Thursday was my birthday, I turned 31. A friend paid for me to get two new tattoos which I designed over a year ago but never had the money to get. That brings my total number of tattoos up to four, each designed by me, each meaningful. All reminders of strength, a willingness to fight on, the strength of my ancestors, or of my own achievements. They're positive things for me, it's a creative process I enjoy and my tattoos are always there to remind me even pain can create beautiful end results. But this trip was even more monumental, because its the first time I've left the house in longer than I can remember.
Standing in the street was both wonderful and horrific. Seeing the autumn leaves and feeling the cool of the breeze was excellent. Being among people, cars, buses? That was terrible, anxiety inducing, and on top of that walking made my back pain play up which hurts a lot more than any tattoo. Calling into the chemist was truly horrible. My husband had to ask for what I needed (cream for tattoo after care) because I couldn't speak to the pharmacist. I just stood behind him, feeling like the pharmacist as suspicious of my motives even though I wasn't doing anything wrong, we'd never met before, and I know such thoughts are just my condition playing tricks on me. Feeling judged is part of my social phobia and it makes interaction with others a constant and exhausting challenge.
Actually getting the tattoos was great, however, because I went to the artist who did my last tat. She seems to have a lot of similar interests to me and the hubby, and she is far easier to talk to than I find many people. Sure, I over-analysed everything I said, but it was good. I achieved something. I both talked to someone and achieved going out to do something. That's progress.
But it's also when things got more complicated.
See, my mam, who I adore and who is one of my best friend (along with hubby) doesn't like tattoos. She vocally and visibly doesn't like tattoos. Neither does my mother in law, although she's no longer vocal. I saw the expressions of tight-lipped disapproval from both of them, and that caused anxiety to build rapidly.
Disapproval makes me nervous; I've lost enough people to fear disapproval, but at the same time I've survived losing enough people to know that - over things I find positive, things that help me and hurt no one else - it's my opinion that matters. It's my body. It's my self-image. It's my self-expression.
With everything else I'm a protector; I hide away more than you'd expect from someone with tattooed forearms. I hide my self-harm from most people and especially my kids, because I know they need stability (incidentally, since crisis team intervention I've been almost self-harm free). When I argue with my husband, we restrict it to when the kids are asleep or staying at their grandparents, we hide the problems. Providing safety and stability for my children is my utmost priority, just as it is my husbands, so I hide the ill, desperate side of myself away.
Some days that means hiding a lot. On others not so much. But creative outlets help (part of the reason I write novels, actually, and why I do illustrations for this blog), so to be able to get tattooed and express a part of me openly is nice. It's a bit of freedom when I often feel I need to hide, imprisoned by my depression, anxiety, phobias, the stigma attached to my sexuality, and as of this week, my newly diagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder.
BPD. I needed the diagnosis to get suitable treatment and so that I understand the need to step back when emotion takes over so I can gain objectivity. However, I needed another 'label' and the attached stigma about as much as the world needs Boris Johnson - Not at all.
To me, it's something else I'll have to hide from most people, because there's so much negativity attached to it. You just need to google 'BPD parenting' to be persuaded BPD mothers always destroy their children because they are incapable of putting them first, because they're narcissists, selfish, and inherently abusive people. One 'therapist' even claimed on twitter that BPD parents were incapable of loving their children.
How offensive is that? And no, this isn't an unjustified BPD rage. I'm calm right now. I'm rational. But as peer abuse (you might call it bullying) undoubtedly had a profound affect on my development and subsequent mental health problems, I strongly disapprove of false, stigmatising statements that misinform and may cause others to be judgemental towards a person they know nothing about. That particular 'therapist' seems to make so many black and white statements that she sounds more BPD than me.
And here's the thing: I CAN and DO love my children. I love them more than anything. I love my husband. My mam. My friends, even if I don't see them as often as I should. BPD is wrongly seen as an illness which prevents emotion and empathy, but that's just not true. Maybe some sufferers have disconnected so completely as a reaction to their heightened emotional state, but that's not true of all. In truth, BPD means I feel things MORE, not less, and that's true of a great many of us. Probably the majority, to be honest, otherwise it would seem more accurate to disgnose Anti-social Personality Disorder, which does include a lack of empathy. Or at least Narcissistic Personality Disorder which is characterised by caring only for ones own needs, at the detriment of others.
I'm hurt easily, yes, and my temper can burn brightly, although usually only when provoked into defending a loved one. My temper flares when I'm defending my mam, my husband, or my children, (or, for some reason, defending the following of best practise procedures at work). Most of my major arguments with my husband have been over something he's done which has risked our family home and/our our kids wellbeing (financially). For example, his panic when he was made redundant led him to acquiring debt and going into mortgage arrears which he didn't tell me about. I didn't know until the mortgage man turned up on the doorstep (while I was home alone and 36 weeks pregnant), and then when debt collectors started ringing. Once I knew, I sorted the issues, but I was furious, and I did do the 'I hate you, don't leave me' thing then.
