Man hitting a boxing bag with the words "Taking on the stigma surrounding mental illness."

Dear Brandon Marshall,

Thank you. Thank you for using your platform from football to speak out about your struggles with borderline personality disorder (BPD), a disorder that is often taboo. I first learned about your struggles when I was in the hospital, after just recently being diagnosed with BPD.

During that time, I thought my life was over, that I would never get to live a normal life. The next day, my nurse brought a printed news article about you into my room, an article I have to this day. Right then, my outlook shifted. To see that you were able to live a fulfilled life with BPD gave me hope. I no longer was counting the days down in my life. I was counting down the days until I could leave the hospital and start my new life.

A football player is often looked at as invincible, feeling no pain. You were able prove to the world that it is OK to feel pain and it is OK to have a mental illness. Not only have you candidly addressed your diagnosis, but your philanthropy for BPD and ending the stigma is astounding.

You have inspired me to not be afraid of my illness. You have inspired me to not be embarrassed about my illness. Most importantly, you taught me to speak out about my illness in order to break the stigma. Speak out so that someday people will no longer be stigmatized and so someday people won’t be afraid to seek help.

Thank you Brandon Marshall for your humility and continued passion for ending the stigma, not only of BPD but mental illness in general.

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Image via Brandon Marshall Facebook page.


Hi. Remember me? The thin, clumsy, sometimes athletic, blonde girl who you know? Hi! I’m over here. You probably don’t see me because of the fog. That’s OK. I didn’t see me either for a while.

The fog is an easy place to get lost. You see, the fog is misunderstanding. I don’t judge you for misunderstanding, nor do I judge how you present your misunderstanding. It’s scary when you don’t know something.

Let me tell you a secret. I was terrified when I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder (BPD). But also? I was relieved to finally have an answer to the insufferable pain I’ve been hiding for years.

Having BPD doesn’t make me any different or less me. In fact, it explains exactly why I am who I am. It explains all those nuances that caused yelling, laughter and tears.

I get overwhelmed. I know most people do. You don’t need to tell me that. The thing is my brain is wired differently. So when I get overwhelmed it’s all I can focus on. The pain becomes so unbearable that the only way I know how to stop it is to lash out or make it stop all together. I’m getting better at controlling it, by the way, in case you were wondering.

Having BPD isn’t easy, but it’s not the end of the world. The hardest part is that people don’t understand it. I know I already forgave you for being lost in the fog, but I want you to find a way out. I’m still me. I’m just a little broken, and once I got out of the fog, I was able to start putting the pieces back together.

Please, be patient with me. When I’m tired, it’s not laziness. I have spent the entire day in my head trying not to lose control over my emotions. It’s exhausting having to triple check my reactions to make sure they’re appropriate. I have had severe depression to the point of hospitalization and that might happen again. Please, don’t tell me to snap out of it or that other people have it worse.

Having BPD is like having every single emotion at once firing off like a beretta in your head. Most of the time, I just want to sleep so I don’t have to feel it all. It’s too much for one person to handle. I know how hard it is to understand something that isn’t spoken about openly or informatively.

My own diagnosis was the first time I heard about BPD, but a little research goes a long way. Dear family and friends, before you judge me, before you think you understand what is going on in my brain, before you unintentionally invalidate me, please, just do a little research. Go to the National Institute of Mental Health and browse BPD or ask me questions about certain things. Did you know I have triggers? Things that set me off into a severe BPD episode? I bet you didn’t because I had no idea either.

Let’s get out of that fog and learn together. Shall we? After all, I’m still me and aren’t we all just a little messy anyways?

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A friend of mine came up to me today and said, “Describe life in just one word.”

He waited, anticipating responses such as Hope. Love. Fun. Travel.

Without a moment’s hesitation and with fiery eyes, I blurted out, “Survival!”

That’s what life is for me. Survival. When you live with borderline personality disorder (BPD), you can’t possibly plan for the next year, the next month or even the next week. For me, it’s all about getting through the next 24 hours.

Twenty-four hours often seems like an eternity. This is especially true if you go through a roller coaster of emotions in a matter of minutes. It’s all you can do to maintain some semblance of normalcy and not let yourself be forcefully taken on the most devastating of rides.

Sure, I have it all. Beauty. Brains. Talent. Skill. Supportive friends. People who care. What I don’t have is me. I have no sense of identity, and I am almost too scared of myself. I know how awful I can be (without realizing it at the time of course) when am in the midst of a crisis. I sometimes hide away from the world, simply so that one less person will be hurt.

I wake up each day wondering when the switch will be flicked on or off  in my mind, making suddenly even existing too hard a task. In fact, I’ve learned to work around this, by identifying when I’m in a “can do” mood and making sure I supercharge my day by accomplishing all I can in those precious few moments. God forbid I’m in the midst of something hectic or exceptionally stressful when my mood takes it’s next swing! For only I know how embarrassing it is to break down into tears or burst into rage, when I was perfectly capable and confident just a few minutes before.

