Self-Harm Replaced With Body Modifications- Tattoos And Piercings, My Experience

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My left forearm surface piercing.

 

Here it strikes again. I can feel it coming. I’m restless, anxious. Cannot stop thinking, walking around the flat.

I have to get out of here.

I have to go and do…something.

What will it be?

Have no idea exactly. It almost always starts with my car, engine turns on, I drive and end somewhere.

One piece of thought is scattered through my mind. Piercings, tattoos.

Luckily, it’s Saturday, so my friends do not work, but if they did, I will certainly got a new tattoo or a new piercing.

I have read somewhere, that these kind of body modifications replaces the self-harm urges, and first time I thought about it, I thought it was stupidity.

But, I have changed my mind.

It is mine compensation for the self-harm.

I admitted that to myself,but no one really understands. The people that surround me.

They think that I’m just utterly obsessed with it. Getting tattoos. Piercings.

No.

It’s something else.

It is this:

 

Tattoos, body piercing and self-harm – is there a link?
Some people say cutting their skin brings them relief from emotional pain – an act usually referred to as self-harm.
Others enjoy having their body pierced with metal and their skin inscribed with permanent ink. Is there a link between these acts? According to the German psychologists Aglaja Stirn and Andreas Hinz, in some cases there might well be.
The researchers collaborated with the body modification magazine Taetowiermagazin, recruiting 432 of their readers to complete a comprehensive questionnaire about their tattooing and piercing practices and motives.
One hundred and nineteen of the participants admitted to cutting themselves in childhood. That’s 27 per cent of the sample – a much higher proportion than is found among the general population of Germany: 0.75 per cent.
Compared with the readers who said they had never self-harmed, those who had were more likely to report “bad things” having happened in their lives, and to say they had previously had a bad relationship with their own body.
Moreover, the self-harmers reported that they often had their skin tattooed or body pierced to help overcome a negative experience, or simply to experience physical pain. Another clue that self-harm and piercing/tattooing might, in some cases, be linked, derives from the fact that many of the self-harmers said they had ceased cutting themselves after obtaining their first piercing or tattoo.
Stirn and Hinz concluded that most people who partake in body modification clearly do not do it because they have any psychological problems. “However,” they continued, “because body modifications have become so common and accessible, they are also used with probably increasing frequency as a convenient means to either realise psychopathological inclinations, such as self-injury, or to overcome psychological traumas.”
_________________________________
Stirn, A., Hinz, A. (2008). Tattoos, body piercings, and self-injury: Is there a connection? Investigations on a core  group of participants practicing body modification. Psychotherapy Research, 18(3), 326-333.
http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10503300701506938

 

Not everyone who has tattoo’s or piercings is in this group. But, some of us are.

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Dead End- Part Two, Or How To Deal With A BPD Patient

 

panda

Well, I am here.

I went to sleep, around 05:00 A.M. Gratefully and finally.

Woke up at 06:00 A.M. Ungratefully and feeling like a panda. Yeah,a PANDA.

Took a cab, because I was unwilling to drive by myself, ’cause panda’s don’t drive, do they?

Got to my psych, to find the waiting room crowded as it’s a Black Friday sale.

I just stood in the middle of the room, confused, and thinking what to do.

I consider myself as a really, really impatient person, especially when I feel like a panda, and after along night of horror movie with me as a main actress.

So, I just knocked on the door, pretending not to hear the people from the waiting room saying to me…stuff (censored, because I’m a nice and polite person).

I entered without hesitation. My psych was luckily alone, typing on the computer.

She turned around and looked at me with a looked at me as I am batshit crazy.

Well, I am. Batshit crazy. Or a panda. Choose yourself.

“What the hell happened?!”, she asked. I didn’t look in the mirror this morning, just a quick inspection to be sure that I don’t have messy hair.

That’s important, but the panda look is not.  You know, when your mascara is beautifully melted around your eyes giving you that special panda look.

