Well, what goes up ... as the saying seems to predict, generally also comes down. It certainly seems to be the case with my state of mental well (or not so well) being! So - from feeling fairly good, earlier in the week - I went to feeling even lower again than my previous low, which seemed horrendous at the time, but which totally pales in comparison. Once again, I discovered new depths of horror, shame and unhappiness. What kicked that off?
Well, we went to the psychiatrist, as had been previously planned. I went in alone, already feeling a bit frazzled because I had forgotten to bring cash (no eftpos available) and also forgotten my referral letter. My patient man, of whom I will be ever undeserving, waited for me (after going and getting cash to pay for the appointment). I guess my appointment took just under an hour. The psychiatrist asked me lots of questions about my present, past, moods, work, relationships, reactions, substance use & I don't remember what else. Towards the end of the appointment, he told me that I would not need to continue to visit him, but that I should continue to see a psychologist, preferably one experienced in 'dialectic therapy' and continue to work with my doctor, and to possibly consider a course of antidepressants in the medium term, supervised by my doctor.
What else did he conclude? 1. That I am not bipolar. 2. That I am, however, a sufferer of 'borderline personality disorder (what a lovely label, NOT) and 3. That I am probably currently depressed as well. It seems that persons with BPD are more prone to depression than the general population.
So - how do I feel about all that. Pretty crap really. The outlook for BPD sufferers is not that great. Its a pretty much permanent thing and any therapy is very long term. Drugs don't, on the whole, fix it, or make it any easier to manage. Nice. AND - about two thirds of sufferers have some history of abuse which, while I don't believe I do have, leads to some fairly disconcerting self examination. It's the sort of diagnosis that really rocks your boat, and which, once you read up on the condition, doesn't leave you feeling very good about yourself. It's the sort of situation you can find yourself in and then find yourself thinking: NO amount of fucking lasagne is EVER going to make this feel any better. Bloody hell.
So - we had a very very very crap night, while I slowly digested this information, and took out the worst of my churning emotions and even more battered sense of self worth (lack thereof, to be more precise) .... on my poor darling partner, who is an amazing person for still being here, at all, let alone for still loving me - which in my view, must be pretty much mission impossible.
The next day (yesterday) wasn't much good to start with, then went downhill a bit more, despite my love's attempts to pull me out of my hole. I ended up getting lost, up the hill behind our place, and it took me quite a while to manage to come back down - by which time my man was in quite a lather of worry. Why do I do these things? I was hoping some spider or snake would find me, and take all my pain away. Hopeless. I'm sporting more self inflicted bruises now, too. What a fool I am. I read something in one of the sets of web-based information on borderline personalities - it said something along the lines of: it is hard to imagine the pain that BPD sufferers feel. Basically, you should imagine the absolutely worst emotional pain you have ever experienced, then triple it. I so related to that. It's not a very nice place at all inside my head, sometimes.
Damn. Then it all subsides again, and the sun shines, and wonderful friends contact me, my man puts his arms around me, birds sing .... and I love life, or at least love the possibility that I can feel the potential return of my love of life. And I can't figure out how I ever got to that bad place in the first instance - which is not very helpful - because it means I also can't figure out how to avoid going BACK to that bad place, in the future.
It is going to be a very, very long, bumpy and winding road to recovery, or at least to a place of more control and equilibrium. I'm not sure that there is a certain map and I can only pray that I will still have my precious partner, and my beautiful children by my side, if I ever get there. Pray in the very general sense of the word - I'm not a strictly regulated down on my kneads to the Christian concept of God praying type of person, but I do cry out to the wind, the sun, the trees and the stars - to a force of good and guidance that is bigger than me, and outside of myself. Right now I cry out with all of my heart and my soul for the Universe to watch over me as I work through this most difficult period of my life.
I hope there is an 'other side'. And I want, with all my heart, to get there one day and to be wiser, calmer, happier, and a better partner, when I do.
Well, we went to the psychiatrist, as had been previously planned. I went in alone, already feeling a bit frazzled because I had forgotten to bring cash (no eftpos available) and also forgotten my referral letter. My patient man, of whom I will be ever undeserving, waited for me (after going and getting cash to pay for the appointment). I guess my appointment took just under an hour. The psychiatrist asked me lots of questions about my present, past, moods, work, relationships, reactions, substance use & I don't remember what else. Towards the end of the appointment, he told me that I would not need to continue to visit him, but that I should continue to see a psychologist, preferably one experienced in 'dialectic therapy' and continue to work with my doctor, and to possibly consider a course of antidepressants in the medium term, supervised by my doctor.
What else did he conclude? 1. That I am not bipolar. 2. That I am, however, a sufferer of 'borderline personality disorder (what a lovely label, NOT) and 3. That I am probably currently depressed as well. It seems that persons with BPD are more prone to depression than the general population.
So - how do I feel about all that. Pretty crap really. The outlook for BPD sufferers is not that great. Its a pretty much permanent thing and any therapy is very long term. Drugs don't, on the whole, fix it, or make it any easier to manage. Nice. AND - about two thirds of sufferers have some history of abuse which, while I don't believe I do have, leads to some fairly disconcerting self examination. It's the sort of diagnosis that really rocks your boat, and which, once you read up on the condition, doesn't leave you feeling very good about yourself. It's the sort of situation you can find yourself in and then find yourself thinking: NO amount of fucking lasagne is EVER going to make this feel any better. Bloody hell.
So - we had a very very very crap night, while I slowly digested this information, and took out the worst of my churning emotions and even more battered sense of self worth (lack thereof, to be more precise) .... on my poor darling partner, who is an amazing person for still being here, at all, let alone for still loving me - which in my view, must be pretty much mission impossible.
The next day (yesterday) wasn't much good to start with, then went downhill a bit more, despite my love's attempts to pull me out of my hole. I ended up getting lost, up the hill behind our place, and it took me quite a while to manage to come back down - by which time my man was in quite a lather of worry. Why do I do these things? I was hoping some spider or snake would find me, and take all my pain away. Hopeless. I'm sporting more self inflicted bruises now, too. What a fool I am. I read something in one of the sets of web-based information on borderline personalities - it said something along the lines of: it is hard to imagine the pain that BPD sufferers feel. Basically, you should imagine the absolutely worst emotional pain you have ever experienced, then triple it. I so related to that. It's not a very nice place at all inside my head, sometimes.
Damn. Then it all subsides again, and the sun shines, and wonderful friends contact me, my man puts his arms around me, birds sing .... and I love life, or at least love the possibility that I can feel the potential return of my love of life. And I can't figure out how I ever got to that bad place in the first instance - which is not very helpful - because it means I also can't figure out how to avoid going BACK to that bad place, in the future.
It is going to be a very, very long, bumpy and winding road to recovery, or at least to a place of more control and equilibrium. I'm not sure that there is a certain map and I can only pray that I will still have my precious partner, and my beautiful children by my side, if I ever get there. Pray in the very general sense of the word - I'm not a strictly regulated down on my kneads to the Christian concept of God praying type of person, but I do cry out to the wind, the sun, the trees and the stars - to a force of good and guidance that is bigger than me, and outside of myself. Right now I cry out with all of my heart and my soul for the Universe to watch over me as I work through this most difficult period of my life.
I hope there is an 'other side'. And I want, with all my heart, to get there one day and to be wiser, calmer, happier, and a better partner, when I do.
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