Hi, its been a while. I looked it up, and my very first blog post was May of last year (if you missed it, check it out Here ) I thought, I’d introduce myself today, so if you’ve met me before, sit tight, maybe you’ll learn something new about me!
My name is Rebecca, I’m a 26 year old living in Ontario with Borderline Personality Disorder, depression and social anxiety. I teach yoga, and started this blog as a project for my teacher training. I have felt very passionate about sharing my experience with BPD since I was diagnosed nearly two years ago. I feel that its important to speak openly and honestly about mental illness, abuse, trauma, and eating disorders, to reduce stigma and increase awareness. I’m sure I dont have to tell you why, but for more info go back to this post to read more. So now that we are (re)introduced, I thought it would be interesting to give you a more brief, but full disclosure, brutally honest look at what brought me here.
cript async src="//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js">
When I was a wee babe we lived in this tiny ass town in eastern Ontario: me, my mom and dad. My dad quit/took a break from his dream career to be a stay at home dad, and take care of me. When I was three, my mom was pregnant with my sister, and my dad died of a massive heart-attack. (He was the first of 13 friends/family members to pass before I was 16) We picked up and moved in with my grandmother, who, as fiery, spirited, brave and hilarious as she was, was emotionally/verbally/mentally abusive. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for my mom that day, just barely pregnant, losing the love of her life, and having to move back in with someone that by all accounts was responsible for a lot of emotional turmoil in her life. That said, the day I lost my dad, in some ways I lost her too, who could blame her, what an impossibly difficult position to be in. I lost the happy, carefree version of my childhood, and was unintentionally left on my own, emotionally speaking to figue shit out. We never really talked about my dad that much, but I dreamed about him every night for a couple years after. I, as a three year old, didn’t much understand what was happening, and blamed my grandmother because all I could understand was the day my dad died she appeared. When I was four she started to make comments about my weight, she started to inflict the previously mentioned abuse onto me. My mom, though she fought her ass off, started to take her emotions out on me too, and invalidating my emotions ‘you dont know what that feels like’. Bless her heart, know that none of what Im saying is coming from hate, its all out of love, and understanding. She must have been drowning and reached out to those closest, and I ended up being the family’s scapegoat. I was emotionally/verbally/mentally abused (unintentionally) by those who raised me, and was left alone to navigate the greif that came time and time again. I used to be afraid for them to come home and would brace myself for their screams, calling me selfish, self-centred, eluding that theyd rather die then come home to us. I had night terrors, slept walked, and always felt much like a pot that was about to boil over. Like I was walking on glass, and would sacrifice anything to see her smile, to fix her, for her to love me again. I used to say I didn’t want to grow up, and that wasn’t because I loved being a kid, its because I was always in so much emotional agony that I thought if it got worse when I grew up, as my mom always hinted, sure as fuck I wouldn’t be able to cope with it. I didn’t think I’d make it this far, I didn’t want to exist that long. I didnt think, as a kid, that I was even worth existing, or caring for. I started self-harming when I was….nine or ten I think, and have had disordered eating/body image for as long as I could remember. By the time I got to highschool I was in such a dark place that I had a plan for ending my life, I felt alone every day for almost my whole life, and honestly the only thing that kept me alive was the fear of hurting my family, the abusers, those that were causing a lot of the hurt in the first place. My poor sister grew up in hell too. Started even earlier for her, and she had her own shitty things thrown in there too. I love her to death, and always felt like I’d do anything for her. Unfortunately she grew up seeing me being treated like this, seeing that it was okay, and her own emotions have overwhelmed her, and we don’t see eye to eye at the moment, her behaviours and words used to hurt me really deeply. I don’t know when she changed, and I feel awful that I wasnt able to sheild her from the fucking hell that the world has been so far. She has her own shit to go through and heal through, and I send her all the best as she does so.
I dont remember a lot of my childhood. But if you ask me, I have Borderline Personality Disorder as a result of trauma, abuse causing a 3 year old teaching themselves how to cope with such powerful emotions. I dont say any of this to make you pity or feel bad for me, not even a little bit my intention. My intention in saying all this is to help connect a few dots, provide insight into some of my behaviours. When I was coming off as clingy to friends in highschool it was because I was so scared that I’d lose them, because I’d lost everyone else and there have been no stable relationships for me to learn from or feel safe in. I clung on because I was so glad to be noticed by someone, and so scared I’d be alone again. I desperately wanted someone to care, to notice, to listen. When I came off as quiet, it was because I was never allowed to speak. I was interrupted and criticized relentlessly. When I hid away, it was because I never felt safe being myself, never felt comfortable in my own skin. I felt like I only added misery into the lives of those I loved so I hid myself away to save you all. When I forgot our conversation it was because I was disassociated. My point is, there are always multiple ways of seeing things. Often times with mental illness we just jump to the first interpretation. This is a huge factor in stigmatizing BPD, because often our symptoms can come off as behaviours that are very easy to judge in other ways.
Thanks for reading, for being here and being you.
If you would like to support please share this with yer friends, or those who may need it. Be open, honest and loving in your day to day with those around you, and if you’re feeling generous consider using the ‘buy me a coffee’ button on the side (or bottom?) of the screen. No pressure, it helps me maintain the site, pay fees for it, and you know, all that technical stuff, as well as my time. You’re awesome and I love you regardless.
K. Byeeeeee (talk soon)