“Well”, I said, “bottom down, didn’t sleep, wanted to kill someone or something, feeling like a crap, and being on the edge”. Telegraphic voice and telegraph speech.

“You sure look like that”.

“I know”. “So, what now?”.

That deep breath she took while nodding her head in disapproval was so comforting.

I was still standing. “Sit down”, she said.

“Don’t want too”.

“As you wish”, she replied annoyed.

“I can only send you right away to the hospital, for an urgency admittance, you know that?”

“Yep”.

“Do you agree?”

“Nope”.

“If you can, please help me without sending me for another three weeks of vacation in the mental ward”,I pledged.

Her smile was so sweet. I wanted to bang her in the head, although knowing she is completely right.

“Ok now…..have you done something to yourself? Planned to?”

“Sure. I was gambling with a couple of options”.

“Oh, Tina”. That deep breath again. “You have to be admitted. You look like hell”.

“A panda”, I replied.

“What? A panda?”, she asked.

“No, I’m not delusional, just sarcastic”, I whispered. “I thought you knew me by now”.

“Can we delay that admittance for a couple of days?I have things to sort out. It’s not that easy, you know?”, I said.

“It’s not easy to let go home someone who admitted self-harm intentions, I cannot do it just like that”.

Now I took a deep breath.

I knew how I looked. I knew what was happening tonight, I knew, but I just didn’t want to go…there, again

“Please”, I said. “I’ll be alright, I promise”.

The eternal silence with her looking at me,and looking, and looking…..

“Ok. Let’s do it this way. You have my number. You should have called me yesterday”.

“At midnight?!”. I was confused.

“Yes, at midnight, 3 A.M., whatever. We are changing the rules, starting now”. Her voice was full of anger. Oh, what a supporting feeling.

“You will get here tomorrow, for a checkup”.

“But…it’s Saturday tomorrow!”

“And so what? I will be here!”, she replied with growing impatience.

“Ok, ok..no problem, just to avoid that place, I’ll do anything”.

“I will prescribe you another med to the ones you already have. You know you are a complete mess, and we have to start antipsychotic again”.

Oh, joy. Again, a trip to the zombie land.

But I nodded with acceptance. I knew she was totally and completely right about it.

“You’ll start immediately. Go home, take off that panda look, and go to bed. Your cell phone will be by your bed. I will call you in the afternoon, and in the evening”.

Even my mother wouldn’t do something like that. She was never so…compassionate?

“You will?”, I asked perplexed.

“Surely and absolutely. Take a week of the work, take a week for yourself. Don’t answer to the calls, of anyone whom you think will disturb you. Just try to focus on yourself. On yourself!”.

I thought that alien replaced my psych.  This wasn’t her. She was usually cold, distant and totally uninterested.

“What happened to you?”, I asked. “You seem like another person, another psych. I have never met you!”.

She laughed.

“Tina, you are coming here so long, and you haven’t noticed anything? I do care. You problem is that you don’t feel it or see it”.

Yeah right, I thought, but in the same time I asked myself if she was in fact right.

BPD patients are hard to correlate with their doctors, often build a wall around them….I know all of that.

And I started to cry. That was an accomplishment for me. And a relief. I felt that somebody is supporting me. Really supporting me.

“Oh, come on now, it will be alright. The fact you have made it to fight yourself and come here in the morning, that’s a sign of a strength and will. You are strong. You can manage it. I am here. We will get you out of this episode, together. All right?”.

I wanted to hug her, so I did. I never ever did that to any other psych before. I felt like someone took a heavy load of me.

She accepted the hug, I felt it.

Suddenly, the peace and the feeling of hope emerged.

It takes so little to make your patient trust you and cooperate.

It takes so little, my  dear psych docs, for the BPD patient to accept you. It takes just a little of a support and understanding. So little, but so much at the same time.

I felt like floating while exiting her office. I knew someone is watching over me, and will be there. That was a tremendous step forward for me.

So, now I’m peacefull like a baby.

