(Written earlier in May) As I write this, I am sat on the wall between Torre Abbey green and the beach, looking out to sea. I've been thinking that the only thing ruining this otherwise lovely evening (apart from the occasional stupid driver roaring past) is the couples who seem to make up the majority of the people walking past, or also enjoying the evening sun. I don't usually give in the couples/singles dichotomy (e.g. When I've been in a relationship I've made sure to not seem "coupley"), but I clearly feel in the minority and it highlights an aspect of my unhappiness. Indeed, I looked at my shadow and it was moving: upon looking behind me, the sun burned a silhouette of a smooching couple onto my retina.
Then I wondered how said couples would respond, if they could hear my thoughts. Some may rightly remind me that I should focus on being more grateful regarding what I do have. Some of them may claim that this should be 'their' time since the rest of the time is spent working, caring for kids or some other stress. I imagined how 'the town' would look if single people took over in the evenings and couples dominated the night. Obviously I am making generalisations in all this.
Now, I've been reading Slavoj Žižek, and his first chapter in Living in the End Times is called 'Denial'. It's absolutely fantastic and recommend everybody read it - especially those who identify as liberal. Denial has hence been on my mind. When I apply it to this topic, it becomes clear that we are often in denial of our own situations, and believe others' self-denial. Single life is hard, but there are things that make it easier. Life in a relationship is hard, but there are things that make it easier. Apologies to any Mormons: I can't comment on polygamous life.
Keeping this in mind, if I see a couple enjoying the sun, I am glad for them. They should enjoy the little things; as should the rest of us. We all have equal right to that. If they are showing off with gratuitous public affection then I remind myself they are not portraying a true reflection of life as a couple. They are in denial and I shouldn't believe it; just as couples shouldn't believe the image of single people "living it up", since it may be a coping mechanism enacted in denial. If they are truly enjoying themselves, then the couples should feel glad for those who are single, since they have something to enjoy. Life is hard for all of us. We can wish we were single, dating, single, married, Kermit...back and forth; or accept our own struggles and be glad when we each find things to enjoy. Wishing does very little, except for encouraging denial and frustration. Acceptance is key.
Why do we promise? We don't know What will come to pass. It seems we insist That we have to Pretend For the future. That which will come Will determine the promise Your faith is strong; It's a case of luck So... Will you roll the dice?
Tomorrow: A twisted idea. More work? More stress? Do I still try my best? All of it's pointless and we'll turn to dust, It all looks the same, like we're stuck in a rut. No time for answers, That's it, back to work. Don't even try, mate; and that's not a joke. Get through today; have a drink, do you smoke? Tomorrow: We all need tomorrow. A chance. Some hope. Don't get stuck saying "nope". Dream all want for it might just come true. The sky is the limit, and you'll make it through. Get off your backside, Get up, try again! So much is out there: we've been to the moon! Why not keep going and why stop so soon?! Today's all we have; And it's quite enough.
One of the projects in my final year of studying art in high school was entitled 'Patterns and Structure: Exploring decay in the natural world and challenging my perception of beauty'; essentially, I photographed a dying leaf and found myself more attracted to it than a healthy flower and wondered why. I consider it still.
There is beauty in perfection and there is a different beauty in imperfection. Consider:
A three-legged dog who still bounds around.
A dirty, battered teddy bear.
A marriage fighting against illness.
An unfinished symphony.
A love-letter that was never received.
A tree that yields just one flower.
A human.
None of my friends are perfect (whereas, clearly, I am). The vast majority of us seem to struggle with self-image, in some way. We all tell each other the same things without believing our own wisdom. I wonder if these thoughts will help us know we are beautiful, by removing connotations of perfection. Is a model more beautiful if they are covered in make-up, or crying on someone's shoulder as they open up about their issues? Which is more real and true?
You're not perfect. If you're trying to be then I recommend you stop. The prior examples talk of love, commitment, faith, vulnerability, joy and hope. They may seem sadder, but that doesn't negate the other elements. Beauty, like these, is higher and lasts longer than happiness: it can reside past a memory. Similarly, it is not simple: like truth, it is multi-faceted, and is not stale in a Stoic eternity but changes with history.
