's our reality. We fight it and push back.
In DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy), there's a skill called radical acceptance. This is a skill that I hate, and even just the hearing the words "radical acceptance" makes me want to rip my hair out. Those words immediately send willfulness rushing through me. The whole point of radical acceptance is that you have to accept your reality, whole-heartedly. You have to accept where you are, but you don't have to like it; it is what it is. Fighting reality doesn't help. Ignoring that stupid albatross around your neck doesn't make it go away. You have to accept it. Eventually you can change it, like removing it from your neck instead of carrying around the guilt, but you have to accept it first. You don't have to like that the stupid albatross is around your neck, reminding you of your failures, but you do have to accept that it's there.
Once you've accepted it, you can move forward. You can deal with it and make changes. You can't change the consequences, you can't avoid all consequences completely. It isn't how it works. The longer you avoid whatever consequences may come, the longer you are stuck sitting in misery. Nothing changes, there's no growth, just misery. Ignoring it drags on the consequences.
I've been thinking a lot about the past and some of the choices I've made. I've held onto this shame and guilt for so long, that it's a part of me. I am always afraid to let people in or really let anyone see me because I'm afraid of people rejecting me. I'm afraid that once they know the truth, see the albatross I've shot down and hung around my neck, they will walk away. The truth is, as open and honest as I am about my mental illness, I'm ashamed that I still struggle. I don't think I really recognize that that's how I feel. I just realized that I try to be open about the fact that I do struggle, but I block out the fact that I fall short, often.
I think part of this comes from my religious background. I have always been taught that if you have enough faith and follow the Spirit, you will make good choices and you can return to God. Simple, right? No. Because when you have mental illness, things aren't quite so good or bad. There's a lot of grey. You don't think clearly and you aren't always in control of your choices. It's been a balancing act of trying to figure out how much guilt and shame to accept for choices that I've made while in the midst of a mental health episode, and how much to let slide and forgive myself for acting out in hurt or emotional confusion.
It feels like a character flaw, that the person I am is defined by these choices, and therefore defined by my mental illness. I'm starting to realize that it isn't true. I've been carrying around this dead, disgusting, rotting carcass of an albatross that I shot down years ago. It isn't there anymore. If I had just accepted my choices instead of fighting them, I could have dropped the weight of the albatross in an easier way.
Finding a balance of pushing yourself to grow and become better (better managed, more stable, faster recovery time from an episode, better choices) and also forgiving yourself for when you fall short is hard for me. But the first step: acknowledging that there's a rotting carcass around my neck.
So, here's to radically accepting my flaws, and working towards loving them. Here's to acknowledging that the albatross around my neck is there, weighing me down. Forgiving myself and allowing myself to be freed from the years of choices I made before I knew why I couldn't think straight, the years of me struggling through the process of healing and recovery, and the years to come of continuing to stumble and fall along the way.
***
When I read this poem in high school, we had an assignment to come up with our albatross. I don't quite know what the parameters were exactly, but I think it was something we wanted to do or let go of. I remember I struggled to figure this out, partially because my suicidal self couldn't visualize surviving much longer. When I finally came up with the albatross in my life, I came up with "making a difference". I felt so much shame for who I was even way back then that I felt like I had to make up for my lack, that I had to make up for the fact that I was a "bad" person. We wore those papers around our neck for the day, which felt a little silly. As I've thought about the poem more lately, I've also thought about that project. My albatross was all about overcoming shame, but I went about it all wrong. Mrs. Mucic, I changed my project. My albatross isn't making a difference in the world, it's learning how to love myself for who I am today. Flaws, crazy brain, overly sensitive emotions and all... because those are what make me who I am. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
I got home today and remembered to open the day 2 of my Harry Potter Christmas Advent Calendar. I went to open it up and realized what day it was: December 2nd. Three years ago was my very first group therapy session for DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy). DBT is a year-long treatment program that consists of weekly individual therapy sessions and weekly group sessions to learn skills. Thinking about group brought me back to the dark place that I was in 3 years ago, and all of the hard, painful, and emotional moments that I have experienced since then.
