Tina The Mess, a newbie, has been awarded!

Oh boy!

Can you imagine this?

A newbie girl has been awarded for the Very Inspiring Blog Award!

Is this true?! Yes, it is!

Am I grateful? Happy? Honoured? A little bit confused? Everything and more then that!

Thank you Duniya Ku http://duniyaku.wordpress.com/about/, for making me extremely cheerful! You made this possible!

THANK YOU is just not enough, so there you go…..

yin yang

….two happy cats giving you a HEART FULL OFF JOY and a BIG THANK YOUUUU!



Accepting the nomination requires me to adhere to 5 rules:

First: thank and link the amazing person who nominated you.  I’ve done that, but here it goes again, dear Duniya Ku http://duniyaku.wordpress.com/, hugs!

Second: list the rules and display the award. Ok, let’s display the award…wait a sec…there it is!


Third: share seven facts about yourself: that’s the last chapter, you’ll have to scroll down for that.

Fourth: nominate 15 other amazing blogs and comment on their posts to let them know they have been nominated: I’m happy to do it!

Fifth: optional – Proudly display the award logo on your blog and follow the blogger who nominated you: of course I will do that.


The “Me Seven Facts”

1. Childishly playful woman, living with an amazing ten-year old son and three happy cats. One big happy family!

2. I volunteer for causes that make me happy and proud: at the cat shelter, for the homeless and those in need. I love to help others. That’s just the way I am.

3. You can call me also a squirrel on a Red Bull, ’cause I’m multitasking every day, and wish that 24 hours can last longer. There’s no time wasted! Always doing something, going somewhere, it’s fun,fun !

4. I love coffee. Coffee. A lots of coffee. And some more coffee, please! And also, with a cup of coffee in my hand, there goes my amazement with sports cars, racing cars, drifting cars…all the stuff women usually adore!

5. I wish to travel to one more place in this life : Tokyo. I have been around the globe, not much, but enough. And Japan, is my next destination!

6. I have no idea how I ended up here in the WP community, except from inspiration that kicked me one day, and there you go! I’m proudly hanging around here with a bunch of amazing people!

7. Except from writing blah-blah’s, I also love photography, and actually have a stash of photos awaiting to be putted…somewhere. Probably here!

And now, my Nominee’s.

There is no order, I will just make a list, without any special preferences, I love them all equally!

1. The Wandering Poet – http://dragoneystory.wordpress.com/
2. MyReadAbyss- http://myredabyss.com/
3. jandelaforce – http://jandelaforce.wordpress.com/
4. RandomlyAbstract’s Blog – http://randomlyabstract.wordpress.com/
5. Robert Jepson- http://robertjepson.wordpress.com/
6. ivyon- http://ivymosquito.wordpress.com/
7. Laura P.Schulman,MD, MA – http://bipolarforlife.wordpress.com/
8. thewizardsword – http://thewizardsword.wordpress.com/
9. AB- http://abozdar.wordpress.com/about/
10. prideinmadness- http://prideinmadness.wordpress.com/
11. pepeshrimp- http://shrimplovesbee.wordpress.com/
12. Man of many thoughts – http://keithgarrettpoetry.com/
13. Cristian Mihai – http://cristianmihai.net/
14. chroniclemecom- http://cmeblogspot.com/
15. Opinionated Man – http://aopinionatedman.com/

So, there it is!

I am sorry that I had to choose only 15, because there so many other blogs and bloggers that I really love and follow.

So guys, thank you for sticking and clicking on my blog and my posts!

I enjoy my time here in the WP World and sharing it with all of you!

Tina The Mess, the new girl in town, sends you all a bunch of joy and happy thoughts!


My Own Hidden Cloud


One day, in the afternoon sky, one cloud reminds and not travelled round.

He stuck with me, it was obvious, and no matter the questions I asked, he stayed silent.

My new guidance, he became my new advisor, in the sky. Saving my dreams, imagination and hopes.

Fears? Oh, fears, he had blown them away, they vanished in his surrounding purple air.

I wanted to thank him for being around, but I did not say nothing, because I scarcely knew, no answer will come from above.

So be it, my purple friend.

Have my dreams stay imprinted in you, veiled from the Earth.

And what are the best spot to hide, then way up high, far in the sky?

