My usual psychiatrist is off sick.
‘You don’t seem emotionally unstable to me at the moment’ said the Dr, who I’d sat with for under half an hour. Yeah mate, that’s not really what Emotionally Unstable/Borderline Personality Disorder is. You should probably know that, considering you’re the one with the degree in this shit.
He commends me for coping med free and after hearing my reasoning agrees that at this time with my current routine and mindset I should continue med free until absolutely necessary.
I am doing so well he is reluctant to refer me to psychology because ‘sometimes when we’re stable it is good not to drag up the past again.’
Oh okay, yeah that’s how trauma works, it goes away when you remind it it’s in the past. Not to mention that CBT doesn’t really bring up the past, but instead focuses on current issues and self monitoring and thought training. Again, he should probably know a bit more about that than I do. I joke that the waiting lists are so long that by the time I get to see them I will probably be unstable and needing their help again!
It is still down to 3 possible diagnoses, or perhaps a unique blend of all of them. I am told that I may never get a specific one and that they also wouldn’t necessarily be able to rule any of them out, because they all have overlapping symptoms. Only with the worsening of certain symptoms would they be able to be definite, and then it wouldn’t be one of those 3 but a 4th diagnosis. (Depression and anxiety are a given).
I am told again (been told this by 2 Drs now) that I have ‘good insight.’
It’s undoubtedly true, but that doesn’t really help when I’m snivelling in the depths of depression and duvet fort, or rearranging my bookcase at 4am because if I don’t then how will the books know they are loved and cared about if I never manage to read them all!!!???
‘It’s good not to have a specific label for it’ he says.
‘Not for me! How do I know what help to get, what research to do, what books to read? How do I explain it to people when they ask?’
‘Well tell them how you feel.’
So that’s what I will do. I will continue to tell people how I feel, in whatever shape or form it comes out. (Usually writing, with the occasional interpretive dance).
I feel I have this thing inside me, with one hook in my mind, another deep in the pit of my body, searing it’s tentacles into my spirit, wrapping itself round and crushing my soul and sometimes it is all consuming. Sometimes it speeds me up and other times it weighs me down.
Whether I am happy or sad or anything in between, and no matter how in control of my life I feel, it never quite leaves me, and it always comes back.
And it’s so fucking tiring trying to keep my head above water.
All of us are fighting for survival, but for some of us the cement in our shoes are debts or perfectionism, or others expectations, or our pride. Mine is this undiagnosable, indistinguishable, rampant fucking beast that pulls at every fibre of my being, in too many directions at once.
To give it a name gives me a sense of control, reminds me that it’s a separate entity, not something that I created or invited in, but a part of me that isn’t actually Me, not who I am, or was, or can be, but this bastard fucking thing that I have to attend to that sometimes gets the better of me. And I have to fight for my health every single day.
The most frightening thing of all, this nameless, faceless thing might actually just be me, who I am, and that means I’m not really ill, or brave or brilliant, I’m just entirely fucked up.
Some days I would feel too weak and vulnerable to say any of this. Today I feel strong enough to be heard and am asking to be seen.
Because I know that the psychiatrist isn’t trained to see Me.
My usual psychiatrist is off sick.