I am writing simplistically, because I have to. Each individual is flawed in their own complex way. Death, evil, loneliness, pain, suffering: these are not beautiful. Perhaps it's the fight against them that is; the declaration of truth in the face of hardship. Fighting together. I'm being simplistic because all I'm doing is planting seeds of thought.
Learning to (truly) love ourselves seems to be one of life's toughest lessons - which makes it sound as if it's possible to learn (I hope it is) - I know it is for me, anyway. Perhaps if we learn to accept living with flaws (not to say they're "good") we will uncover a delicate beauty, which will in turn help us love ourselves. How that looks depends on the individual. When I think of each of my friends and family, I think how each and every one of them is beautiful: partly in similar ways, partly in their own way. In a paradoxical way, it seems better to accept our ageing bodies and flawed characters as they change with time, than 'try' to fit the ideal. By fighting against the cultural ideal of what it means to 'stay beautiful', we will develop a more lasting, true beauty. I'm not at all saying we don't need to change: I'm encouraging us to think again about how we need to change. Compare a celebrity with Botox to a smiling pensioner on their way to bingo with friends. One can attempt to squeeze oneself into the idealistic standards of our culture, or accept and love oneself, "warts and all".
A moonless walk makes a monotonous world;
A rest for the eyes.
Electric lamps a half mile away,
Stolen from the gods;
We swarm and huddle around them,
Cooking and eating our own livers.
Consumed by the cold, comforting night.
Around the slippery corner, and
The lights from the motels
Hit me, and the wind.
Is anyone sleeping,
Surrounded by these unnatural stars?
My presence incends another one,
The brightest;
Sorry.
Back into the woods,
30%; come on thighs.
Along the road.
19%; come on phone,
Back into the stale light.
Freezing fingers are worth the time,
In a hidden cavern of peace.
It has become quite commonplace to complain about the lack of awareness and understanding when it comes to mental health; so much so, I reckon that a good few people will scroll past this post because they're already fed up of it. Is it really that bad?
I could write about my experiences with psychiatric nurses and doctors, who should know what they're talking about but unfortunately sometimes don't. Indeed, I have had some pretty shit experiences, which is statistically not unusual for somebody with BPD/EUPD. However, I thought I'd demonstrate the lack of awareness in the wider arena, shown in the public usage of language.
When I was younger I was fascinated by mysterious things, driven on by youth's imagination. I adored (and still adore) studying black holes. Scientific topics were more interesting to me, compared to the more cultural/mythological topics like Bigfoot, since effort put into study seemed more likely to produce results. Then, at one point, I began to think: when does somebody become crazy? Madness seemed to cross that topical boundary. Of course, psychology is a well-developed science, but it's more common to just hear something like "Oh, here comes Crazy Jerry" than a statement based upon a psychological understanding of insanity. But seriously: does somebody just get closer and closer to madness until they 'snap'? Who is crazy? I discussed it with a couple of friends and in the end decided that many of us exhibit signs of madness at some point; and that's actually not far from the truth. Due to its over-usage, it could mean a variety of things, including bouts of fury, as purported by Seneca and Saint Basil.
Ironically, despite being such an alien topic when I was younger, I have ended up suffering from a condition that includes psychosis in its symptomatology. I have heard things that weren't real. It was scary. If I recounted that to a stranger, they would be much more likely to show a prejudiced concern or fear of me than if I said "I am often very depressed": big deal, everybody gets depressed. Are only the really messed-up people "crazy"? Is it reserved like a dinner at The Ritz-for-Schizos...hmmm? People who suffer from psychosis deserve judgement no more than those who suffer from depression. Why judge anyway? Aren'tweallhuman? If you judge somebody suffering from dementia then you're an arsehole, yet they may be just as likely to hurt somebody out of fear and confusion as somebody with BDP. We're not trained assassins. We're in pain.
How do you use such language? Do you ever talk about somebody "going schizo"? Or "spazzing out"? I've used these phrases. I've also 'done' these myself. If you see a lonely old man talking to himself, do you label him as "crazy", avoid any eye-contact and thus aid his loneliness? That old man might be you one day. I'm already him. I had one of my laughing fits over nothing, on the way down to the library just now. Evidently, I know what's real most of the time; but even if someone is completely delusional, labelling and dismissing them will do little good. In the same way that there is more awareness to not use "gay" to describe someone's dress sense, I'm advocating that we think before using "insane", "nuts", or even "depressing" as adjectives if they're belittling.
