I wrote this poem for someone a few years back.
Happy Valentines Day!
Strings of telephone wires beaded with wild birds
sing in the wind
as I think of you and drive to infinite thoughts
consumed by madness or love or hate or confusion
and brought to the depths of what can only be assumed as utter despair
connected somehow by the way the sun sets and the heat rises
and the waves crashing and colliding as your chest falls
and I breathe you in
savouring the sensation as you flow through my veins
winding like a sidewinder around my heart
pumping the blood ferociously
seeping out of the pores in my translucent skin.
your love is transcendent and I gorge on your scent
to try evade this hunger
and yet you kiss my lips
and my body bursts into flames
it is impossible
and irrational to attempt to extinguish.
Today has been one of those awful days where I just can’t seem to shift my “bad mood”. For some reason I woke up incredibly grumpy and I just don’t know why. This is unfortunately one of the MANY things people with BPD suffer with. So yeah, not knowing why you’re in a bad mood sucks, sure. But the worst part? The worst part is STILL having to EXPLAIN yourself to close family members. They just keep on asking “What’s wrong?” or “Why are you in a bad mood?” or “What’s happened to make you feel like this?” I DON’T FUCKING KNOW, OKAY? If I did I would obviously say something, but I don’t. And it’s not like it’s the first time it’s happened either. IT happens A LOT. And it’s EXHAUSTING.
Imagine having this incredibly overwhelming feeling in your chest, in the pit of your stomach and a lump in your throat. And the continuous inner monologue of ALL of the voices in your head telling you that “you’re not good enough”, “you’re not trying hard enough”, “everyone thinks you’re a failure”, “nobody will ever understand you”, “everyone hates you” “you’re a freak”, “you have so much to do today and you can’t even get out of bed, you’re a mess”. As I write this, I am sobbing at the sheer emotional pain of it all. I am in constant fear and I am forevermore at war with myself. Most of which takes part in my own head because I can’t fathom why I am the way I am, let alone try to explain this to anyone else.
I am suffocating with infinite sadness and yet I am terrified for asking for help because people just don’t understand. All I want is for love, understanding and a bit of compassion, but that seems all too much to ask, even from my own family. I can hear my mum in my head now saying “But I thought you were getting better? I thought you were feeling better?”. Like even my recovery or my therapy STILL IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH. Yes, I was feeling okay, and have been “coping.” But today I am just not doing so well. I have to accept it so why can’t anybody else learn to? Or if not, just leave me be. Leave me alone and I will come to you if I need you.
Basically, It’s hard enough having to deal with yourself as it is, let alone trying to help others “deal” with you. At the end of the day, I am on a journey to making myself better. And I am trying my god damn hardest to do that. And if that’s still not good enough? Well then that’s your problem, not mine.
So today I had one of my one to one therapy sessions that I usually have once a week. We always start off with some mindfulness which, if you haven’t tried it, is pretty damn amazing. It usually helps to calm me but for today some reason I just couldn’t focus and my mind kept wondering off. It wasn’t until my therapist asked me “how have things been” that I realised why I couldn’t focus; as soon as he said this I just burst into tears. I sobbed, quite hard. I realised I had been bottling these tears up for some time and hadn’t let myself cry or let anything out for the sheer fact I was embarrassed to. I was afraid of being judged, of judging myself but mostly I think I was afraid of opening “Pandora’s box”. I know for a fact that once I start, I can rarely stop. And that’s with basically anything I do – eat, take drugs, exercise, drink alcohol…. you name it. But that isn’t my main focus here – it’s the fact that I was ashamed to cry. To express my feelings and emotions and to let my guard down.
Ironically, I grew up surrounded by emotionally unstable people, telling me that I was “too sensitive” and I needed to toughen up. So it’s no wonder that now, as a 28 year old woman, I struggle with showing my deepest emotions and my sensitive side. I try to hide it and lock it away, allowing it to build up and subsequently blow out of proportion. I was told in not so many words that it was “bad” to cry and “wrong” to show people what you were feeling or thinking. But as I’ve grown older I know that this isn’t entirely the case. I was just never around acceptance enough when I was younger. Rewiring my brain to think otherwise? It’s virtually impossible.
