I was twenty-four-years-old on my way to a residential treatment center in Chicago for an eating disorder when I got what I thought was devastating news that I had borderline personality disorder (BPD). When BPD hit my brain I lashed out inside. “Not another diagnosis,” I screamed while lines of thoughts trailed rapidly through my head. These thoughts came in all shapes and sizes. Some thoughts of abandonment flew by, other thoughts of suicidal ideation zoomed by. My mood was up and down like I was on a roller coaster, and not the kiddy one. I was a lost soul living in a world of self-destructive torment where everything was wrong. I felt lonely. My body, to me, looked like an inflated balloon. And I felt abandoned, even though I had a loving, supportive family, friends, and support team.
Since that fall afternoon walk with my therapist, when we discussed why I had BPD, I started to understand that having BPD was not a bad thing but a gift. It answered so many questions of why my mood and thought processes were the way they were. It has helped make me a stronger person.
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I am not sure that I agree with this writer but hey, I have not been diagnosed with BPD so I have not experienced what she is writing about.
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