And I didn’t even took my meds yet. I will.

I will follow the rules this time. No rebellion like before, because she gave me what I needed.

This time, she gave me what I needed. Not the meds, but the understanding.

Thank you, my dear doc A.

You saved me from myself, and saved me from the vacation in the happy place of the mental hospital.

So guys, it seems I’ll stick around. Not going on a vacation or a longer trip to the Unknown.

I did it. I managed it, and overcome myself.

I am a strong woman, indeed.

Go to hell, you BPD. I will beat you, I know I will!

Yours truly, Tina.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dead End

 

end

Triggered and thrown into the abyss.

With stupid words. With stupid acts. With stupid people that surround me.

 

I should have left my cell phone in the sink and pour the water in. To drown it.

 

I lit up a cigarette.

 

Smoke vanishes in the air. Just like me. Vanishing.

 

What do I feel?

 

Common question. Without an exact answer. All of it. Everything. Oh my, you stupid BPD.

Anger, grief, sorrow. If I could cry (which I just cannot for a long time now), I think I would flood the city.

 

 

Instead, I’m sitting empty, alone, looking at the wall.

Smoke in the air.

Coffee.

Me. Wanting only one thing.

 

 

This story should finally reach the end.

 

Perplexed plot, insane characters, twisted turns, unbelievable chapters full of despair.

 

Smoke in the air.

I took all of my meds, as prescribed. With a touch of more Klonopin to numb me even more. It’s not working, as usual.

 

If I make it through the night, if I finally get asleep (which I also cannot), I promise myself to see my psych tomorrow.

 

I feel another couple of days or weeks coming, in the, oh so well-known,  surrounding with white walls and full-time insanity.

 

If I make it.

Smoke. Vanishing.

 

 

“..Laecheln…… sanfte Rueckkehr….
….Traenenlos versinkend……
…..Schau zurueck friedvoll…
….Wenn die Daemmerung erwacht…

……Vieles bleibt vergessen…..
……Verschwommen und zerschellt…..
……An den leichten Momenten…….
……Dem Wellenschlage gleich…….ueberm Meer…”

 

 

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

I haven’t been posting, for a while.

Why?

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.

 

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.

🙂

 

 

 

The Coffee, The Pen And The Gun

#TRIGGER WARNING!#

 

coffee and a gun

 

I had a cup of coffee, then two

I took a pen and wrote some notes on the paper

About the future, about the past

I wrote a letter to someone who will care enough to read it

I even draw a picture of the world as I see it

Just a black sheet of emptiness.

 

I don’t like guns

But I feel safe when I have one around

As being attacked too many times in my life

I always bear that feeling of threat incoming towards me.

 

The coffee, the pen and the gun.

I used only two of them.

The third stayed untouched.

 

For how long?

It’s a Mad World, Indeed

 

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow

And I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I’m dying
Are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It’s a very, very mad world mad world….”

 

Isn’t it a truly Mad World?

Beautiful song, awesome lyrics.

Like it? Do you find yourself in the lyrics as I do?

BORDERLINE PERSONALITY CHARACTERISTICS THAT MAKE YOU AWESOME

bpd2

 

As I said in the title, the negative BPD characteristics make you at the same time, awesome.

It is just a question which side will prevail, negative or positive, in a specific situation.

BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER COMPLEXITY

BORDERLINE PERSONALITY COMPLEXITY

Your character defined through BPD:

awesome, brilliant, emotional, empathic, charismatic and with no control over all of it!