My condition also means I worry intensley about my children. so much so that the first time my five year old crossed the street on her own to go and 'seek' a friend, I felt ill. I was breathless and nauseous even though I could watch her cross the streetvto ensure she was safe. But guess what? I didn't put my own emotional needs first, before my child's development. I didn't act as the internet claims a BPD person would inevitably do, and satisfy their emotional needs first and foremost. I let her cross the street, knowing we've taught her road safety and knowing that she has to be allowed to grow without having my fears pushed on her.
She's at the age where she wants friends outside the home, and she loves the girl across the street who is two years older than her. I'm fine with that. That's my daughter growing and I'm pleased she has friends and has fun interacting with other children, because I wasn't much older than her when the peer abuse started in my life and did huge harm, harm I never want my children to face.
That's what I do. Bury my anxiety so my kids can have a bright future, then let it out when they can't see, or hear, or through writing and art. So much of what I've done, right down to my hobbies are about conquering irrational fear/anxiety specifically so my kids can have wonderful experiences without me projecting my anxiety onto them. I started to swim and kayak, my husband's hobbies, despite anxiety about drowning, which I inherited from my mam. I did this specifically because I will not allow my irrational fears to be passed on to my children. I want them to swim, to learn water safety, to go on adventures with the scouts (if they wish). Or they can travel. Dance. Write. Be doctors. Soldiers. Pilots. Midwives. Ice Cream Van Owners. I will not allow my emotional insecurity to dictate my childrens' futures or destroy them... Yet the internet claims I will always put my needs first.
Truth is, what I need is for my children to live happy lives, content with themselves and their achievements, which is something I rarely feel for myself.
Additionally, there is no preferential treatment in our house, despite what is said about BPD parents 'splitting' their children into the 'good' one and the 'bad' one. There is also no violence or emotional abuse. We're the sort of household where the concept of a smacked bottom is a game, not a punishment, because it isn't a genuine threat. We use non-physical methods of teaching our children right from wrong. We use time outs ( though not often), refusing treats (again, rarely needed), etc. And my husband and I work together to ensure continuity of discipline and care. We both treat both of our children the same.
Despite what the internet claims about BPD parents, I do not use my children to hurt my husband; I'll leave using kids as weapons to my younger brother. He's very good at that, but I don't have the stomach for such behaviour. I do not rely on my children to make me feel loved, either. Sure, it hurts when they say they don't want me or that they 'aren't my best friend', but I also understand that's normal three year old behaviour. I do not rage at my children either, because they are my world. See, although I meet the criteria for BPD, I am not the self-centred monster some would have you believe.
I will always put my children first, even when it comes to my phobias. I'm petrified of strangers and dogs, but I will always stand between my children and stray dogs or unsavory looking characters. My fear does not come before protecting them because I love them and they deserve to come first. They are so much more important to me than I am to myself.
During the economic downturn I was made redundant, the week I had our daughter, our eldest child. Despite that, I set up a business. I worked for years, for next to nothing, for no emotional or health benefits, just to keep a roof over my childrens' heads. I even worked via my tablet while in a hospital bed, waiting for an operation, because what I was doing would pay for my children's food, clothes, and trips out. And I only took two days off after my operation Everything I do is for my children, but the stigma against BPD suffers would state this can't be true. It'd claim I must be lying. But I'm not lying. I'm not manipulating. I'm not perceiving things differently from how others see them, and I know this because it is other people who tell me I'm caring for my children, even when my sense of worthlessness makes me feel I'm failing them.
The 'claims' we've read recently about BPD have upset my husband as much as they upset me, because they aren't accurate. Not all BPD sufferers are narcissists. Yes, some have narcissistic traits. I have more avoidant traits. Do you know what that means? I'm more of a people avoider and then people pleaser than a people user. Narcissists have used me because I am constantly worried about what other people think and feel and seek to please. When I make mistakes, I apologise. When people need me, I'm there. I've spent all night talking a friends out of suicide more than once, even while suffering suicidal ideation myself. I am not an unfeeling narcissist. What I am is often over-sensitive, often empathetic individual who often cares too much rather than too little.