Not reachable by anything, the Earth, the Moon or the tide.

Let me fall asleep, you monster of Insomnia!

I’ll put my headphones

Turn this on

Close my eyes

And wish for a sleep. It’s 03:47 AM.

No sheep’s anymore, they turn into cows anyway.

And who is counting cows when trying to fall asleep!?

Not me. So let’s try this one.

Always loved it, and it sounds promising.

Nighty night folks! ( I hope so, LOL).



Perfect Lovers



I never separate The Sun from The Sea. They are One, loving each other in the morning, embracing sunrise with the depth of emotions, sea breeze and soft waves.

If there wasn’t the Sun, the Sea would never have it’s most magnificent look, at the sunset, going from light turquoise blue, to dark blue and deep black, with orange reflections appearing from the horizon.

As the day goes on, The Sun keeping up high in the Sky, waves getting bigger, wind aiming for the clouds.

I lay down in the shade and watch this game.

Interacting, playing with each other, just like two lovers wanting to touch each other, softly whispering through Sun shining and Sea waves crushing on the shore.

All day long they play.

All day long I watch and listen. There are never harsh words, misspellings.

How seductive, I thought. How incredible, I dreamt.

And when the Moon appears, the Sea sleeps, deep, black, quiet dreams of love.

Could this kind of love happen’ to me? Once? Do I dare even think of it?

I know I do.

At the bottom. Not swimming, but drowning in the misery of the BPD.

I haven’t been posting, for a while.


I broke, fell apart, sinked to the bottom.

I don’t remember exactly what was I doing for the two past days. It’s a fog of memories.

Mostly I slept not to feel. Not to do anything….to myself.

I thought of ending it once and for all, I couldn’t bear it anymore.

So I took a pill after pill after pill, until I was totally numb and fell asleep.

Did it helped? No. I was looking for a help, my psych is on vacation, I called The Crisis Center,but it didn’t help too much.

They said, that I have to go to my psych hospital (second home,as I call it), but I did not. I don’t want to end there, again. It is three weeks since I left the psych ward, I cannot imagine myself being there locked up, again.

I was, I am still in fact, a wreck.

Going from feeling useless, failure, to self harm thoughts, to suicidal thoughts.

From crying to feeling nothing at all. Empty and numb.

I tried to talk to my family, but they did more harm than good. Our talk ended up in the verbal fight, as my mother, again, tried to be persuasive with her constant and annoying repeating words of how I am overreacting, and do I know how does it make her feel.

Yeah mum, I know. I have been your burden too long. But you have never ever said a word that could make me feel better.

My mum has an amazing power of turning my cries for help into her own misery.  If I feel bad, she makes it even worse, by making me feel guilty and responsible for all the problems in the world. Thanks, mum.

At this moment, I have no clue what to do next. Or better said,what will I do…next.

I’m sorry, but this battle is becoming to hard to fight it.

I feel I have no strength or reasons to fight.

The end.


The Worst Hours In My Broken Life


Strange unknown house. My not-so-good friend party, birthday or whatsoever. Didn’t bother me too much, the occasion I mean. I was there, that was all that counted.

Boring to the bone.
Waiting to leave, unnoticed, without asking and answering stupid questions.

I was lost in the crowd with unfamiliar people, drinking my mojito, third, fourth, who counts anyway, looking for the door.
Tried to push myself to the limit of toleration of surrounding noise. The moment I felt my thoughts messed up, my head about to explode, I was seeking the way out.
No goodbye to anyone, just wanted to disappear without the trace.

I walked through the crowd, head down. No one noticed me, I was invisible, the state which is able to achieve if you know how. Blended into surrounding mess, words, polite chats. Awful.

As I entered the hallway, darkness surrounded me. I remembered where the entrance and the front door were. But there was complete blackness around. No lights at all. I was completely blind. Put my hand into the purse looking for my cell phone..but nothing.

Fuck, I thought.Fuck, fuck. Where is the fucking light? The switch?! Anything!?.

My purse filled up with thousand unnecessary things.
Like all the woman’s bags, you could survive the World War III with the content of the bag. Felt the lipstick under my fingers, car keys, wallet, everything and nothing useful.

I broke with anger, yelling at myself, thinking about entering that gray party zone again..I was so desperate.