Driving up to my first DBT group session I was extremely anxious. I didn't have the same support system in place that I do now. I hadn't told too many people yet about my diagnosis (hey there, Allison!) and I had absolutely no idea what to expect. For therapy, I had to see a special therapist who specializes in treating Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and DBT. Unfortunately, there aren't too many therapists out there and God knew exactly which therapist I needed in my life. I have never seen God's hand in my life more than when I was finding my incredibly patient, talented, and loving therapist. But, like I said, not too many therapists in Utah will even treat BPD. My therapist was practicing in Salt Lake at the time and that night I had to make an hour long journey to some random classroom at a university up there. I had no idea where I was going... and there was legitimately a full-on blizzard to top it off.
An hour late to group and tired after a long week (plus don't forget completely anxious), I finally arrived at group. I walked through an abandoned campus and feared that I was being led into a death-trap (which in some ways, it sure felt that way!). Group was held that night in a bare room minus a couple plastic folding tables and metal chairs. I walked in and looked around the room, instantly feeling extremely self-conscious. I had NO clue what I was getting into. The thing is, usually with DBT, you do some pre-treatment sessions to basically familiarize yourself with some of the DBT concepts before throwing you into the deep end. I didn't have that chance because of the timeline of the group module dates. So blindly, stupidly, naively, I jumped.
I sat alone at the end of the table and didn't say a word. I just about cried when my therapist asked me to introduce myself. I looked around and felt completely out of place. I didn't know what the expectation was for participation and I was totally out of my element. They all seemed like best friends and I was the awkward outsider. I didn't know these people, how was I supposed to talk about my most personal struggles with mental illness, an illness I didn't really even understand?! Plus, there's all sorts of DBT lingo that I didn't know yet. It felt like I was drowning and there wasn't a lifeguard to jump in to save me.
Luckily for me, things got *slightly* better after that. We moved to an office a little closer to Provo and I started to get the hang of things. The lingo came with time and even though it took about a month for me to say more than two words in group- I eventually became fluent in DBT-ese. I knew the skills like the back of my hand. They were engrained in me. However, ask anyone who knew me at the time of group- I absolutely LOATHED going. I started drinking soda (and never stopped) just to get me through group. It was hard every. single. week.
I was blessed to meet some incredibly strong people who have overcome so much. I grew to know these people better than I knew myself, and they knew me. We laughed together, we got angry together (sound-ball anyone?), and we cried together. Even though I haven't kept up with those relationships, I will always have a connection to the people that witnessed so much of the change in who I am and played a big role in my recovery.
*******
It's surreal that it was only three years ago. It has been such a journey for me and I have gone through so much in an attempt to manage my mental health. I still struggle with Borderline... on the daily. I still feel things strongly, I still feel insecure, and I still fear abandonment. I still struggle with urges and don't always know who I'm "supposed" to be. But when you look to where I was then versus now, I almost don't resemble that person who I once was. I need to do better at practicing skills. I need to be more aware of my emotions. I have gotten out of the habit and don't pull skills out as fluently. But the skills I do have in my repertoire have gotten me where I am and help me get through every day.
As much as I hate DBT, wise mind, dialectical thinking, radical acceptance, and Marsha Linehan, I am also extremely for the life worth living it has helped me to slowly build... even on the days I don't always feel that way.
Fourteen months ago I was drowning, like I was being sucked in by a riptide. Not literally drowning, but metaphorically in my life drowning. It started long before that and the more I fought it, the more underwater I felt. Every effort to pull myself out of the riptide left me further and further from my goals. It was obvious that there was something going on and that if I didn't do something quick, I was going to destroy what shreds of a life I had left.
Fourteen months ago I was barely functioning. On the outside, everything looked fine. Except for the select few that I let inside my inner circle, it seemed like everything was going fine. Everything was not "fine" (BTW what even is fine?). Every single spare moment of my day was spent ruminating over this idea that I was not enough. I was filled with so much self-hate, so much disgust towards myself, and so much shame in who I was. I didn't see my worth or my value. I didn't think I deserved to live.