I have a house, friends, family and a good job, one where I can utilize my attention to detail, my determination and my mathematical prowess. Yet, every day is survival. I need to be able to put up the front that shows confidently what my professional skills can achieve for my organization and our clients. I need to ensure I look up at the ceiling just before the first tear drips out of my eye (a trick my therapist told me).

I need to be able to control my words, which often escape out of my mouth before I could even register the thought that preceded it. I need to be able to laugh, smile, say hello to everyone and make them feel validated and loved, when I can barely feel anything myself.

Most of all, I need to make sure no one finds out my “secret.” Everyone looks at you differently when they know you have an emotional dysregulation disorder. It’s not like they didn’t notice you struggled with your emotions before. They simply brushed it off saying, “She’s just quirky.” Now, just hearing the term makes you a monster or a weakling. Either way, you’re someone to be avoided at all costs.

People with BPD aren’t monsters. We’re not weak either. Yes, it makes us more prone to stress, which makes us more liable to be angry than assertive, more teary-eyed than happy-go-lucky, more pessimistic than realistic. That’s only when we’re stressed. When we’re rested (think regular sleep), refreshed (think less caffeine, more water), supported (think family and friends), we’re uniquely wonderful people. Some of the most caring, most intuitive, most empathetic, most helpful, most supportive, most smart, most logical and most confident individuals happen to be struggling with BPD or a similar disorder. This unique combination of traits often make for fantastic people to be around!

I know living with BPD is survival. Every hour I survive is an hour I worked hard to get through. Speaking for other BPD challengers, I am often much harder on myself than I need to be. I know I sometimes hurt those around me, and I really don’t want to. That’s why it’s survival. I get up and try again.

Going back to the encounter with my friend, he then asked me, “OK, perhaps at this moment, life for you is survival. But what would you like it to be again, in just one word?”

I thought about it for a moment and said, “Passion.”

When BPD no longer rules my life and I control it instead, life will be no longer be survival. It will be passion. Passion for friends. Passion for family. Passion for my career. Passion for fun. Passion for life. I know I’ll get there.

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OK, so I’m just going to say it.

Just because I have borderline personality disorder (BPD) doesn’t mean I’m automatically going to be a bad mother. I’m saying this because this is what I instantly thought when I was first diagnosed with BPD. I thought I had failed. I thought, “I’ve got these issues now so I can never be any kind of mother, let alone a good one!”

A mom holding her baby boy at sunset

Yet, I am here to be brave and say I am a good mum. I’ve always been extremely protective of my little boy H. I’ve always given him lots of attention, love and affection. I’ve played games, baked cakes, cooked, been creative and arranged days out. I am always cooking meals from scratch and trying to make sure he is as healthy as possible. My husband and I are always being told what a lovely kind, polite boy H is.

This is so lovely. Amazing in fact because how can this be true? I’ve got borderline personality disorder? BPD rules my life so I must be failing him! I must be doing something wrong!

A hand playing with a small toy truck

This is very much the way you are treated by professionals after your diagnosis. I was, at least. It is wrong and unfair, and it actually feeds the negative views we already have of ourselves.

Everyone would be better off without me.

I may as well disappear as I am failing at everything.

I was terrifyingly thrown into the world of social services after my son was born. Meetings, appointments, checks ins. There was never any questions about whether I was causing any harm to H, but I was told after we had been discharged from social services, the reason they got so involved is because of my diagnosis.

I mean, seriously! My family and I went through hell and back because I had a diagnosis that people think suggests I might not be a good mum.

Professionals should not be focusing on a mom’s BPD diagnosis solely. They should be focusing on and encouraging the positives we bring to our child’s lives. They should be treating every case individually, and of course, if there is a need for intervention, then absolutely, 100 percent I agree with the necessary precautions being taken.

Please, don’t assume because I have BPD I am not a good mother.


I actually feel my BPD makes me a better mother at times. I am sensitive and feel every emotion intensely. Because of this, it makes me closer and able to understand H more. I can put myself in his shoes and communicate better with him.

Since I like to see the people I care about most happy, I do a lot with him. I take him to his favorite places, play his favorite games and make him smile at every opportunity I can.

Ultimately, I do now believe that I am a good mum. Wow. Did I just say that?

There are always days I look back and feel guilty for the times I was struggling. I imagine what it must have been like for H when I was at my worst. I look back and think that for more than half of his life, I was ill. What a shitty mother!

Then, I remind myself, he spent plenty of time with friends and family, who adored him. He grew in confidence. More importantly, it gave me the time and space I needed to get better. So that I could look after him to the fullest.

I’m not a perfect mother, far from it. Yet, I am no longer striving for perfection. I am just doing the best I can with an amazing, little boy I am blessed to have in my life.

Lots of love,

Amy x

This post originally appeared on Amy’s Boarderline World.