And then.. that sound behind me.

Like a soft whisper. Like a tip toe walking towards me from behind.

“Hello?”, I asked.

No answer.

Sound again, this time, breathing, slow, deep breaths, almost touching my neck.

I could feel chills down the spine. My hands started to shake. I wasn’t scared, I was horrified.

There was someone. Breathing behind me. I could feel his presence, the warmth that was getting closer and closer.

“What do you want? Who is it!?”. No answer. Silence, thick and heavy, you could smell it, the fear, the horror, you could slice it with a knife.

And then..there it was.

Hand on my mouth. Hand around my waist, felling pulled away.

Wanted to yell, I couldn’t, wanted to bite, I couldn’t, wanted to fight, I couldn’t. He was too strong.

Heard the door squeak as they opened. He turned me around like a doll, pushed me somewhere.
There were dimming lights penetrating the window blinds.
It was a room. Messy place. Smell of wine, cigarettes..
He pushed me again, hard, hurting my hand. I screamed this time, but who was able to hear me?!

I landed on the bed, trying to stand up, to get away, to run..I felt nothing but my heart beating way through the chest.

His arms took my wrists, hard. ” You’re hurting me! Let go of me! You motherfucker!” Words flowed out of me with no respond.

I couldn’t breathe as he simply lie down on me. He, heavy as a rock, lied, and hurting me, I tried to move, with every muscle, with every drop of my remaining energy, freaking out.
I just couldn’t. Not an inch.

“I was waiting for this, for so long….”, whispered in my ear, distant, cold, unknown voice.

I started crying. This wasn’t happening Not to me. Not to me. Not to me!! It was just a dream I repeated to myself, just a nightmare, I should wake up any second now. Any second, I thought…

But i didn’t.

I felt him. Completely. Tearing my clothes away, mumbling something in a distance..

His face, barely visible, not recognizable, and mine, filled with terror, met inches away. I could feel his breath on my face.

“You want it. You wanted it. I know”, he said.

“No!!!” Screaming didn’t sound like my voice, more like a sound of the hurt animal brought to slaughter.

I felt hopeless. Felt tied down. Defeated. Wanted to give up.
My mind wandered somewhere, far, far away.
I thought if it must be, please God, let it be quick.
Tears rolling down my face, I was trembling with frailty. So vulnerable, so fragile.
So not me.


All around came the light, hurting my eyes. Someone came into the room.

“What the fuck!”. Remote voice, through the fog of misery.

He jumped. Literally jumped out of the bed.

I lay down for a while, unable to move. Felt someones hands helping me to get up. To get dressed. Wiping my tears.

As police came, and ambulance, I don’t remember a thing. I spoke something, do not remember what, shaking.

Driving to the hospital, the lights of the ambulance car and sirens.. distant. Felt as nothing of this was happening to me. Felt aloof and empty. Just an empty shell. Every inch of my body hurt. Body? That was not my body anymore.

Three days later, 18 stitches later, numberless consultations and answering..I went home.

He was brought to prison, that much I know. And got out for a minimum number of months. Physical assault, good beahviour.

Unlike his, my prison and burden never left me. I buried it deep inside, where no one can see it. It digs up his way out sometimes, but I beat it.

And now, this is me. Beating it up now, in this time, but not when I should do it. Because I couldn’t think then.

I was old me again..after a countless months.

An that is what I call my triumph, to overcome myself.

Parents, who the hell invented them in the first place?!


Short and sweet this will be.

Like would master Yoda say, you own path go must. Ignore the stupid as better you can do.

That’s a comment to a conversation my mother and I had today.

Like two monkeys, not understanding what the other one said.


I could also speak Chinese, it would make no difference to her. She has a tremendous way of understanding me.  She just doesn’t,  but she thinks she does, so it turns in a one big argument conversation without the conclusion or ending.

I feel drenched and angry. Facepalm for her winning again,and leaving me feel like a crap.





An open letter from a BPD to a non-BPD

In this video, originated from an open letter of a BPD sufferer who healed through DBT, the BPD is presented in a way that everyone could understand what is BPD really like.

Also, this is a great contribution to take away a BPD stigma from the society.

Please, watch it.





