A "Stay-In-Bed-All-Day" Day

It had been a bad day, a dark day, a sad day, a dreary day. It had been a "stay-in-bed-all-day" day. I hadn't left my room all weekend and I hadn't showered since Friday morning; it was Sunday. My roommate came in and sat on my bed, knowing not to get too close or be too far away. She asked me how I was and what was wrong. She asked me if I was ready to talk about whatever was going on inside my head. I shook my head and sat there.

She nodded and gently put her hand on my leg. For a second I couldn't breathe because my body didn't know how to react. First it was struck with fear and then calm. All the tiny little shreds of pieces felt frozen where they were, no longer floating away. You see, on most days, I feel like my body is made up of paper torn to shreds. It feels as if it is being pulled in every direction and I am trying desperately to hold it all together. But for just a second, the pulling forces stopped.

Calm sets in when the pulling forces stop. However, then the emotions start to penetrate deeper and I am no longer completely numb. The feelings start to trickle in, slowly first and then all at once. As her stroking continued, my heart pounded and I could feel the emotional chaos starting to boil over. This boiling over had been more and more frequent lately. The tears started to form and I started to lose my control. To be completely honest, I had no clue as to why the emotional confusion had settled in. I just started to break.

We talked about how I didn't think I could do it anymore. We talked about how I wasn't anything like who I wanted to be and how I had no hope of getting better. I told her of the dark and scary thoughts that had taken residence inside my mind. These thoughts that told me I was worthless, used up, invisible. I told her how I hurt myself to relieve the numbness and how I had scary thoughts of doing worse. I told her my fear that it was time for me to return to the crazy house.

We sat in my room for a bit until she had to go. She left my room and I felt nothing again. I quickly texted my friend and told her I wasn't doing well. 3 minutes later she called me and we talked it through. I felt heard and validated and no talk of the psych ward was brought up, so I was feeling pretty good. She even made me laugh a bit, which was a great change of pace.

Finally, as I was getting ready to fall asleep, Allison called. As I picked up the phone, I could feel the emotions boiling up again. She said, "Rachel, I don't want you to be afraid. I don't want you to be scared, but I need you to listen. I see a few options here for you. You can go and check into a psych ward and hope you get the help you need, you can work really hard in therapy and do everything you are told to do so you can get better. You have to commit to it and really try hard. Or, and I don't advocate for this, you can take your life. I hope you don't choose this option, but it is an option. And if you choose it, I will have to make peace with it. You know what that does to people. Carrie Ostler will always think of Drew on her birthday and so will you. And if you take your life, it will affect all of us. Your students, your family, your friends, your roommates-- even people you don't know. It changes people. But I can't stop you, so we will have to deal with the pieces..."

I cut her off there, but I'm sure she had a long speech ready for me. I quickly told her the third option wasn't an option for me and that the timing wasn't right for option number one. So, I was going to dive into option 2. We talked for a few minutes and then she brought up something new. She said she had been talking with someone about me and they said it sounded like Borderline Personality Disorder. The treatment is completely different from normal therapy. It involved intensive and continuous therapy. I wasn't sure if I believed it, but the symptoms sounded a lot like me. As she talked, I quickly googled. I read and read and felt like she was telling the truth. I started to cry, not because I was sad, but because for once there were words to the emotions I had felt for so long.

There have always been these symptoms that didn't really add up. For years now, I've been telling people how crazy I am, but everyone always thought I was being self-deprecating. To a degree, that's true. I didn't really think I was this crazy. But every time I ever mentioned that I felt crazy or out of control, people always told me that it was "normal". They always said that everyone felt that way at some time or another. All they really did was make me feel crazier for feeling crazy (a vicious cycle, I know).

Eventually, Allison and I hung up. We ended our conversation by agreeing I would bring this up at my next therapy appointment on Tuesday. I agreed to go right to sleep after hanging up (ha!). She encouraged me and propped me up enough to make it through the next few days.

I sat on my bed and cried. As I sat there, my emotions were uncontrollable. I couldn't sit still or be in my room one more second. I stood up and walked out to my living room to where my two roommates were watching a movie, visibly shaking. I apologized for interrupting and asked to talk with them. They immediately pushed pause as I paced around our front room. My hands shook and I choked on my sobs, but I couldn't control it. I tried to channel the extra anxiety by tapping my fingers repeatedly. All the while, my roommates stared at me as I broke down completely.

Finally, amidst the sobs, I confessed Allison's theory... a theory I was slowly starting to believe myself. The more I talked, the more I believed it was true. They didn't say too much other than nod and reassure me. Eventually I sat down on the arm of the couch in an attempt to re-shackle my emotional distress. My roommate continued to stroke my leg to calm my shaking self. My left leg was shaking uncontrollably and she held it down at my knee.

The looks on their faces were full of concern and pity as they realized the magnitude of what I was saying. They recognized that if this was true, my issues were much deeper rooted and it was going to be a long road. Even though everything was crashing down around me, another part of me finally started to feel rooted. Validating this crazy mess that had become my life seemed to cause the beast to be tamed, even momentarily. I would later learn that validating the irrational allows reason to permeate our minds.

For once, I felt relief. The normal ways of coping with typical mental illnesses (depression, anxiety, bipolar, etc.) weren't working. I felt defeated whenever I slipped back into these dark holes. If this theory was right (which it was in case you didn't figure that one out), then there was a reason. Instead of feeling like a failure for getting myself back into the dark and twisties, I had hope. It wasn't a lot, but just enough to get me out of bed every day. It gave me the strength to keep going, keep trying. That hope is what I hold onto every day when it hurts to breathe, hurts to move, hurts to think. I remind myself of the rock bottoms. I remind myself that I am more than this moment of hurt and darkness. It's not a lot, but it's enough.

***
I was officially diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder that very week. I've been in therapy and getting treated for it for the past 3 months. Already I feel that I understand myself more in 3 months than I had in the previous 23 years.