  1. So, you can be a little pretty lady and go to the bitch state in 0.13 seconds, or have an emotional outburst on a single word that practically doesn’t mean anything special
  2. You can drive a car while singing your favorite tune, and in the next moment crushing the headlights of the idiot’s car in front of you.
  3. You can be happy and in the next second curling on the floor bursting with the tears.
  4. You really love your partner, but when he/she goes away, you feel abandoned and hate their guts.
  5. You don’t understand yourself, yet you accuse others for not understanding you also.
  6. You want to explain someone what is wrong with you, but it’s not possible.
  7. You are killing your emotional pain through physical pain of self-harm.
  8. You feel all emotions at once, and its overburdening, so you self-harm again.
  9. You have suicidal thoughts, sometimes all the time, every day, and yet you are smiling outside.
  10. You think of people as good or bad, nothing in between.
  11. You fear rejection, yet you push the people out of your life, before the rejection occurs.
  12. You are highly empathic and that makes you tired, you don’t need other people’s emotions as well.

All of this is, and so much more, is a full package of things you feel and do.

That is why the BPD is so complex, so it is often beyond normal understanding of the people that surround you.

The worst thing is, that the majority of the psych docs doesn’t know what to do with you.

Help is hard to find.

And BPD is not a broken arm that heals over time.

What do you think?

My BPD Skin Scars In Real Life- Try Wearing A T-Shirt In Public

 

forearm

 

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Yeah, it’s ugly, someone noticed in the bar, sitting behind me.

My forearms, scared, every line representing something to me.

I have turned around and said that my scars are no more ugly than his unintelligent brain.

He was too stupid to understand the meaning.

 

But, from that point, and even before that, I have thought what to do with these marks I made?

I bought an expensive cover up make up, but I was disgusted by the idea of camouflaging myself. It is who I am, like it or not. So I didn’t use it, not even once.

One day, I met a great guy, who is a tattoo artist. We were out, drinking beer, and I couldn’t notice his constant look on my forearm.  At first I was mad, so I asked him why the looks? Are my arms so pretty?

He said that he understands, and meant no harsh feelings, but that he was thinking about tattoos on my scars. Not to cover them all, its impossible, but to make them less visible.

I asked him how does he know that I wanted them less visible?

He said that there’s no other reason to wear a long sleeve shirt in the summer.

And he made a point. I haven’t even realised I went out with my long sleeves shirt.

I was hiding from myself.

So, we agreed to meet and make some plans about tattoo.

And yes, I got a tattoo on my forearm.

But, I liked it so much, that it has turned into a full sleeve tattoo (the whole arm), that spreads all along on my back.

Also, I got two other tattoos on my legs, because I liked them.

So, now I am not only scared, but also tattooed. Society loves me and accepts me truly ( that was sarcasm).

Not long time after that, I met a great girl, a beautiful, open-minded and highly empathic. A great person with a wonderful soul.

She is a piercing master.

Now I have at least ten piercings all around me, including the forearm.

Society approves me now even more.

In the summer, when I go out wearing a tiny T-shirt, I can feel the looks from the surrounding people. They are disgraced by my look.

Fuck that.

I concluded that I have never fitted into this society after all.

Now they have even more to look at on me and pinpoint me as a scandalous person.

Fuck that, you didn’t respect me before, I do not need your approval or respect, especially now.

I love my new me, at least new on the outside.

The inside is awaiting a soul tattoo, a mind remedy and a heart healing process.

I know all of it will become real……one day.

Until then, I plan another piercing tomorrow. Just to add more spice.

I Am My Own Worst Enemy

LINKIN PARK- GIVEN UP

 

I relate to this song in every word that has been written, singed, read, written, felt.

 

“Stuck in my head again

Feels like I’ll never leave this place
There’s no escape

I’m my own worst enemy

I’ve given up
I’m sick of feeling
Is there nothing you can say

Take this all away
I’m suffocating
Tell me what the fuck is wrong
With me”

Paint It Black

“I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and I must have it painted black
Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts
It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black” -Rolling Stones.

 

 

Darkest of darkness I have ever seen,

Turned into a crack filled with the pitch-black starless space.

 

I merged into it, floating on the surface desperately,

While I was unwilling,  and slowly, consumed absolutely.

 

I turned into black, the darkness pure,

The Soul, the Heart and the Mind full of the gloomy fury.

 

Is there blackest than the deepest black?

