I am accomplished on paper. I know this. I have a steady job that I have held for four years. While I struggle with money due to impulsive tendencies to spend, I live a comfortable life. I also own my own home at a pretty young age; which is pretty legit considering the times and what the majority of America is struggling with. I also have a core group of people around me that I know will be there if I need them. They have already proven their loyalty to me time and time again. So if you were to look at my life from the outside, it appears pretty good. Regardless of the BPD, I have made a pretty secure life for myself. I am responsible and self-sufficient, which are characteristics that even those without a mental disorder struggle with. As my psychiatrist terms it, I am “high functioning”. However, this is all because I internalize everything. All the hatred, all the anger, all the emptiness…..it houses itself inside me. And I fight daily to ensure that I do not take that anger out on the people in my life. Instead of hating the world, I hate myself. While I am accomplished, I will never believe that I am worthy. I will never think that I am enough. And even with all the evidence to the contrary, I truly believe the people in my life would be better off without me. I know that I am wrong in this assumption. But it is still something innate in me. I battle thoughts of suicide almost daily. And the scars on my arms are proof of that battle. At my recent therapist appointment I showed her the scars on my arm from my recent suicide attempt and her initial reaction was “Oh my god”. She then said, “You really did mean it didn’t you?” Yes. Yes I did.
But I am still here. And there are a handful of reasons that I can attribute that to. One of them, probably the main reason, is my godson. He is the most amazing thing in my life. And my love for him, I can’t put into words. Part of that is because I want to be for him everything that my godmother was not. I never want him to know these inner demons that I battle. And I want to provide him with the stability that I was never given. The other part of it is because I know that he saved me. From the moment I first held him, on the first day of his life, my world was changed. Shortly after his birth I went on the medication that is responsible for helping to control my emotions (an antipsychotic). And I remain on the medication because of him. His smile heals me. And his existence makes me want to continue to be here. To see him grow up. To be a part of the structure in his life. I know, this is a lot to attribute to a two year old who only recently was able to say my name. But it is the truth. From the first time his eyes opened, he has known who I was. And his love for me is the purest form of love. Because he does not know how to “fake” it. I know that he counts on me and loves me just because I exist. And for him I continue to try. I may mess up. I may lose control temporarily. I may have to battle harder than others because I try harder than most to ensure that the majority of the people in my life do not know I struggle with something as serious as BPD. Which means I battle internally with the emotions that most allow to take them over so that they can allow others to help them. I do a lot on my own. I falter. I cry to myself and “wait out” my surges of emotions on my own. It is harder for me at times. But for his smile, it’s worth it. It is all worth it. He will never know the extent to which he has saved me. And I never want him to know. But I know. I will always know. And that is enough.