Black wings of love



I do not know if I can touch you

The way I want,

The way I feel.


I do not know if I could look into your eyes


Because I am afraid

That you be able to see all the secrets of my soul.

My wings are a little black, and

You’ll probably run away, I know.


I do not know if I can wake up next to you

And wish for another day,

Another night,

Another smile.


I do not know if I am going the right way

And if I make a mistake now,

Trip over my own words and deeds

I will fall

And never get up again.


I do not know why you’re here and who brought you,

What was the idea,

What was the thought of bringing you to me.


I do not know whether to thank him

Or prepare another box

For storing the memories away.

The Boy




One winter morning, a boy woke up.

He was not any particular boy, or the morning was in any way special.

He knew it was Christmas, but he had long ceased to believe in the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, St. Nicholas, and everything else that makes a kid feel like a kid.

Under the Christmas tree stood a gift. He knew what he got. He felt no happiness or joy. He didn’t care. At all.


Mom was still asleep. It was early in the morning.

The boy took his favorite books about dragons, made himself some warm milk, and read.


Outside, it was snowing.

He wondered if maybe later he’ll go out, but even for that he had no will.

He read and enjoyed his imaginary world.

Where there is no contention, grief, loss, illness and tears.


For his age, he had seen too much.

He decided to open a gift when mom woke up.

He will fake joy and play with her.

He knew she was looking forward to it. Knew she loved him so much to the point of the physical pain.

When he was telling her that he loves her, then the tears came. She cried for because of so much love she had.


But the boy was in pain because she was always sad. Even while she was laughing with him, while they watched movies, drawing, he could feel some void inside her.

He knew why. He was just a child, but not in his mind. He knew.


When she wakes up, he’ll make coffee. That would cheer her up.


His friend Fred called to meet with him this afternoon. To play outside, in the snow.

He refused. He did not like to leave the mother alone. He loved to be with her, every possible moment he had.

Maybe mum did not know how he sees everything. How he feels everything.

Despite being just a child, he learned to suppress emotions. Just like mother did.

Their grief turned into something invisible but always present and touchable, like a soap balloon ready to burst.


He replaced this surrounding grief world, with his own, in whom dragons ruled, moms didn’t cry, didn’t have to take medications, and moms never had to leave home. Sometimes she was gone for days, weeks.

It didn’t make a difference if he knew where mum left. When she returned, she was different and changed, less sad, but always brought that bubble again with her. Invisible, yet touchable.


He did not want to change anything. He knew that everything would be fine. He just to be there, for her, for him.

To be good. To laugh. Tell her that he loves her. Every day.

It didn’t matter, he had only eight years, and he understood very well that life is not easy.

Does not always bring what you want. That ugly thing occurs.


Once, a long time ago, he had a father. Now he had an only mother, occasionally in rare moments.

There were times when he asked her something, but she didn’t reply, she just stared at the wall, empty and silent. Sometimes for hours.

He got accustomed to it.

He got accustomed to such a way of life. Mother was all he had, anyway.


He decided to go out with Fred.

Mom will be fine.


Yet, today is Christmas. Maybe, just maybe, Santa heard and fulfilled him one wish that he never, ever told anyone. He did not want to admit this wish even to himself.

But it was the wish from the deepest place in his small child heart.

All he wanted was Christmas morning full of laughter, favorite vanilla cookies mum used to bake. And a family.


He knew that it was probably too much to ask. So he returned to his book, to that what was real for him.

Red Fire Dragon. War in the story land, dragons and elves…

And outside, it was snowing. And it was Christmas. And the mom was still asleep.



You Are Who You Are, Why Change?



We are all born into this world different in a perfect genetic chaos, making us unique. Unless, you of course have a twin brother or a sister, then you might consider yourself a little bit not unique.

If the universe wanted it the other way, we would all like the same music, dress the same way, are thoughts would be the same, our lives would be exactly the same.

But the nature itself tends to the chaotic state. It’s natural to be chaotic, to be different than the others who surround you.

I often question myself, what would happen’ if I really accept a long-term psychotherapy and completely change my mindset, my behaviour, my relationships with other people?

Would it still be me? Or someone else?

I know a guy with BPD for many years. When he reached the bottom, and searched for help, he undergo the process of a long psychotherapy sessions.

