Living life on the borderline

The BPD and PTSD debate. Round two.

Posted on: March 24, 2010

So I like to intellectualize, and I shall indulge in that defence mechanism shamelessly in this post.

The consultant at the hospital didn’t think some of my symptoms were “severe” enough to meet the criteria of PTSD. Although I was diagnosed with it in the community before I went into hospital. But he said the things that’ve happened in my life have contributed to my apparent personality disorder.

Maybe I just didn’t understand him properly. Or he doesn’t understand himself. Or I don’t understand myself. What?

I’d like to do away with the DSM altogether and treat people as individuals but it just doesn’t work like that. My experiences (mostly with physical and sexual abuse) are just that – my experiences. They are not to be sized up and judged to see what box they can be fitted into. They are not tools for nameless, faceless pseudo-gods to measure my level of sanity.

Too much happened and my mind broke. There’s my own personal diagnosis. Broken-brain syndrome.

I actually really love intellectualizing. I can come out with fancy words and impress doctors and make them forget that they were asking me to talk about feelings. Because whenever they try to (and believe me, they do try), I just take them off track by discussing theories or criteria or something equally fascinating. Before you know it, the 50 minute “psychiatric hour” has passed and I’ve avoided getting down to the nitty gritty for another session.

It might sound pointless to anyone reading this, like I’m wasting their time. I suppose I am, but I know how I can get if I do get talking about things that’ve happened. I become dangerous. My self harm gets out of control. I get on first name terms with the nurses at Accident and Emergency. I might be crazy but I’m not stupid – I’m not going to mess with a relatively stable sense of mind by bringing up things.

Does that make sense? Maybe it doesn’t to anyone but me. And I guess it hasn’t worked that well because I still tried to kill myself and I still ended up in hospital and I’m still how I am now because I can’t handle remembering or seeing it all the time.

So I’m no further forward, or even backward. I’m just stuck and all these labels aren’t doing anything because each doctor has their own opinion. And I have neither the energy nor the will to go back and think about those things.

Except I’m thinking about them now and I hate it and the flashbacks are starting and I want to binge. We have loads of millionaire’s shortbread downstairs. Oh Lordy Lord.

I’m so screwed up.

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About the blogger.

I'm an 18 year old girl/woman/person of the female gender who blogs about growing up, living with mental health problems and her experience with the NHS mental health services, both CAMHS and CMHTs. Expect plenty of teenage angst and general craziness. Nothing out of the ordinary here.

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