Would it truly be so horrible for me to have the diagnosis of borderline personality disorder? Can one not be a good person and have bpd? Sometimes I question it. So many people seem to want to “save” me from the diagnosis of it, to justify or explain away my borderline traits as if the label of bpd is such a terrible thing. And I know that their intentions are good, I don’t doubt that, but what it says to me every time is that it’s not alright to have bpd. In the end what it does is further enhance the shame and stigma already surrounding this disorder.
I often wonder if I made a mistake in blogging on here about my diagnosis and mental health. Generally what I write here was and is focused on my connective tissue disorder and chronic pain. My diagnosis of bpd came almost a year after I had started this blog and I thought about it for a few weeks before deciding that I would share it here. But, generally I don’t go into much detail about what exactly I struggle with in regards to my mental health or what exactly led me to seek help and end up with the diagnosis in the first place. I speak vaguely of it, but I haven’t even scratched the surface of my life with bpd on this blog. That’s because I don’t feel comfortable sharing such personal details of my life on here and because I’d rather keep the medical aspect of this blog focused on what it was meant to from the beginning; my physical health.
Hardly anyone in my personal life knows about my bpd. This is in large part because I’m often ashamed of it and also because when people find out they begin to ask questions, questions that I’m not comfortable answering. The only people that do know do only because I couldn’t hide my symptoms from them. They knew that something was wrong, and eventually it became so obvious that the only option that I had was to tell them the truth about it. When I chose to include this in my blog it was for two reasons. The first was in the hopes that other people in similar situations would reach out to me, and I wouldn’t feel so alone. The second was in order to help sort out my feelings about the diagnosis, and keep from coping through denial, replacing that with honesty and openness.
I will never make this a borderline blog. I will never be okay with writing out the day to day struggles of bpd and how unwell it makes me. If this were an anonymous blog then that would be different and I wouldn’t feel the need to be as guarded. Because of that this will also never be a portrait of life with bpd. If you expect to look through my blog and know what bpd looks and feels like then you will be consuming an inaccurate account of what to expect when it comes to borderline people. I don’t put out enough information on the disorder to be of educational use to anyone. That is why no one can read through my posts and accurately tell me that I don’t sound like I have bpd. If I described living with the disorder as I describe living with Marfan Syndrome that would be an entirely different thing.
What it comes down to is this: no one needs to pity me because of this diagnosis, and certainly no one needs to try and tell me that my circumstances and hardships excuse me from having bpd. I was struggling with major aspects of this disorder before I even knew what to call it, so for me the name really doesn’t matter. These things are all a part of what makes me me, both the good and the bad. I am a good person. I’m mature, sympathetic, strong and kind, and I also happen to have bpd, at least so I’m told by the “professionals”. Having this disorder does not make me a bad person. It doesn’t mean that I’m not capable of good things and it certainly doesn’t mean that I’m about to turn into Alex Forrest from Fatal Attraction at any minute. And maybe there will come a day when more is understood about mental health, and my symptoms fit into a different category, a day when I’m told that I in fact really don’t suffer from BPD. Like I said, the name really doesn’t matter, it’s the progress I make within myself in order to be better and overcome my demons that should be the focus. Which is something we all face anyways, “borderline” or not.
This is me. I’m not that “borderline girl” or that girl who has Marfan Syndrome. I’m me. The rest is just background noise, pieces of the puzzle. For now, I am someone who was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. And I’m okay with that. It validates a war that I’ve been fighting against myself for many, many years. It tells me that I’m not alone with feelings that I thought no one else in this world would understand. For now, it gives me an answer that I desperately needed.