There are website after website of people discussing their 'psycho' and 'manipulative' BPD exes, and while I'm sure some BPDs are abusive to be involved with, that could be for any number of reasons. Maybe they have a more severe case. Maybe they have co-morbid Narcissistic Personality Disorder, or narcissistic raits. Maybe they are in denial about their condition. I don't know. what I do know is that the descriptions are not representative of every BPD sufferer. Why? I suspect because many of us are too afraid of negative backlash to discuss our problems and how the affect us, and if our partners are happy with us they don't need online support forums and so no one sees that side of the coin.
But there is a flip side.
Guess what? I'm self aware. I know my flaws and I'm getting help for them. To some who claim to understand what BPD means, that might come as a surprise. in fact, they may somehow twist that statement in an attempt to prove I'm manipulating you, my readers. But I'm not. I wear my heart on my sleeve. this blog is about honesty. Brutal honesty.
I've always understood aspects of my personality, even before it was given a label. That understanding has allowed me to sustain a loving and committed relationship with my husband for nearly thirteen years (and we're stronger now, despite my problems, than we were a year ago). It's allowed me to begin raising two beautiful children who are both doing well at school/nursery, who are openly affectionate but also confident in expressing their personal preferences and beliefs, who behave exactly like normal five and three year old children - and I know this because they're constantly watched by our family of teachers, special needs teaching assistants, and people who've studied child development.
I am not damaging my children. Why? Because my mental illness is treated as equal to a physical ailment by my support network. I do not depend on my children and I have the support of both family and trained professionals. Which brings me to my point, BPD parents can be good parents, but stigma allows the circulation of misinformation which means people with an illness are discriminated against rather than helped to live fulfilling lives. We need to start treating mental illness like other illness. Diagnose. Treat. And do not blame and accuse the patient. You wouldn't accuse someone with a physical illness of being unfit to parent just because of their diagnosis, you would see how they managed their illness first. It's time we did the same with mental illness.
Remember, most crimes (including domestic/child abuse) are committed without the culprit suffering mental health issues. My BPD doesn't mean I'm abusive, just like anothers lack of mental illness doesn't guarentee them not to be. We MUST stop demonising what we personally don't understand or have not experienced. That goes for invisible illnesses, disabilities, sexuality, gender indentification, all of it. Just stop. It's wrong. It's unnecessary. It does more harm than good.
It's also the reason I might choose to stay in the closet about suffering BPD. I'll talk to my doctors, my nurses, my mam, and my husband - those people I need for BPD/Depression treatment to work. I'll even talk to twitter about my conditions, but only under a pseudonym for now. But I won't put that diagnosis next to my real name in public. No more than I tell the general public I'm bi-sexual.
That is, actually, pretty much how I deal with my sexuality as well. I'm open to talking anonymously - campaigning to #endstigma, even - but not to those know me. Family wise, only my husband and mam know about my bi-sexuality. My husband in much the same as me (although he's told none of his family yet, and may never). My mam reacted to my revelation (only last year) as she would to a tattoo; with displeasure and eventually an unwillness to discuss it at all. That left me feeling as though part of me is wrong, broken, not quite right. Much the same as many think of mental illnesses, to be honest.
Not that it'should my mam's fault. She is from a different generation, that'sounds all. She doesn't stigmatise others but she isn't thrilled at knowing I falling under the LGBT label. Straight is easy, simple, understood. I guess that's why a lot of parents want their kids to be straight; it's easy and isn't stigmatised. But the world isn't fair or easy onavigation people. Sometimes it's a struggle.
Such is the life of the zombie in the closet; I have ever more to hide because of unjustified stigma. Learning to accept myself is hard when others don't accept me, but what the hell; this is the hand I've been dealt. But goodness, I hate labels.
I'm a person, not just #BPD, #LGBT, or #Inked. it really is time we ended all stigma; about mental health, sexuality, gender, body modification, all of it. Don't judge people because of the myths surrounding a label. Get to know them. Don't stigmatise; there are shades of gray (and a rainbow of colours) which require understanding, empathy, acceptance, and/or support, but not outright vilification (and that's from a 'black and white thinking' BPD). Based on the stigma around my labels I should be a narcissistic, abusive, greedy, promiscuous, thug. Yet I'm not. I'm an empathetic, overly-protective woman, who has been with the same man since she was 18, and who has psychological scars left over from going through years of torment herself, and who is actively engaged in getting treatment for those scars to get back a normal life.
For most of my life I've been 'high functioning'. I'm in a stable, traditional marriage. I've worked since I was 16. I am capable of critical thinking, even if SOMETIMES I might need a night to get an emotional reaction under check first. I am not my Recurrent Depressive Disorder, nor am I my Borderline Personality Disorder, or my bi-sexuality, or my tattoos. I am me. Nothing more and nothing less, and I am formed from 31 years of experience and learning, I am not a stereotype.
Pseudonymous Zombie
xxx
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