End the Stigma

My name is Morgan Sarah and I have Borderline Personality Disorder. What is my experience with this disorder? My experience is understanding that most people will look at me differently if they know what I am diagnosed with. My experience is understanding that most people will treat me differently when they find out what I have been diagnosed with. My experience is understanding that to others, I do not have the right to speak my point of view. When others hear things like that, they will tell me; “No Morgan, that isn’t true. You have the right to speak your point of view!” The thing is, I have learned that my point of view is usually met with doubt from others because of what my diagnosis is. I have grown up my whole entire life being told that I am perceiving things incorrectly, that I am misconstruing the facts, that I am manipulative and sneaky, that I am dramatic, that I am overreacting, that I am selfish, that I am ungrateful, that I need to be more like my brothers, that I need to be more like my friends, that I need to stop crying, that I need to get over it, that I am ruining the joke (that has been made at my expense), etc. The invalidating things said to me as a child are just repeated to me by other adults thinking that it is all so simple. BPD is misconstrued because the behaviors are just the surface level of what people see, I have close to no conscious choice of the “behaviors” that come out. Nothing about my experience with BPD is pleasant. Nothing about my experience with BPD is easy. I cannot say that BPD hasn’t given me any positive qualities. I used to think that all of my qualities were negative. I used to think that I was destined to be alone, that no one could handle my emotions. I used to think that I would not be able to get a handle on my anger, that I would always have such strong rage that I black out. My anger is so strong that my voice shakes, my body noticeably shakes, and my breathing gets shaky. I used to think that my strong emotions were something that I should hide, something to be ashamed of. What are the good qualities of BPD that I have? They are qualities that are not favorable to others. Why? Because they are qualities that are ugly, qualities that people would rather deny than accept. I can stand up for myself, I can say what I mean, I can say what is on my mind, I can confront others. Most people have the issue of not wanting to disturb the peace but given the way I was treated the way I grew up, I have no issue being the one to disturb it. In fact, I will do it with a smile on my face. I don’t tolerate unfairness, I don’t tolerate inequality, and most of all; I do not tolerate being mistreated or told my reality is incorrect. My reality has always been denied so I have grown to learn that maybe my reality isn’t incorrect, maybe it is just that people do not want to see reality for what it is. I can read people very well, so much so to the point that I even freak myself out with how much I can read into things. I never understood how “neurotypicals” and “neurodivergent” people think differently but the more I interact with the general public, the more I realize that I do think differently. Drastically different. I can read people, sometimes so much so, that I can predict their next move. Yes, I am incorrect sometimes but more often than not, I am correct and prepared for what I am not supposed to be prepared for. I see eye movements, I see subtle facial expressions that show peoples true thoughts, and I see how people backtrack when I acknowledge these subtleties that are no so subtle to me. I used to not be a self-aware borderline, I used to think that I was the victim, that I deserved peoples pity and to be treated as if I am delicate. That is not the case, I am not a victim. I actually think I am the opposite of a victim, I make sure that others know where I stand and know what I truly think. I make sure that others are aware of how I expect to be treated and if they cant adhere to what I ask of, I won’t be quiet about it. People think that when I say I expect to be treated a certain way, that I mean special treatment. No. When I say that, I mean to be treated with basic human decency which I think is a fair request. If I do not get that, I get angry. Very angry. I have noticed in life that people often tell you that you are asking for too much when you are in fact not asking for enough. I used to be scared of asking for what I want, I used to be scared of standing up for myself, I used to be scared of confrontation, and now it is what allows me to survive. The only way a person with BPD can survive, is by using their voice, even when others are telling them to be quiet. I think I use my BPD to my advantage, I learned to embrace it. I have a hard time being inauthentic because I despise it. In my head, I would rather someone show me their dislike towards me versus trying to act like they like me. I don’t assume that people have good intentions because they don’t, that is something we are all conditioned to believe. I have been told my whole life that the way I was treated was okay because they didn’t have the intention of mistreating me. This has led me to believe it is my duty to show someone that karma is real, even though that is not true. If I am not treated nicely, I will not treat you nicely. If I am not treated with respect, I will show you no respect. Honestly, I think BPD is a disorder that can be summed up into a simple phrase; treat me the way you would like to be treated#

skepticism, accused of being lazy or moody and in need of cheering up, going out more, calming down. Hey have you tried hikes and berries?!?! All of us have heard these. Anyone know how to handle this. Yes I've read on articles and Google searches. I'm asking those who are living this and asking for support. #Support #ChronicIllness #ChronicPain #Depression #BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #EndTheStigma

So, I work at Macys customer service desk and just got home from work due to a very deep panic attack. Everything came tumbling down all at once in my head once there was the slow computer systems, long line, bitchy customers, etc. My frustration with my private life intruded my work life causing me to take it out on customers, which I know isn’t right. I told my boss and she said that she totally understands and that she didn’t like seeing me crying on the sales floor or in general. She gave me a 30 minute break to think about whether I wanted to go home. I feel bad about leaving because then I leave my coworkers short on staff, then making my panic attack worse, then I got to my car(slowly because of depression hitting me too) and cried my heart out. I told my boss I was going home and then, long and behold, my dad asks me why I had one and I told him because of finances and all that jazz and he said “Jules, GOTTA STOP DOING THAT”, I’m not sure how to respond so I just cried. He told me to stop it and then told me I don’t know how to listen to him about helping me out if I need it but then I have to pay him back. Then that made me flare up again into tears and hyperventilating leading me to curling up into a ball with a fleece blanket draped and pulled tight over myself. People need to understand that this shit is real. It hurts, it’s annoying, people judge you when you try to take care of yourself but then when you stay and not, they ask why you aren’t taking time for yourself. #PanicAttacks #AnxietyAttack #Depression #Bipolar1Disorder #EndTheStigma

I am a survivor of #Suicide . I live with the guilt every. damn. day. So why tell my story now? I want to feel liberated. I want to #EndTheStigma . And I want people to know why and how and when. So that maybe they can see the signs or the #triggers for someone they love who might be struggling.