"Using that kind of language sends the message that it's OK to trivialize mental illness and lazily substitute real people's lived experiences for 'wild,' 'silly,' 'dangerous' or 'out of control'."
- Lydia X. Z. Brown, an activist, writer and speaker focused on disability justice.
Language is changing and nobody has authority over it. Furthermore, if you don't know that certain words are hurtful, why would you change how you use them? I've been known to get annoyed at political correctness gone mad and I recognise that this isn't in a vacuum. Understanding is a two-way thing: we sufferers must be patient with those who don't know what it's like. But if you've read this, you have no excuse but to be more aware of how you use such language. Please?
Once again, I'm not following my own plans but I think this post could have beneficial effects for me, those around me and support for anybody else who suffers with BDP/EUPD...hence, I've allowed myself to post it. I was given a prognosis of Borderline Personality Disorder/ Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder by my local Crisis team that has been supported as a working diagnosis by my doctor and a psychiatric nurse (let alone my own research and support from friends with experience); so whilst I haven't had a final diagnosis, I believe I am warranted to discuss the issue and recount my experience. It has taken this long to get to this diagnosis because the condition is often confused with depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, anorexia and others. This is a pretty hefty post, but I do hope it is helpful to somebody. At the very least, it should help raise awareness. I start with showing symptoms of the condition found in my previous blog posts, then my life leading up to recent times, and finish with my most recent experiences. In the first two sections, symptoms are in italics. If you can relate to them, please do not self-diagnose, but speak to a professional like your GP.
In previous blogs:
- "I get boredeasily" (June).
- "My life still feels quite turbulent. I cannot remember when my fingernails were not completely bitten back. This process - of feeling confused, depressed and vulnerable, then clarity, enjoyment and a degree of peace - is continuing with no apparent end or purpose. It is like watching an endless tennis match...apart from, in this instance, I'm the tennis ball: thwacked and thwopped from one side to the other at 100mph. I don't know how to answer the question, "How are you?", anymore" (July); "I seemed to be switching between feeling very sad/defeated and angry/content with being selfish" (October).
- See also "RESURRECTION" and "You're the judge (oh-oh)" for examples of elation/rapid thinking, or "Lessons from heartbreak" for consequences of unstableandtoxicrelationships.
In life:
- I used to say I was an adrenaline junky, when in fact I just got a thrill from being reckless. In adolescence this took the form of painful experiences on a mountain bike, or an eagerness for parkour (not unique to a teenage boy, I know); but I always dreamt of skydiving, bungee-jumping, squirrel-suiting etc. Fortunately, my desire to achieve and a good upbringing prevented most backtalk (talkback?) to teachers.
- Both my ex-partners said I'm like The Hulk with regards to my anger whichcanrearupquicklyandbeoverpowering. Interestingly, I seem to relate most to the contemporary Hulk who said in Avengers Assemble that he's "always angry"; anger seems to be my underlying 'emotion', as if it's constantly simmering and is ever ready to boil over.
- I think I've struggled with blamingothers for my issues for longer than I've thought.
- In December '16, I experienced psychosisafterprolongedandextremestress, combined with recklesssuicidalbehaviour.
- Resorting to maladaptive coping strategies has led to/worsened my addictive personality.
- I've always had a bad memory, which is just a characteristic of mine, though I do seem to be especiallyforgetfulwhenstressed.
- My lovely previous partner once likened me to a chameleon who changes colour to its surroundings - though I was watching QI the other day and apparently they change according to their mood/temperature instead of environment?! - meaning that I seemed to adapt to different groups of people so I get on with most folk. Of course there are some groups I just can't get on with, though it is true that I like to approach/be approached by all types of people. The downside of this is that I have issues with believing that I'm actually puttingonaface, like a mask, andthatunderneathI'mactuallyextremelyunlikeable. Sometimes I can identify and combat this, but most of the time I don't even realise. For a long time I have believed peoplewillabandonmewhentheyknowtherealme. This seems absurd, and it is, but it's actually become so subtle that I don't find it strange when I get annoyed at people for laughing at my jokes because in my head they're falling for a trick; it actually comes back to hating myself (instead of being annoyed at people for its own sake) since I then treat myself like a trickster for 'catching out' my wonderful friends.