Could the darkness I’ve become,

Turn into the substance more mournful than it is?

 

Do not wake me up,

Until the whole black mayhem is scrubbed away.

Do not make me feel,

Until the colors reappear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hey, how fast things can fall apart!

 

 

 

Hey, hey, hey….how I hate this BPD.

 

I felt like shit for the last couple of days, but today it has escalated enormously.

 

I had a  meeting arranged, which I couldn’t miss, because, hey, job is a job, and I have a work to do.

I pushed myself to the end, passing my limits to get out of the apartment, get to the meeting, smile, do the presentation, talk, negotiate, make a deal.

 

Hey, hey, my boss will be happy!!

Fuck him.

 

I got home exhausted emotionally and physically. Exhausted, but yet tremendously nervous and anxious.

 

My body wanted to sit, but instead, I was cleaning the bathroom.

My mind wanted to sleep, but hey, I had to do the laundry.

 

Because, when I sat down, hey, what a disastrous mess started in my head.

“This is not good…fight it back..fight it back..”.

 

So I cleaned the apartment, I did everything I could just to stop myself from thinking.

But hey, eventually, I had to sit down.

 

I wanted to hit the wall, to take the razor, to scream until I drop.

Popped up one Klonopin to settle down a bit.

Nothing .

Hey, let’s make that two. Three. Four. I stopped counting at ten.

 

I felt dizzy, somehow sleepy, hey, I know that feeling, been there, done that a million times before.

But inside of me….everything you can imagine was happening at the same time.

 

Hey, do you know how does it feel, to feel all you that you are able to feel at once,  and so intense, that it hurts?!

I hope you don’t.

 

I really hate this BPD.

Hate myself. Hate everything.

If this life had a meaning, I would have found it a long time ago.

All I do now is a struggle, not to do IT again and end up this hell.

 

Six suicide attempts, first when I was just ten years old.

The last one was a close enough. I have been reanimated, because I stopped breathing, my heart stopped.. and fuck it, there was no tunnel with a light at the end.

Maybe the lights turned off, just for me.

 

Hey, I really hate this BPD.

 

Maybe the next time, someone will be so kind to change the bulbs in the tunnel, and turn the lights on.

I would appreciate it, thank you in advance.

 

 

The Beer, The Impending Doom And A Glass Of Whiskey

 

“And on my deathbed I will pray to the gods and the angels,

Like a pagan to anyone who will take me to heaven;

To a place I recall, I was there so long ago.

The sky was bruised, the wine was bled, and there you led me on.”

 

Surrounded by people I call friends, surrounded by people I call relatives, holding onto my beer, firmly.

 

Voices all around me. Making noise and not sense. Attacking me.

 

I hate gatherings. I hate being surrounded. I do not feel good. In fact, I feel awful.

 

In my head, the movie begins:

I am standing up on the table, throwing the bottle to the ground. The sound of broken glass makes everyone to look at me.

And then I start to yell. To each of them I tell everything I wanted to tell for a long time, but I didn’t, ’cause I was polite.

But not tonight.

After I told what I had to say, I break at least two tables and chairs. One chair is thrown into a window.

I can feel glass flying right into me, sticking into my flesh, the warmth of blood leaking slowly down my body.

And if that’s not enough, there’s always a Glock to finish the situation.

 

But the beer is not cold anymore.

And I’m on the verge of an incident.

Laughing next to me, my friend poured accidentally a glass of wine, ruining her perfect dress with lovely flowers.

To me, the dress looks so much better now.

 

I am getting of the table and walking away without saying goodbye.

I hear my name being called, but I’m not turning or responding.

 

The car, the road and me.

 

“Save me from myself, save me from myself….”, repeating into my mind like a broken record player.

 

After few cuts I’ll be fine. Pouring a full glass of whiskey makes me almost happy. The sound and the scent of the glass filling to the top.

Killing the beast is not easy, and I will do all I can, to make it go away.

 

Triggered

Well, the same “movie plot” as my life. Unfortunately, though.