This is me. This is my story. And this is me at my most vulnerable.

First, an introduction. I’m a 36-year-old, former PR pro turned #sahm and housewife. I struggle with #Depression and extreme #Anxiety . I’m #neurodivergent , you’ll quickly come to realize just how #ADHD I really am, and I’ve recently been diagnosed with #borderlinepersonality disorder.

So that's me. Definitely not a princess and I don't wear a cape. I'm still hopeful for a happily ever after, though.

And now, some context.

It's important to understand that I've felt unlovable all of my life. Growing up in a traumatic home and seeing more hate than love had its toll on me. And being emotionally abused and neglected as a child and having it continued through my adulthood continually makes me feel unworthy of love. Despite my efforts to be the best daughter I can possibly be, I get constant reminders of my selfishness. My unhelpfulness. My failures. It's just facts. I'm in therapy, don't worry.

It wasn't until I met my husband at 19 years old that I experienced unconditional love from someone other than my brother, my grandparents (RIP), and my pets. To this day, I still don't believe it or understand it. I'm hard to love and I don't grasp how someone can love all of me - with everything that comes with me. Skeletons and all. I still don't love myself. I'm in therapy, don't worry ;-)

Ok, now for the story.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: depression, suicide, self-harm, self-hate.

It was the morning of Monday, November 18, 2019. I had suffered a weeklong streak of migraines and hadn't left our bed in almost as long. I was depressed, and I was well off meds because I couldn't keep food or water down. I was exhausted and hopeless. At the time, I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, #Insomnia , and ADHD. I was in a complete state of psychosis. I had no idea and neither did my husband.

In the most loving way possible, my husband was over my sickness and depression. He'd been single parenting our 4-year-old for over a week, and he needed his wife back. We fought. About what, I can't remember. It doesn't matter but whatever it was sent me into a downward spiral I couldn't climb out of.

This is where everything gets foggy, or completely dark. My mind has blocked most if not all of the rest.

Like a zombie (or so I'm told), I got out of bed, threw on some scrubby clothes, got my son dressed and fed, and walked him over to the neighbor's house for childcare that day. I don't remember any of that part, at all. My hubby said my face was blank and my eyes were vacant.

In my brain, the wheels were already turning. This was a feeling I was intimately familiar with. My comfort blanket. How many different ways could I imagine dying this time? If only I could just disappear and not come back. It would be so easy. So simple. No one would miss me. I'm a burden to so many. They're basically living without me already.

After dropping my son off at daycare, I returned to bed. Hubby had more words with me before leaving for work. After he was gone, I googled, "How much Xanax does it take to kill yourself?" and "Can you die from too many muscle relaxers?"

Five minutes later, I swallowed my entire prescription: 30 tablets of 2mg #Xanax .

As a topper, I also poured 15 muscle relaxers down my throat, left over from my car accident in early April. Or was it from my wisdom tooth removal? So many procedures and pain meds and illicit prescriptions to choose from. I then ditched the bottles to make it harder for the EMTs to identify what I'd taken. I'd planned this meticulously in my mind for years.

I sat forward and said my goodbyes to the dogs. The longest goodbye and cries for Duke, of course. Kisses for Cooper; he couldn't understand what was happening, but Duke was completely aware. Duke jumped on the bed and put his head in my lap. I cried as I said my goodbyes out loud to my son (as if he could hear me from afar), reassuring him that his life would be full of joy and accomplishments without the burden of his overweight, depressed, mess of a mom. I'd be there in spirit, I said. Watching him succeed and rooting him on, always. I cried and wished that my husband would find new love and hope. That all his dreams and wishes would come true. That life would be good for him because he is an amazing man that deserves the world.

I drifted off.

When I awoke two days later I was hooked up to machines from my neck and both wrists. My husband was right by my side and my brother came into view.

I remember thinking, "Fuck, how the FUCK am I still here?!"

So here's what I'm told.

After hubby left for work, he ran a few errands close to home. Before getting on the freeway, however, he got a *weird feeling* in his gut and decided to backtrack home to check on me before heading into Seattle for work. Thank god he did. He saved my life and he will forever be my hero.

When my husband arrived home, he called out for me. Nothing.

He found me upstairs, unconscious and blue in the face. I was halfway fallen off the bed.

He called 911 and immediately started CPR at the operator's direction.

It was six long minutes before paramedics arrived.

They couldn't identify what I'd taken and were unsure if Narcan should be used for overdose.

My heart had stopped. I wasn't breathing.

It took nearly 8 minutes for them to get a heartbeat.

With a faint heartbeat, I was quickly transferred to the ambulance and rushed to NW Hospital in North Seattle. After life-saving measures were taken, I'm told that doctors placed me in an induced coma to allow my organs to heal and regain strength after shutting down. I was on a ventilator to support my lungs, and another machine to pump my heart. Once the doctors took me out of the coma, they slowly removed me from the heart machine as I grew stronger. The ventilator came next. I finally awoke.

What's happened next? You'll have to follow my next posts to read more.

#MentalHealthAwareness #MentalHealth #SuicidePrevention #depressionsucks