- The consequence of this belief is that I become very emotionally attached topeople who do know the 'real me', leading to unstable relationships. I may rely on some people too much, acting like a jealous and fragile partner if they take long to reply or say something I don't expect or understand. On the other hand, I may push them away, believing that it's better for my sake if they leave me sooner, or better for their sake because I will eventually hurt them. Clearly, this is not a healthy approach to any relationship/partnership/friendship.
New experiences:
- Complete. Instability. Ever since the overdose I have no idea what I'll be like - or more accurately, who I'll be. I'm understanding why it's called a personality disorder now. If somebody is sad most of the time, they'll probably become likened to a sad person...no? Same with a happy person. If you're happy a lot, you may put 'bubbly' on a dating profile. With BDP/EUPD, instead of having mood swings, it's like I have personality swings. Imagine a triangle with "Angry", "Sad" and "Happy" in each vertex. Now imagine another triangle overlaying the original triangle, of an area twice the size (for example). In the vertices of the larger triangle read "Violent fury", " Suicidal depression" and "Elation". My emotions are very intense and very hard to control.
Somebody with this condition experiences emotions to an extreme degree, and they can change very quickly. It's like I change from a stereotypical convict with anger issues (which is unfortunately not far from the stereotype of BDP/EUPD, so it seems), to the life of any party. Obviously, emotions are more varied and complex, so it'd be more like a circle than a triangle, but the latter was better for an example. Can you see why I struggle to know who I am?
What makes it worse is that my family and local friends only see me at my most 'normal'. I may seem irritative or depressed, but I certainly don't look 'that bad'. They haven't seen me walking around at night because I haven't slept for 30 hours. They haven't seen me when I'm lying in my bed, staring ahead motionlessly (like Stewie Griffin when he has the ADD pills), because there are so many thoughts going around my mind that I can't capture any of them. I can't follow my emotions, or tell which ones are reliable or true, let alone anybody who can't get inside my head (which is most people). Sometimes my emotions and thoughts do make sense to me, because they're all interlinked: apparently they don't make sense to other people. I'm misled like humanity in its sin. Some friends do understand, which is wonderful, but some have listened to my rants and seemed unable to help...because they can't! It's like being in a labyrinth, apart from the labyrinth changes and changes quickly. Furthermore, in my eyes, it *might* just be a straight road. How on earth would somebody reach out a hand in that situation? Am I holding your hand or this just another illusion? I get so stressed that to prevent me from tearing my hair out or walking into traffic, I distract myself with TV or YouTube, which only aids my ongoing spiral into isolation. I can rarely exercise since I may be able to eat only 400 calories in a day, or barely move for hours. I hope the complexity of this condition is starting to come across.
I am still me. Maybe. I mean, if I am me, I don't know when. Indeed, I don't know how long I'll be me...or at least a pleasant me. It's really difficult not to believe that the likes of Gabriella or lost friends have dodged a bullet. They probably did. Whatever I think changes quickly anyway: "Maybe there's hope?"; "Look at the damage"; "It's better not to talk"; "But I need them"; "Try and work things out"; "They're better without me"...essentially the normal post-relationship/friendship thinking but seemingly more extreme. Sometimes people suggest I try to remember what they think of me, but the lies still seep in with camouflage. If we do talk, I often victimise myself - maybe to try and even things out? I don't know. That should be written on my tombstone (like that'll be affordable!) as the new caption of my life:
Idon'tknow.
Whenever I talk to people I try to ask how they are so I don't get others involved in my introspective spirals. It's pretty foolproof. I can't spend very long with people in real life since I get exhausted quickly, so I tend to talk to friends mostly over Messenger. This isn't ideal when isolation is a problem but there's little I can do until I'm in an environment that provides psychiatric support and routine. This will be provided in the programme I hope to join soon. It is very expensive, so if I am accepted I will set up a fundraising account for anybody who wishes to help.
I hope this has been beneficial to more than just me.