He is not the same person anymore.

We are still friends, but some of his reactions, sentences, the way he sees the world, is fully changed. I disagree with him a lot. And our friendship is not what it used to be.

In a way, a lost a friend.

I’m glad for him because he leads a normal life, with minor problems now and then, but I would never accept changing myself into someone else.

Sorry, I was born this way. I apologize for all my mistakes, bad manners, harsh words. I did the wrong this in my life. I hurt people, and I am sorry because of that.

But the others have hurt me as well, in a worse and more terrible way then I have done to anybody, ever!

Have they been sent to the psychiatrist? No.

So I choose to by myself.

The way I am.

I have changed only one thing: I brought a lot of kindness, empathy and love towards the others.

My character, though, didn’t change.

If you’re messing with me, it’s not gonna end well for you.

If you are kind to me, I’ll be kind to you.

My personality is who I am, but my attitude depends on you!

That’s why I posted this song.

It says it all.

“Someone finds salvation in everyone
And another only pain
Someone tries to hide himself
Down inside himself he prays
Someone swears his true love
Until the end of time
Another runs away
Separate or united?
Healthy or insane?

To be yourself is all that you can do!”



The Unsafe Container of Emotions



Really cool, I would say, the nick – “The Unsafe Containers”, for a bag full of emotions. Which is ready to explode.

When I feel, I feel with the enormous intensity, that overwhelms me completely.

Love, fear, it does not matter, I am overflowed.

That is a common problem in Borderline Personality Disorder. Emotions that are so strong that they could tear you apart.


Over the years, I’ve learned to hide these moments of overflowing, because I don’t like that people who surround me, know what I exactly feel.

The reason why I’m hiding myself is that non-BPD people don’t understand such moments, or especially the moments of total numbness and emptiness.

But, of all the feelings I do have, the only two I cannot control at all, are impulsivity and anger.

When I am angry, there are no words to describe the intensity of it. If it is really bad, I usually throw things around, the first thing that comes into my hand, cellphones, plates, even chairs.

I have never harmed anyone, or I wanted to hurt somebody else.

The anger results in harming myself.

Once I didn’t even realised that my arm is cut, and that I am bleeding heavily. I broke a glass, a wine glass, with full strength against the wall. The awards for that  moment were eight stitches at the ER.

Luckily, these moments are rare, and I really want to find the way to control them, because, I must admit, I am afraid of myself and my own reactions to those feelings.

It’s mine own little, messy Borderline Personality Disorder. I wish I could say that I’m dealing with it ok, but I am not.

So, “The Unsafe Container”, stays with me further, until I find a better lid that will keep everything closed and wrapped up.



Finding the peace of mind, or how to beat depersonalization and anxiety – this is my way of doing it


Peace of mind can be found, in the silence of the night, cat purrs in your lap, rubber bands slapping on your wrist, vanilla ice cream eaten with a big spoon, hugging a tree, rolling down the meadow on the fresh green grass.

I have tried all of the above.

But, still, the method that gives me a complete sense of peace and puts me back into relatively normal state of mind, is the car driving.

Loud music, open windows and air freely whooshing through the car.

When I drive, I am me again.

And I drive without the destination. I just drive, into the Unknown. Sometimes I’m on the road for hours, sometimes I do just a quick speed test on the side road without any traffic. Burning tires is my speciality.

Cars, speed, music, open road in the night, they are my healers, my biggest supports.

I do wear a band on my hand sometimes, but no slapping on the wrist can be compared to this kinda feeling.

I do not need to drive today, though.

Vanilla ice and a large spoon. And a movie about impossible love, my favourite in the past few months : “The Code 46”.

My evening is going to be just….perfect.


What a day, and it is only the beginning of things to come



Ok. I am not ok.


I was released from the mental hospital two days ago, after a shorter period of hospitalization due to self-harm and aggressive behaviour towards people.

Yeah, I was just looking for a fight, starting arguing, pushing people, right in the middle of the street, and the worst part is that those were just innocent strangers passing my way.

My control was gone.

My impulsive behaviour overrated.

I started taking more and more and more benzos, trying to keep things down, not to hurt someone.

I hurt myself though, but, I didn’t take that act so bad. Few cuts, arms, legs, whatever. From my point of view then, it was just ok to do it..