For about a month, I was just straight-up suicidal. The only thing that kept me alive were my students. The thought of putting my sweet kids through that trauma was the only reason I had to wake up each morning. I knew I couldn't do that to them. But every weekend it took everything in me to remember that reason. Every break I had was like climbing a mountain just to get myself through the day.
When I was finally diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), I was relieved. I had no idea the stigmas surrounding this disorder because at that time I truly I found hope in this dark pit of despair. Through the diagnosis, I found a possibility that something could get better. It was enough to get me through. However, when I started this journey of therapy, I had no idea how much time, effort, MONEY, and heartache it would be. I had no idea what I was really getting myself into.
Starting Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT) last November was a huge culture shock. It's an intensive therapy treatment plan that involves weekly individual sessions, weekly skills group, and crisis skills coaching. DBT becomes your life. You eat breathe, and sleep DBT skills. The people in your group become the people who you relate to and understand. These strangers who have nothing in common with you, who come from all walks of life, all sorts of ages, all sorts of experiences becomes people you trust with everything. Because despite them being totally and completely different from you, they are the same. They have similar issues and struggle in ways that nobody else can understand except for your small group of crazies. I had no idea the friendships and relationships I would gain from my skills group.
The beginning of DBT is like jumping into a cold shower. It's a huge shock and you immediately regret the decision. There are all these words and this lingo that takes time to accumulate. Honestly for the first few weeks it felt like everyone was speaking a different language. It was scary to open up and be vulnerable with these people. It was uncomfortable at times and we were often pushed outside of our comfort zones. I swear I said about 10 words total in the first month of group. It was just SO foreign to me and I wasn't sure how to deal.
Now when I talk, DBT is ingrained in me. I use phrasing and words in ways that have DBT woven into it. DBT is in my blood and I'm proud of that. I worked hard to have gained this kind of mastery. I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into this (literally). I can't imagine my life without it (oh wait, yes I can. It is terrible. Life without DBT is terrible).
After FOURTEEN MONTHS, I have graduated from my skills group. I've learned the skills, I know the disorder, and I know how to keep building a life worth living. There is still so much work left to do. There are obstacles to overcome, cognitive distortions to reprocess, and behavioral habits to build. Yet, this is huge. I have been going to therapy 2+ times a week for over a year now and I am phasing out. I will be moving towards maintaining my recovering instead of clawing myself out of this dark, burning hole of Hell.
Research shows that 90% of BPD patients who complete DBT achieve a complete recovery from the disorder within 5 years of completing treatment. Within five years, 90% no longer fit criteria for the disorder. I had no idea that was what I was working towards. I honestly just thought I was learning how to manage this LIFELONG disorder. Does it mean I won't struggle with parts of the disorder for my whole life? No, I probably will. But it won't take over and infect every fiber of my being. It won't control my life like it has.
Completing DBT was the most gratifying accomplishment in my entire life. This is bigger than graduating from college. This was an investment into my entire quality of life. Like I said, the beginning of this journey was filled with being chronically suicidal and misery. I still struggle and still feel things intensely, AND I know how to manage and get through it. I know how to live my life in a way that is healthy and in line with my values. I am working towards building my life worth living and I am stunned by the person I have become. I am in complete shock over what has come out of this. I wouldn't have made it through the last year if it hadn't been for DBT (and all of the incredible people who supported me throughout this exhausting and emotional journey).
DBT has taught me that life isn't always black and white, that sometimes we need to take a step back and observe what's going on around us, and that we cannot be passive players in our lives. DBT saved my life and I couldn't be more grateful for it.
One year ago today I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). Even though the diagnosis scared me and I had very little understanding of what that meant, it was a relief. For years I had been trying to express that something bigger was going on. Despite a diagnosis of depression and anxiety, there was something deeper-rooted. I was often dismissed as being dramatic. People would tell me that this was normal for people my age and that I would grow out of it, like a toddler grows out of the terrible twos. I can remember describing these experiences- emotional chaos and intensity, feeling disconnected from myself, paranoid thoughts, spiraling thought processes- and people would try to explain them away. I always felt this urge to scream “NO, THIS ISN’T NORMAL!!”.