TW: The following post contains language/imagery that some readers may find upsetting.
The flood waters had been rising and falling as they do.
Then, they rose.
From multiple sources, all coming in; very subtle at first so I was unaware for a long time. I'd notice things were off sometimes, but only when my thoughts were already out of place. Ehhh.
Then it worsened.
It became more obvious: I started noticing the water, where it came in. It had already become stagnant in some places; it would require a proper effort to clear it. Efforts were made, but never fully successful. How could they be?, when nasty-smelling stuff was rising up without even attracting my attention.
Going to uni was the game-changer. The new experiences. The opportunities. A new style of life! It felt great. Little did I know that the consequences of both old and newly made choices, combined with different types of stress, led to the gradual opening of separate floodgates. When I realised what was going on, it was far too late. I got help - I had to be rescued. I'd slipped over on the wet floor: this became a regular occurrence. I let people in. We tried to look for the sources to plug them, but the water levels kept rising. There was some apparent progress at times. Illusory, unfortunately.
My inner quality of life deteriorated. I lost the ground floor and had to survive upstairs. People helped; lo, 'twas a complex situation. Eventually I had to give up uni in the hope that the stress would stop the pungent waters rising. It did so for a moment, but the other sources opened up, or restarted their spewing of the unhealthy fluids. I tried sorting things by myself; sometimes making things better, but more often worse.
I began to camp in the bedroom. The chamber of pleasure and rest became my survival raft as the waters still rose. Tough decisions and unfortunate events occurred. Things only got worse. From the outside the house was still standing and appeared functional, though its owner was in torment and debt. Those who ventured in could see the trouble. Some swam to provide supplies and comfort.
Finally, I moved into the attic. Dark. Alone. The black, lifeless water cutting off hope as it lapped up to the hatch. Only in sleep did I drift away to warmer tides, even feeling sand between my toes before waking up shivering. A few books. Late-night comedy. Alcohol, cigarettes and pornography. Starting to lose oxygen. Cried for help. A few came but didn't know how to help; or if they did, it oft-times made me worse. Underneath, the floodgates are open and still flowing. Any effort was futile. Darkness all around: outside-in; inside-out. My eyes strain to see the letters I read or write. Bed's soaking. Everything stinks.
The end is inevitable.
How did it get so bad? Didn't I try?
Should I just wait in agony, or do it myself? No; wait, hang on. To what? Do it. No, I'll keep trying.
Don't bother. It'll be ages before you're missed. You're only endangering the houses on either side. You're the cause. You're the problem, you always have been.
No it's okay that's not true. I'm loved and have hope...
Hope? Hope?! You idiot. Just finish it; everyone'll be better off.
No...stop!
Die! No! DIE! NO! DIE! DIE! DIE!!!
Angry parents. Abusive nurses. A cannula in each arm. Disbelief all around. Such potential, nearly wasted.
"We're all our own solutions."
F*** off.
Back in the attic. Quiet. Water gently rises. Thinking. My stomach rumbles and gurgles; I have no appetite. More thinking.
"Get a job" - get your head outta your arse. Night becomes my day. Little sleep.
2 a.m. Wakey-wakey.
I still love Him.
CLUNK. A few of the floodgates close.
I still love Him. I feel betrayed - that's why I don't talk to Him - but He hasn't changed. He didn't shut the floodgates...but He didn't let me drown. A peace. A presence. Warmth in the cold. Hope. True hope. Somehow, He's in control. A smile. Colour.
A sigh. Okay, you're here. But...there's so much to do. Everything's rotting. Everybody's so worried and hurt. Where do I begin? Seriously? Hello...?
I can tell everybody who feels out of
control or hope that THERE IS HOPE! True, grounded, effective HOPE!
I repeat: THERE IS HOPE.
You don't have to solve it all! The pressure's
off! He has a plan, just accept it from Him! I know it sounds cliché but it all
fits and it all makes sense - best of all, it's true!
I still have depression, anxiety,
addictions and personality disorders mixed in with a whole load of other shit
that all needs dealing with and of course I'll have bad days but now I have a reason
to look up! The reason. No more of this "My girlfriend keeps me
going", "New meds will do it", "Dogs",
"Yoga", "Sex", "Weed", " Retail therapy"...they're
all replacements!