I wish that I could share something positive about psychiatrists, therapy, DBT, but there’s nothing positive I can say so far.

The pattern just repeats itself in a form of a bad experiences with everything mentioned above.

BPD sucks, it is stigmatized to the bone.

It’s enough to go to the psych appointment and when they hear BPD I always hear that “uhhhhhhhhhh” sound.

It freaks me out so much, that I had started laughing the last time I was at the first appointment.

The psych asked why I was laughing, because he didn’t say anything, he was just reading my med documentation with that “uhhhhhhh” sound.

I replied: “You are all the same. When you see BPD,you are quitting on me before we have even started”.

No appointments had been arranged for the future visits. 😀

Girl walks into a psychiatrist's office . . .

I had an appointment with the psychiatrist today.

gun-phone

I was hoping we could have some sort of discussion about meds – even antidepressants. I am barely functioning out there in the real world, yesterday I had to leave work early (after arriving late) … I am a ticking bomb waiting to go off and I was scared yesterday.

I have met with this psych a couple of times before and I had a good vibe from him. He did my initial pre-diagnosis and was supportive during that time.

So, I went to the appointment with some enthusiasm and hope that he might offer some words of wisdom regarding my DBT debacle and that meds could be discussed.

What a silly, silly girl I am.

Firstly, here in NSW, there is a protocol for having your case worker sit in on any psychiatric sessions. I have seen 3 shrinks over 5-6…

View original post 574 more words

The 4 Ego States (Modes) of the Borderline

Interesting topic. And a true one. I found myself in every four of the modes. And currently, I’m a detached protector. It lasts for a long time now. For me this is the best way to keep myself functional. And to be honest, my psych could not ever bring me into the Vulnerable Child.
My shield is too hard to be broken.

Beautifully Borderline

I read this article and OMG this is me. I tell people all the time (those who know about my BPD), that I go through emotional cycles. I’ve described these very “modes” in the cycle that I’ve noticed within myself. I didn’t necessarily realize that they were very real and consistent among those with the disorder. I’ve pasted the significant section below, but here is a link to the article itself if you’d like to read the whole thing.

http://www.toddlertime.com/dx/borderline/bpd-rathbun.htm

To assist the therapist in maintaining appropriate engagement with borderline patients, a psychologist at Columbia named Jeffrey Young has developed an interesting way of categorizing the ego states commonly seen in borderlines. In his experience, the borderline patient will normally present four ego states, which he calls MODES:

1. The patient normally presents for therapy in an ego state which Young calls The Vulnerable Child Mode – in this mode…

View original post 567 more words

Self-harm: Ponder this

For all of those who do not understand self-harming. For all of those who are judging people with this problem. I’m embarrassed with my scars , but they’re mine and they somehow represent my certain periods in life. Every faded line has a story behind….

Beautifully Borderline

Something to ponder for those that judge self-harmers:

First let me say that I realize there are a number of reasons why people self-harm. This is one reason…at least for me.

What do you do when you get an injury? Let’s say you slammed your finger in a door. Ouch, right? You may attempt causing a physical sensation to another part of your body because it takes your mind’s focus off of the pain and onto the new sensation. Now, if you slammed your finger in a door, which we all agree hurts like hell, would a simple finger-point tap to your shoulder, for example, be enough to mask the pain? No way! You’d most likely rub vigorously or maybe even pinch yourself. It’d have to be enough to overpower the pain, right?

Now, those with mental illnesses experience similar situations. Except, their pain is on the inside. And let me…

View original post 77 more words

What’s it Like to Be An Adult Who Self Harms

This is an exceptional post about self-harm, but not in adolescence or early adolescence. Because, self-harm is somehow “glued” to the young people, I also feel “thrown out” of the finding help. We must admit, as a society, that self-harm is not just a teenage problem. It just isn’t! And help should be provided for young people, but for us, older, also.

The Unsafe Container of Emotions

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/unsafe-containers/

 

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.