After three days, I was overwhelmed by the feeling that “this is not going to end well!”, or, “I must not step outside of the house!”, or I will be surely arrested for assault. Sad, isn’t it?

So I took two whole bottles of Klonopin. It calmed me down a bit, I was sleepy, tumbling around the house, banging with the doors and doing some more cutting. On my arms, to be precise.


Luckily, my sister came around, because I was refusing her phone calls ( and for her that is an alert sign). I let her in the apartment, and she just stood there, frozen, eyes wide open, looking at me, as if she saw a watermelon or a banana in the middle of the space, floating. I thought about that look on her face and found it funny, because I was feeling like the melon in the space. For her, the sight at me was not funny AT ALL.

She was kind enough to bring me to the psych ER.

I was not so kind towards her, or the doctors and nurses there. I had said so many ugly words, yelled at them, and finally throwed a chair into the wall. Clearly, I ended up on Intensive psych care, sedated.

I stayed there, things calmed down, my medications wasn’t changed, I was just released when I was good enough not to kill anyone with a pencil or a spoon.

They told me to see my psychiatrist as soon as possible. Yeah, right. Like I was in the mood for doing that. Every time I called my psych and told her I was really, really unwell, she had nothing to say except – go to the ER. To arrange an appointment is a mission impossible. I really think she is avoiding me (now I am laughing , because, I would avoid myself too in her place).

And then today all is happening again. The story began to repeat itself. Car driving to the job, well, I did that. Closely enough to stay alive. I reported to my chief that I have a serious gastrointestinal problems, so he immediately sent me home, from the fear that other colleges do not catch that damn virosis too. Yeah, it’s an ugly one, virosis I mean.

I took benzos again. Not so much, but enough to go to bed and sleep.

When I sleep, I don’t feel.

When I sleep, I don’t exist. Therefore, sleeping is good. Not just for me, but also for my surrounding.


I was never in such messed up state before. And I really do not know what to do next. I tried to call my psych, but the line was busy all the time, so I gave up.

I think I’ll sleep it through and then see, what will happen’ next.

I know it’s the worst decision I can make right now, but I do not have any other choice than to sedate myself and protect me and all the others. Hope things will be better when I wake up. I really hope.



Subtypes of Borderline Personality Disorder? Do They Exist?

Psychologist Theodore Millon identified four subtypes of Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).

They are:

1. discouraged borderline–includes avoidant, depressive or dependent behaviors
2. impulsive borderline–includes antisocial or approval-seeking behaviors
3. petulant borderline–includes passive-aggressive behaviors
4. self-destructive borderline–includes depressive or self-destructive behaviors

A person with BPD may have none, one, or more than one of these subtypes.

1. Discouraged borderline
This is a person who believes that no matter what, they just can’t win. Consequently, he or she may avoid people, believing they will not want to be around him/her. The other extreme is he or she may be overly dependent on other people, hoping to find some sense of self-worth from them. This person may also suffer from symptoms of depression.
This person is operating in an Abandoned Child mode. He or she believes that he or she is unworthy of love and affection. He or she believes no one will want anything to do with him/her, and behaves accordingly. This may include frantic efforts to avoid the end of or disturbance of any relationship, black-and-white thinking, or unstable sense of self.


2. Impulsive borderline

This is what mental health professionals usually mean when they say “borderline”. This type of person is in constant conflict with society. Bouts of violence are not uncommon. This person does not think before acting, and the result is chaos for everyone involved. This person may have antisocial personality disorder as a co-occurring diagnosis.

This person is operating in an Abandoned Child mode–a plea for attention, any attention–as well as an Angry Child mode. The Angry Child believes that other people deserve to be punished for his/her pain, and behaves accordingly. This type of person with BPD may have poor impulse control, abuse substances, or self-harm.
On the other extreme, he or she may seek approval at any cost. In a way this is just as damaging as bouts of self-injurious behavior. He or she may not care about himself/herself; it’s all about what the other person thinks. This often results in extreme efforts to avoid disapproval and abandonment.