He made you.
You weren't known and loved by Fido or Ralph Lauren before the beginning of
time but by Jesus!
Look at my writing. Look back. See how different
it is. This is not some ridiculously orchestrated religious feat to 'get you
over to my side' - I have had the worst year of my life and genuinely attempted
suicide twice last weekend. Read the accounts on my blog of loss, pain,
numbness, doubt, anxiety and general misery that has defined my life for months.
Read it. It's all true.
But last night, at 02:00, I woke up and realised
I still love God and somehow he's still there - as in here - and that my
eyes have been opened to the fact that there's HOPE. The only real hope I've
ever felt (again). Thank you to those who've been praying for me. Now, just as
the Gospel writers testified to the new life and HOPE they found in
Jesus, so am I doing the same now. He's the same, it's all the same, it's all
true.
I don't know about the future. I may die tomorrow.
My depression may get even worse but at the present moment all I can say is what
I know about the past is true and frankly, since that's the case, then our lives
have eternal consequences; and I think I've been through utter shit so that I
can wake up those of you who are trundling through this life without realising the
gravity of living everyday without Jesus because we need Him. I need Him. I
kinda knew I did but was blinded to just how much I need him - don't scoff; don't
be that stubborn old man who doesn't go to the GP before it's too late. Jesus
has given us our diagnosis and we need to wake up and accept him!
I might be depressed but I'm awake, and it ain't
hypomania because I understand the gravity of not accepting the true source of
life! The Bible says we're dead in our sin if we don't accept Him! Dead!
Don't give me those comfortable, actually-really-outdated arguments like
"Well, we don't really know what happened" BLA BLA BLA WE ARE BEING
OFFERED HOPE AND JOY AND LIFE AND IT ALL SEEMS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE
BECAUSE GOD IS AWESOME AND YOU WON'T SEE IT UNLESS YOU JOIN THE PARTY (NOT THE
POLITICAL KIND).
Share this, get talking: this is good news,
people - think about why it's called that.
Just because this country "used to be Christian"
(I am not denying that, I just don't like the phrase) it doesn't mean it can't
be again! (bite me)
HOPE HOPE HOPE HOPE!
DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT'S LIKE?!
Nothing can promise the future unless they're
god-like...or God! No human, no Government, no job, no relationship, no ideology,
no philosophy (stfu Hegel); nothing human-based can promise hope because
hope is based in the future and none of us have been there/ are capable of envisioning
it, letalone planning it. Let me assure you from experience that
plans mean nothing. What is a plan? An idea? Even if you have things in place,
there is nothing to stop those falling apart because everything is fragile. Millionaires
have become homeless. Scared? Good! WAKE UP! We can trust Jesus!
What's gotten into me? Life. New life. A
good friend of mine had the insight that I was exhausted...not (just) of energy,
but of life. Now I have new life and HOPE. Jesus is real and you need
Him. You can choose to go your own way (love a bit of Fleetwood or Chris Rea)
but let me tell you that being self-obsessed/self-sustaining/self-focussed does
not get lighter. It does not get more fun. Being surrounded by oneself gradually
twists one's thinking; it gets darker, lonelier and colder. You do not give yourself
life; you never have. You got it from your parents and you keep it going by your
environment. Don't settle for biological life but come to the source. LIFE.
LOVE. JOY. HOPE.
If this seems off to you then that's probably
because your view of God is off. That's usually the case - it was with me.
Are you excited by this? Get talking and
reading! Confused? Get talking and reading! Angered? You get the idea!
If you're indifferent then this isn't your time.
But if you're engaging, DON'T STOP! (really got a Fleetwood theme going)
I have written an account of why I attempted suicide, but I cannot make it public for the sake of those whose similar condition(s) I may worsen due to the account's very depressing nature.
Should you wish to read it, ask.
Message me on Facebook, Gmail, or leave a comment.
Why have I written it? To get it off my chest. To seek attention. To raise awareness. To correct the view of some people who still seem to view me as some sort of knight, valiantly fighting a tough battle when I'm actually a frail, selfish boy. A bit of each of these reasons, perhaps.
I know there are a few out there who understand my situation...I do not know whether that makes me more glad or sad.
