What Goes Up Must Come Down

There’s a problem with living with borderline personality disorder: it doesn’t make things easy for me. There I was, one week ago, the happiest four days I have experienced potentially ever in my life, and here I am, one week later, back to that dark pit I know only too well. There I was, my worth affirmed as a person, the realisation that I didn’t want to hurt myself anymore, the recognition that I can get better, that I am getting better. Here I am, fumbling around scars and struggling to navigate the quagmire of life as I know it. Suddenly, that week is tainted. Was it really that good? Was it? It can’t have been as good as I thought, because otherwise it would have kept me happy, not just made me happy momentarily.

That’s BPD: it doesn’t make things easy.

My moods are a piece of elastic being stretched between two opposite poles of maximum and minimum, with a range of anger, self-destruction and anxiety riddling the in between. There is no middle ground. There is no okay. I am either elated, and possibly manic, or I am crumbling. I am curled up in the foetal position trying to resist self harm urges as the carpet dampens with my tears, or I am higher than the clouds, so high it doesn’t even feel like I’m walking on the earth anymore, but floating above everyone, who cannot keep up with me.

Everything is bad. Or everything is highfastfasthighfastfasthighfastfasthigh

There is no in between. And the worst part, the most gut wrenching part, is that I know lows. I know the worst of lows. I know the kind of dark depression that consumes you so fully that you cannot bring yourself to smile, to laugh, to smirk for weeks on end. I know the kind of sadness that makes all my limbs feel leaden, and anhedonia that is so strong I cannot lift myself out of bed. And still, I would prefer that. Because it has lifted. It has. The worst of the depression has lifted. But what I’m left with is a mess. A mess of emotions and experiences and the tangled thoughts that accompany them.

I’m not saying I like being depressed. I’m saying that this kind of unpredictable instability is just as bad.

I wish there was an in between.


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