Yesterday at the ripe old age of 36 I got a conclusive diagnosis from a psychiatrist. Although It’s been mentioned before over the years, nobody has sat me down and said this is it, this is you. It’s no longer called BPD professionally, it’s been changed to EUPD or Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder to the uninitiated. This change was prompted by the stigma people face when given a BPD diagnosis. I had another diagnosis too, but I can’t discuss that here. I’m just not ready to discuss it, I don’t know if I ever will so please don’t ask me.
The psychiatrist sat on my sofa with me, and outlined all the traits I have had since God knows when, while the nurse looked on from the chair opposite. I felt so very small and anyone in real life who knows me would tell you, I’m only a small women anyway. I couldn’t make eye contact, I was like a trapped animal. People assume home treatment is better than visiting the hospital, it really isn’t for me. You can’t just escape from your own home like you can from the hospital. Also and harder to express is the atmosphere that is left behind when they leave. Call it bad JuJu or something, a heavy, polluted kind of atmosphere.
It was explained to me that up to yet my history with the mental health services has been a series of lulls and crisis repeating over and over. Each time I go into crisis my medication is altered or increased; this is done with the aim of sedating me long enough to get me through the worst of it. This didn’t work this time. I was told by the psychiatrist that in my case as in a lot of others, medication can only ever make me docile enough to cope with the symptoms, slow me down enough to prevent meltdowns. I already knew this to a point, but I guess you always hope that one day some miracle drug will come along and make you neuro typical again.
It was explained that I need intensive psychological therapy to help me open doors that haven’t been opened in years, to give me coping strategies that actually work.
It’s all very scary to think about. But I know I have to go there before my brain succeeds in killing me.
I’ve always hated hope, hope in my eyes just stops you from accepting reality. So I won’t say I’m hopeful. I will say instead that I’m open. Open to a way of living a relatively content life, open to learning not to push away the people I love most and open to accepting myself regardless of my flaws. That will have to be enough for now.
Love to you all x
Listening to Outside by Staind