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Popular media and literature about borderline personality disorder (BPD) often speak about the susceptibility of affected individuals to attempt suicide. Can we blame them? The DSM-IV itself defines “recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures or threats” as an identifying characteristic of BPD. Some studies show that as many as 80 percent of people with BPD exhibit suicidal intentions and around 70 percent of BPD patients will attempt suicide at least once.

I carry the weight of a BPD diagnosis.

These numbers, strewn carelessly around the internet like dead leaves on a November day, are ominous and incredibly frightening.

But they make sense, too. BPD is associated with high sensitivity and intense, prolonged emotional experiences. Thoughts can easily escalate to an overwhelmingly painful degree and I know I often want to escape from them at any cost. The most alarming research shows BPD patients are at a high risk for completed suicide. This means people with BPD are approximately 50 times more likely than the general population to die by suicide.

It looms large on the horizon every time a therapist, unwilling to accept the possible consequences of the clinical relationship, turns away a BPD patient.

You’d be surprised how frequently this happens.

Some people plan how they will kill themselves and therefore allow time to change their minds. However, individuals with BPD are likely to engage in suicidal behaviors in a moment of intense emotional pain  without fully considering the consequences.

Indeed, every time I’ve tried to kill myself, I’ve surprised myself as much as anyone else.

These figures pop up to haunt me every time my thought process begins its familiar downward spiral.

I’ve experienced suicidal ideation since I was a child. A journal entry from when I was young depicts my conviction that I would die by the age of 14.

At 23, I’m still alive.

I’ve always wanted to be.

I want to live every single one of my dreams and I want to be mindful as I tick off each line on my lengthy bucket list.

Then, why does it feel like I’ve been fated to die by my own hands?

The facts and figures forget we are all unique individuals. Society doesn’t define us or what we do. We can’t be herded together by numbers. We make our own choices. So at the end of the day, what should we learn from these statistics? The take-home from these figures is really to show the severity of the pain experienced by people struggling with BPD. David Foster Wallace’s analogy describes this phenomenon well when he says,

[The person in pain]…will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. …Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror.

Every time you want to tell someone contemplating suicide they are “selfish” or “a coward” or “sinful” or “attention-seeking”  — pay attention to the statistics.

You may not be able to empathize with it, but sometimes life can feel more terrible than death.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

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Splitting is a symptom of borderline personality disorder (BPD) I was unfamiliar with until recently despite having been diagnosed in 2015. Splitting is a coping defense mechanism people with BPD use to avoid rejection or being hurt. It means that someone is either good or they are bad. There are no good people who make mistakes. There are no bad people who are nice sometimes. It is black and white, good or bad.

I know this feeling, and I recognize it in my own behavior. Splitting feels like self-destructive behavior. I can get consumed in my anger toward people. All my memories with that person become tainted, bad and wrong. Just thinking of them fills me up with anger.

Hatred builds up deep inside my body, flows through me and consumes me. I obsess over this hatred. I want it to go away. Yet, I can’t stop thinking about it at the same time.

There is a rational part of my brain that tells me to try and ignore these feelings, but the emotions are sometimes just too strong for me to move past. My personality disorder does not mean I’m broken, but it does mean I think and do things a little bit differently than the average person.

It’s a reaction to the fear of abandonment, the rejection and hurt that I cannot face. The idea of being rejected is so abhorrent to me, it’s easier to just tell myself that person was evil, and everything they ever did was part of some sick plot to humiliate, hurt or upset me.

The initial anger and bitterness fades eventually. In the meantime, I perceive everything that person does as being meant to hurt me further because that person is not a good person. They don’t care.

It’s like you can be my best friend or my worst enemy. There is no in between. There is no middle ground. Unfortunately, splitting can often isolate people with BPD, and it’s difficult when you are a victim of this behavior to see a good side to that person either.

It is the classic, “I hate you. Don’t leave me.” For me, eventually, the anger will fade, but it takes a lot to overcome that completely. Unfortunately, it does require work on the other party as well.

Actions speak far louder than any words ever can. After all, most communication is nonverbal. As someone with BPD, it is so easy to start perceiving things as an insult or slight when they were never really meant that way at all. It takes time and reassurance to come back.

One thing I have been told my entire life by teachers, friends and family members, is that I need constant reassurance that I am, in fact, a good person or that what I perceived wasn’t actually meant that way at all. I even need reassurance that I’m following instructions correctly! I will turn everything around as another reason to hate myself if left to my own devices.

Splitting is not reality. I know that. In the cold light of day, I can pull myself back from those thoughts, but when you’re caught up in that twister of emotions, it can be so difficult to break free.

I’m incredibly lucky I do in fact have a support network that treats me well, cares about me enough to put up with this and helps me along the way. It’s a road that goes both uphill and downhill. I am sincerely grateful to all who listen, soothe and love when it feels like I am on a steep ascent. I am grateful to have people who refuse to give up on me even when I do feel like giving up.

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Image via Thinkstock.

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