I felt trapped because nobody could see that there was some serious chaos going on inside my brain. People couldn’t see the over-analyzing of conversations for DAYS afterwards or the paralyzing panic over possibly making a mistake. It felt like my emotions were bouncing around like a pinball machine and there was never any respite. My whole world was crashing down around me and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. Because I could function and be successful in college, people dismissed my fears of instability/ insanity as stress and hormones. What was lost on them were the hours I spent worrying over assignments (without even starting them), impulsive decisions, panic over the possibility of getting less than a 4.0, or the build-up it would take for me to go out and be around people. They couldn’t see how difficult it was to get up in the mornings or how long it took for me to fall asleep. All they saw was the facade of a “normal”, functioning, and successful human. People assumed that my insides matched my outsides.
In a little over a week, it will be 1 year since I started seeing my incredible therapist and began Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT). While most people know I’ve been in therapy, only a few people know that for the past year, I have been going to therapy 2-3 times a WEEK in order to retrain how my brain works. In just a few months, I will be graduating from that therapy and will just be doing maintenance sessions (YAY!). It has been an incredibly difficult year (I feel like I say that often; yay for mental illness!) full of an intense spectrum of emotions. I am extremely proud of myself for the time, money, and effort I’ve invested in addressing my disorder. It hasn’t been easy in any way, but it is worth it. These symptoms haven’t disappeared since being diagnosed and going to therapy. However, they have become more manageable and I have learned how to cope in more effective ways. I’ve learned to accept that my life will consist of emotional ups and downs and I have learned to embrace the days where things are more stable. I’ve learned to take time for myself when it’s needed so that I don’t burn myself out. I’ve learned to rely on others more and let people see past the mask. Being aware of my disorder and symptoms has made it less scary and has helped give me the words to express what I’m experiencing.
BPD is a disorder that often begins around puberty and increases in intensity through adulthood. Even though nearly 6% of American adults are diagnosed with BPD, there is an extreme stigma surrounding the disorder with both the general public AND within the mental health community. When I was first being diagnosed, I had to demand that my original therapist (not my current one!) go through the diagnostic criteria because he didn’t think I was “manipulative or dramatic enough” to have Borderline. When I presented with all nine criteria to some degree (only 5 are needed for diagnosis), he was incredulous. BPD is considered one of the top 3 most stigmatized mental illnesses, along with schizophrenia and dissociative identity disorder, because people with the disorder can often present symptoms in socially unacceptable or extreme ways. When you look it up online, there are all sorts of blogs and forums where people just bash on people with Borderline Personality Disorder. While not every person with BPD engages in these behaviors or presents these symptoms in exactly the same way, these behaviors have a reason. I’ve been lucky enough to find people who love me through my disorder and help encourage me when I am working on change. I know it isn’t always easy to understand mental illness, but imagine what it’s like living with one! I can see myself doing things, thinking things, or believing things that I KNOW DON’T MAKE SENSE, and yet… It’s discouraging and confusing to say the least.
Although I don’t feel like I am completely where I want to be, I am closer to being myself than I have been in years. My thinking is clearer, my fears are more rational, and I make decisions that move me closer to my goals. I recognize myself more and more with time and therapy- the person who I was before the mental illness started fully presenting. The incredible thing about BPD is that there is a therapy specifically designed for the disorder (DBT). Patients who participate in this type of therapy have been shown to decrease symptoms. 90% of patients who complete treatment no longer meet criteria only 5 years later. I’m so glad that I am taking care of this now instead of waiting for it to increase in severity throughout my life. I honestly don’t regret any of it because I have a deeper understanding of myself and my brain. I recognize when I am more susceptible to spiraling and I work hard to buffer my emotions during those times. Of all the things I've learned, what I’ve learned most is that we have to be our own advocate. We know if our thoughts and behaviors aren’t totally adding up. We know if we don’t feel normal. We have to advocate for change, and we can't be ashamed when we need help to get us there.