3. Petulant borderline
This is a passive-aggressive person. He or she will injure himself or herself–either physically or emotionally–in an attempt to get needs met. This person has an unstable sense of self, a frantic fear of abandonment, and inability to express his or her needs.
This person operates in an Angry Child mode. He or she is angry and will hurt friends and family as a result. He or she often does not recognize the anger–the world is the problem, not him/her. He or she does not know how to express his/her needs in a healthy way, so relationships seem to be a game of “If you really loved me” or “You should know what I want”.


4. Self-destructive borderline

This person often suffers from depression as a co-occurring diagnosis and is a self-injurer. Oftentimes, just these two criteria–emotional instability and self-injurious behavior–are enough to merit a diagnosis of BPD (in spite of the DSM-IV mandating a diagnosis of BPD if five of nine criteria are met). This is a person who feels that no one cares, and reacts by not caring about himself or herself. This person operates in an Abandoned Child mode. Since he or she does not feel loved, he or she reacts in self-destructive ways in an attempt to feel something instead of nothing. He or she lives in terror of abandonment, is self-loathing, and has no idea who he or she is inside. Thoughts of self-injury–or actions–are a given in this type.


I personally cannot find myself in only one of the categories.

Sometimes I am all of them, sometimes only one of them.

Critically speaking, I don’t approve this kind of “subtypes”.


I have found this article and I am sharing it with you, but I would really like to hear your opinions about this “subtypes”. Can you find yourself anywhere? Or is this just a lousy attempt of another  way of stigmatizing people with BPD?


A video about medication and the BPD

I like this YouTube video about meds and BPD treatment.

I like it because no real therapy is found to treat the BPD.

Meds that are used are there to shut down the symptoms, like anger, impulsivity, self-harm, anxiety….but not BPD itself.

I do hope that one day, some better ideas will come, instead of antidepressants, antipsychotics….

I know, I have to take them. If not…well, that’s another story waiting to be told. Until then, please watch the video. 



Starting the story of Tina (yeah, that’s me), Tina The Mess – Part One


As far as I can remember, I have lived a life filled with fear. Yes, the fear.

I do not recall my childhood as a happy shiny place, but as a dark, messy  spot. And me in the center of everything, usually shaking and trembling through the tears. Of course, there were bright moments, but too few of them to make me a happy and a smiley child.

I was introverted, always looking down, never looking anyone in the eyes. I did not have friends. I had some acquaintances, that’s all.

I had to keep all what was going on inside of me, so I retreated from the society very early.

In the school, I was the best student. In everything. You name it, I nailed it with perfection.

In the outside world I was walking perfection also. Polite, I smiled when it was expected, I did everything like it should be done “normally”. Inside of me, screams were always present, day or night.

No one had ever asked me if something is wrong with me, or if something is troubling me.

I wore a mask. Again, with perfection.

You ask yourself probably why was my childhood such a nightmare.

Well, I was born and grew up in a dysfunctional family.

With a lot of mental and physical abuse.

By that I mean calling me with harsh words and yucky names, and beating me up until I usually landed on the floor, every day, without exception.

I never understood why. I was perfect at school. I was perfect at home.

I was perfect for everyone except for my …….. father. He ….well….I think today of him as a sick person, mentally sick, and I now I am not mad at him as I was before. I feel sorry for him.

My mother,oh God,  that’s another story. She took her beating part pretty well, and never could stop my father going onto me. She never tried to leave him.

They are still married. Happily, I guess, because my mother accepted her “victim” role, and plays it all along with a smile.

“He is not the bad person”, I remember her words, “just do not provoke him”.

She didn’t understand that my father didn’t need a provocation. I got punched in the face from the age of three, four years almost until I was eighteen years old, and beaten without any reason.

The reason was there though, in my father’s head. 

The beating  ended when I punched him back. That was when I was 19 years old.

But the mental abuse, phone calls, messages and total life control never ended.  

I left the house and went living on my own, when I was 20. I thought I had finally escaped, I thought the nightmare had ended.

Oh, how wrong I was!

This is just The Part One. The Background, as I’d like to say. But there is much more to tell. And I will, in time.

The Borderlines do come from dysfunctional families, that much is what I know.

But I never realised how deeply damaged I was by the all of the happenings, until The Nightmare I had, turned out to be a living hell on Earth.

Now, there is a question for you. Yes, you. If you can, if you want,  please answer it. I would appreciate it.