What I am trying to say is that it’s good to have a cry sometimes and let stuff out. Even if it really fucking hurts. We shouldn’t listen to other people telling us how to be, think or feel. We are who we are and we should be fucking proud of that.
So next time you feel yourself welling up, just let it all out. Take a deep breath, have a cuppa, and move on. It’s important not to carry these emotions with you; it’s only you who can feel all of that pain.
Stay blessed x
This is a poem I wrote a year or so ago on my typewriter. I hope you like it 🙂 x
Today I would like to share one of my coping strategies. It’s also a big hobby of mine and I try to do it at least three to four times a week. It’s a healthy addiction (believe me I’ve had many, most of them VERY unhealthy ones) and it really helps with my depression and anxiety. Can you guess what it is? That’s right… it’s THE GYM! Yes I am one of those annoying fitness people (sometimes).
I’ve recently started having personal training sessions with a guy at my local gym and it has been one of the most empowering experiences of my life. He’s teaching me and training me on how to lift heavy weights, correctly and carefully. I have to say it’s pretty damn amazing. I can feel myself getting physically fitter and stronger every time I go and I feel incredible for it. Strong independent womaannn 😉
However, I’m yet to discover any abs (extremely disappointing) due to the fact my nutrition is probably not 100%. I struggle sometimes with binging and overeating, mainly sugary and extremely delicious foods that are quite bad for you if not eaten in proportion to a healthy diet. I never used to struggle with this but my medications seem to make me crave sugar and carbs. Oh the joys of being on antidepressants and mood stabilisers*. Even though they do wonders for my mental health, they’re not so great for my physical health. Although I am slowly getting there with dealing with my cravings, it still feels like a bit of an uphill battle with this one. For any of you that has the same problems, I really feel for you cos it isn’t fun. Especially in today’s society where the need to feel perfect is so strong, people resort to starving themselves and worse. I will elaborate on this further in another blog, so hold up.
Anyway, sorry for rambling on, I sometimes feel the need to say a billion things at once! But the jist of what I am trying to say is that where there’s a will, there’s a way and if you want something bad enough YOU ARE CAPABLE of getting it. You just have to be patient and persist. I know this is easier said than done because when you suffer with depression it’s hard to sometimes even get out of bed or wash yourself or even eat. I know, I’ve been there and it’s a dark and soulless place. It’s all about those baby steps. I have faith in you. You might not see the light yet but it’s there; just behind those dark grey clouds, it is there. I promise.
So when all else fails and you feel like punching someone or hurting yourself? Go to the gym. It works wonders. Even if you struggle to get yourself there or get going, once you do you will feel a new sense of purpose. It might even clear those clouds. You just gotta hang on, it will be worth it.
*Mirtazipine and Quetiapine
I would like to first and foremost introduce myself. My name is Athina, I am 28 years old and I have Borderline Personality Disorder. Although this “diagnosis” does not to define me, it is (un)fortunately an overwhelming part of who I am and who I will always be.
I was first diagnosed with depression at the age of 18. It wasn’t until I had what I call my “mid-twenties life crisis” that I was diagnosed with BPD by the mental health team at Stoke Mandeville Hospital. This was in October 2015. On the 25th January 2016, a day before my 26th birthday, I tried to take my own life. Thankfully I wasn’t successful, as you can see. Two years on and my life has been an emotional roller coaster, a journey, a lesson(s) in life. This doesn’t even touch the tip of the iceberg and I guess that is why I am writing this now.
I am living proof that life does get better but that life goes on with or without you. It is yours for the taking. So if you, or someone you know has suffered (or is still suffering) with mental health problems, then please just know that you are not alone. We are all in this together. I hope that you will continue to read what I have to share with you and I hope even more that it will help you and inspire you. Be the master of your fate and the captain of your soul.
Fortune favours the brave. – Unknown.