This first year of teaching was incredibly hard. It was full of so much joy and also so much heartache. There were some of those "golden moments" where I realized that it was all worth it, and then there were the stressful moments in between where I questioned everything I ever believed to be true. I learned to love more fully, forgive more quickly, and listen more compassionately. I learned that sometimes you have to laugh at the stupid things in life because it is just too dang short not to. I learned that sometimes having true control in life is when we have zero control and accept it for what it is. I learned that no matter how much bribery goes down, I cannot make another human being do what I want them to do. I learned that being perfect doesn't mean you are the best and that being the best doesn't mean you are perfect. I learned that not everything gets done and that's okay. I learned that there are people in this world who are better off with me in it.
I never knew that teaching would give me so much. It gave me a reason to wake up each morning and it taught me how to persevere. My students gave me something to laugh about every single day and gave me perspective when things were falling apart.
*Some* Golden Moments
1) When my student from Brazil actually tried to speak English to get his point across and used everything possible to do so.
2) When my students wrote me letters and sang to me in Portuguese for my birthday.
3) When I asked a student who was having a hard time, he begrudgingly acknowledged I cared for him unconditionally.
4) When the music teacher at my school arranged a beautiful performance for Teacher Appreciation week and my students shared some of the kindest words I have ever been told.
5) When I put a TON of planning into a really fun activity that ACTUALLY WORKED and every one of my students said "Thanks for planning this. It was SO much fun."
6) When I got an apology letter (or two or five) from students that made me remember why I love them
7) When the kid who has struggled all year long got a FOUR (highest score) on his SAGE writing
8) When a kid who had fallen SUPER behind turned to me and said "Thanks for making me do these missing assignments. I now realize why it's important to stay on top of my work."
9) When my students told me their favorite subject was Social Studies (because it's mine, too!)
10) When one of my "cool" students stood up for a classmate at recess without anyone pressuring him to do so and didn't tell me to get praise. He just did it.
11) When I taught my students about 9/11 and it was just about the most humbling experience of my entire life because they got it.
12) When I taught my students about mindfulness and they articulated the experience in such a beautiful way.
13) When one of students worked hard to persevere through academic difficulties.
14) When I surprised my partner teacher for her birthday by singing Happy Birthday in Portuguese
15) Any time my lesson went "better than expected"
16) Any time a parent or student reminded me that I was making a difference
17) When my students told me they would rather have me teach them than have a sub.
18) When I got stuck in a meeting and was late getting to my class after specialties, but every one of my students was in their seat reading a book quietly.
19) When the boys (who put up a big stink at the beginning) started to love my "girlie" read aloud book.
20) Every time one of my students gasped as I read out loud or BEGGED me to keep going so they could find out what happened next.
21) When my students would use a vocabulary word we learned in their daily speech.
22) That moment when I realized I genuinely love every one of my students, and not just because I'm supposed to.
*Some* Not-So Golden Moments
1) When I came back to school after a sub and found out my kids had been SUPER naughty.
2) When I found out that students had stolen "money" from my class money jar.
3) When my students had a million and one missing assignments (oh wait, all year).
4) Every time I had to remind them to be quiet in the halls
5) When I almost passed out once because periods are the worst I was "sick"
6) When I lost my voice after Clear Creek for what seemed like an eternity (but was only 2 weeks)
7) When I resorted to caffeine to get me through day
8) When my students asked me if I was tired, but really I just hadn't bothered with mascara/ make up
9) Any time I banned anything that just straight-up annoyed me (bottle flipping, "21", dabbing, trifecta spinners, Juan, chesssss, etc.)
Not a ton of people know that during the past year, my diagnosis has changed from depression, PTSD, and/or anxiety to Borderline Personality. It was a HUGE shock to me and took some major radical acceptance. I have known for a long time that there was something seriously wrong with me (I knew my thought processes were not "normal"), but nobody believed me or understood it. It didn't make sense that I could graduate from college, maintain relationships, get a job, and be responsible while also struggling with some serious disordered thinking. The truth is that we can't see other people's struggles on the outside. Internally, we can be a chaotic mess and yet still present an external appearance of calm and togetherness. It's a difficult place to be in when everything seems alright to the outside world, but inside you're falling apart.
