If I were a book...

I’ve read many books, on so many things, but I had basically avoided reading anything on BPD until recently. I finally decided if I was going to spend my time reading up on other people’s “stuff”, then maybe I should spend some time reading up on my own afflictions. But I didn’t want something clinical; very few people in my life truly understand what goes on inside my head, including myself, so I wanted to find others who I could relate to and who could possibly help me figure things out.

I did a little research on which books might fit my needs and the first one I picked up did not disappoint! In fact, I devoured it in 2 short evenings because I could not put it down. "I'm Telling the Truth, But I'm Lying" by Bassey IkpiI was so on point, I feel like she was writing about me through half of this book!

“I need to prove to you that I didn’t enter the world broken. I… had experiences that turned me into these fragmented sentences… I didn’t just show up as a life already destroyed.”

In the last year, I have been approached by two people who have encouraged me to share various aspects of my story, publicly; to end the stigma, to free my mind of it’s own cage, and to bring a voice to those who do not have one. One has a growing social media platform and podcast which would mean an open interview of sorts, the other expresses herself through her artwork while posting her own story alongside the pieces on Instagram and has encouraged me to do the same with mine as a form of therapy. While I am flattered that they both approached and encouraged me to do this, I’m not there yet. In fact, I have done this once before on a very raw and difficult topic, and it was quite challenging for me; the moment the piece was published I am pretty sure I had a panic attack.

“The problem is that I don’t remember much about my childhood and have only fragments of everything else. The things I do remember, I remember with a stark clarity. The things I’ve forgotten are like the faded print on stacks of old newspaper… My memory isn’t empty. It isn’t blank... it is a patchwork of feelings and sensations...”

I suffered from disassociation for most of my childhood, right through my early 20’s I would say. It was my natural response to trauma, and it helped me cope as best I could. Of all the coping mechanisms I turned to in those years, it was probably the healthiest, if you could call it that. I have tried to resolve some of those issues through therapy and by talking with my mother, but the latter has been impossible. 

“My mother mistakes questions for attacks and accusations. She weaponizes her silences… My mother loves and hates and heals and hurts with the same hands.”

And now the lifelong effects, the clusterfuck that is BPD, has taken its hold on my life. I used to love amusement parks growing up, I would cry because I was too little to get on the most daring rides, but this is a roller coaster I wish I was never on. In the last 10-14 days I’ve gone slowly up the lift, sat at the top for a minute (or 5 days), and then came speeding down through the twists and turns until coming to an abrupt halt in the last 24hrs or so. And now, I’m not quite sure where I am; I’m kind of numb – which I am honestly OK with.

“Depression is easy. It comes as hard as thunder and destroys. Mania is the seductive one; the one you’re not supposed to fall in love with… Then there is a switch. The space where they all meet: anxiety, hypomania, depression. It becomes more difficult to fall asleep, yet my eyes fly open an hour, sometimes two, before my alarm and I just lie there, staring at the blurred walls or ceiling of my bedroom.”

This book hit home on so many levels. I’m actually having trouble finding another that compares to it, so much so that I think I am just going to read this one again! I tend to speed read, something I’ve done for as long as I can remember, and I think this book deserves another look – word for word.

And, lastly, four positive words from the book: 

"SOME DAYS ARE FINE."