For years I have been saying "I'm crazy" or "My brain doesn't work like everybody else's", but most people have come back and said "Everybody feels that way at some point" or "You're twenty, you're just figuring out who you are." People don't want to admit that "normal" people get mental illnesses because then it makes the possibility of it real for them. People want to blame someone or something for mental illnesses, but sometimes they just happen to regular people.
Borderline Personality is definitely a more severe diagnosis than say the common depression. Not that I'm trying to belittle depression, because those feelings are real and valid and are such a struggle. However, Borderline is a more complex disorder that requires a much different approach. Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is an emotional disregulation disorder that makes it difficult to process and cope with emotions. What in the Hell does that mean? Yeah, I'm still figuring it out, too!
A lot of times people hear Borderline Personality Disorder and think Multiple Personality Disorder. Those are two completely different disorders. I do not have a split personality or have various versions of myself. I don't switch into another person and there aren't voices talking to me in my head. I feel for anyone in those situations, but I am not one of them. Borderline Personality Disorder has a lot to do with emotional chaos and an inability to control or process emotions in a healthy way.
Although there is a huge stigma surrounding BPD, Borderline Personality isn't an insult or character flaw, it's an emotional disorder. It can be treated through therapy to retrain thought processes and core values. People with BPD aren't emotionally stunted, instead they feel things too strongly. Instead of feeling emotions at a normal level, BPD emotional levels start higher. While a normal person might be at a 10 when they are feeling an emotion very strongly, a person with BPD starts at a 9 or a 10. Then when something happens, it sends the emotion levels off the charts and the person has a hard time coping.
Borderline Personality is a biosocial disorder meaning that it develops through a combination of biological (genetics) and environmental (life) factors. Having one factor or the other doesn't lead to Borderline. It takes the combination of the two in order for it to present itself. If you've ever taken a biology class, you have some idea of how genetics work. As far as environmental factors, Borderline Personality develops through consistent invalidation of oneself. That is a little confusing so I'll explain that a little more.
Invalidation comes when someone's thoughts or emotions are invalidated by other people, his/herself, or a combination. This can mean making feelings seem insignificant or unjustified, it can mean belittling accomplishments, or it can mean ignoring/denying an individual's needs. As someone who has always been very independent, much of my invalidation has come from myself (although there has definitely been external invalidation, too). Telling myself that crying is weak or that feeling things gets in the way of who I want to become actually led to a bigger problem. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be independent, but being independent doesn't mean turning off emotions. I have also had a lot of invalidating relationships and events in my life that have added to this overall idea of invalidation.
Other components of BPD include relationship issues, self-image problems, and can include behavior control issues. These issues also play a huge role in how I live my life. I worry about what others think of me and judge myself very harshly. I only see my flaws and don't recognize any of the positives. I question why people maintain relationships with me and in return I question why I am in them. I often get overwhelmed by people in my life and push them away, only to realize my dependency for them once it's too late. There are many instances of the "I hate you, I love you" with the same relationship in the same day or hour! Whenever I lash out and push back, I always feel shame and guilt for it. I hate it when I do it, but I haven't yet developed the skills to stop it.
BPD might sound a lot like other mental illnesses like Bipolar Disorder. One key difference between Bipolar and Borderline is that Bipolar is a period of time feeling an emotion (depressed for 2 weeks, manic for 2, depressed for 3, manic for 4, etc.), whereas Borderline can go through lots of different, intense emotions within the same day. Bipolar is also more based on chemical imbalances whereas borderline is developed through a lot of environmental factors.
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Growing up, I always described as "dramatic". I overreacted to things that were small or insignificant, but then I went numb whenever I had to deal with anything real. When my friend Allison brought up this disorder to me last November, I thought she was crazy. As I began to read the symptoms, I started sobbing because for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt understood. Someone, somewhere, understood exactly how I felt.
It has been the best decision for me to get treated for Borderline. Even though it is so much work, time, and money, it is worth the feeling of finally getting answers. I finally understand why I do things or why I think things. I understand my basic needs so much clearer than ever before. I didn't think my depression could be anything but depression. It didn't make sense that there could be something bigger at play. There is so much hope in finally treating the right disorder and I am grateful for the switch (even if it does involve a much more demanding and difficult treatment!).
