Managing Hatred

As a BPD sufferer I find myself shifting through a plethora of different emotions throughout the day.  I find the easiest of all emotions to identify is the feeling of hate.  Hate can come in many different strains for me, and the period for which  my hate for someone remains is flexible.  What I am starting to realise though is that a lot of the hate I feel towards people is usually very irrational.

A few examples here.  I genuinely hate a number of British TV personalities.  I absolutely loath them.  There are a number of celebrity figures who irk me, and I can distinguish between annoyance and absolute detest.  I have no real reason to hate these people, although they often are a similar breed of celebrity.  To name a few;  Carol Vordeman, Lesley Garrett, Alex Jones.  There are plenty more but those three have stuck in my mind today.  If I were to dig a little deeper there are a few commonalities between the three, but I'll avoid going in to analysis of that now.

In my day-to-day life I often find myself going through periods of hating those that are truly close to me.  I find it difficult to accept that at times I feel hatred towards them, and quite often for only a very minor offense.  I suppose the best example of this irrationality is the relationship I have with my dogs.  I've just returned from a short-walk with them (I have a 4 and a half month old border terrier puppy, and an eighteen month old fox terrier-jack russell cross) and during the walk they both did a few things which irritated me to the point that I felt hatred towards them.  The older dog barks at anything that moves.  The younger dog has a habit of getting under my feet and tripping me up.  Sitting here now, I can see clearly that those things are just their little quirks.  They're not intentionally setting out to upset me.  They're two adorable dogs who are being just that.  At the time of the walk though I really hated them.  It felt like they were mocking me and purposely trying to annoy me.

The point I'm trying to make is that it's very easy to hate those around you when you're blinded by the strong emotions BPD can dredge up, but if you take a step back and look at the bigger picture it's not the person, or in the example above, the animal, you're hating.  It's the behaviour.  In an ideal world the feeling of hate would never emerge,  but even reaching a point where the two can be separated as an immediate reaction would make the world that bit brighter.

Betrayed by the school nurse

I'd been suffering with mental health issues for as long as I could remember.  As a child if I reached a certain level of stress I would repeatedly bang my head against a wall.  This was always done in private.  At the age of 13 I began self-harming and considered myself to be somewhat "depressed".  A school friend who had seen my cuts had told a teacher after I'd been self-harming for around a year, who had then told the school nurse.  I also saw a school counsellor about three times but found her unbelievably patronising.  The school nurse insisted I told my parents, but as a lot of the stress in my life came from my parents, who misunderstood my depression as being a sulky, moody, ungrateful teenager, I was determined they wouldn't find out.  I recall a couple of months where the nurse repeatedly told me to tell my parents, but I didn't want them involved.  I knew it wouldn't help at that point.

It was a dreary monday morning, and I was sat in a boring science lesson.  The school nurse would often turn up during lessons to take me for "a little chat", so I was almost relieved to be leaving the science lesson with her.  However, on the stairs up to the main office she dropped the bomb on me.  "I telephoned your parents this morning.  They're sat in there waiting for you".  I was nearly sick.  I felt totally betrayed by the nurse.  It ended up with a meeting between my parents, my year head, a trusted maths teacher, the school nurse and myself.  It was protocol.  Self-harm was very misunderstood ten years ago, and was definitely associated even more than today with attention-seeking or "being emo".  I was neither.  I also went to see my GP with my mum, but being an "old school" GP, and with it being a relatively new reason for visiting a GP a decade ago, she just checked the cuts for infection and sent us on our way.

My parents initially followed the typical reaction that most parents have when they discover their child is self-harming.  They took everything sharp and hid it away.  Of course they were unaware I had a special "kit" hidden under my bed.  I found the following months even more difficult.  They were more vigilant, although after about a week we never ever mentioned it again.  My mum, if she HAD to mention it would refer to it as "the time when you were silly".  I continued to self-harm for roughly another year.  I remember the last cut I made as a mid-teen.  It was shortly after the death of my paternal Grandad.  I was 16.  I'd just met the person who would go on to become my boyfriend and best friend for three and a half years.  Things were picking up and my days of feeling down and self-harming seemed forgotten.  I was sure I was "cured" and very relieved the "worst years of my life" were over.

Sadly, after the break-up with my boyfriend my problems returned, but I'll save that chapter of my life for a different post.


(To read my views on how turning to a new relationship to "cure" your mental health problems is essentially pointless please see an earlier post: Say no to Prince Charming )

The simplest of things are sometimes the hardest to do

With BPD some days run smoothly.  I get a couple of days per week where things run as if I wasn't ill.  However, for the remaining days of the week I often find even the simplest of tasks near impossible.

Getting dressed, cleaning teeth, brushing hair, showering, eating.  All these things become very difficult to complete.  I find myself just sitting and "being".  Not doing anything, the TV's off, I'm not at my computer and the radio isn't on.  I'm just sat trapped in my own little bubble.  It's not a horrible bubble to be in, but it certainly isn't a nice one.

I find the easiest way to combat this situation is to draw up an activity schedule the night before.  Sometimes I'm caught off guard and don't think a schedule is necessary.  These days result in the above situation.  But if I've pre-planned the day, hour to hour, sometimes minute to minute, with normal daily activities of living I'm more likely to live a normal day.

I know it sounds silly.  For your average person looking after yourself is just natural.  People don't think about it.  But with BPD the smallest molehill becomes a mountain.  It's not laziness.  It's just finding yourself trapped in  the bubble, a bubble which can often be very difficult to pop.

The early bird doesn't end up with shit on it's floor

The current reality of getting up in the morning at a
 reasonable hour

I've never been a morning person.  As soon as I was old enough to take care of my own morning routine without the assistance of my mother I quickly learned that staying in bed longer and getting dressed really quickly was preferable to getting up with enough time to eat breakfast, swoon around in a dressing gown and shower.  At university, sometimes "getting ready" would literally involve putting a coat on.  I learned that by choosing certain pajamas you could get away with wearing them out and about, provided you put up with a bra during the night.


During my time in full-time employment, which spanned approximately 18 months, I did go through a phase of showering in the morning.  A new haircut meant if I washed it first thing I could have bouncy curls, and to wash it the night before and tie it up would often leave me looking like I'd been dragged to work feet first.  But aside from that very brief period my mornings have always been a rushed affair.

Since I've been signed off sick from work (approximately 14 months ago) things have deteriorated further.  I take a strong cocktail of medication on a night-time, some to alleviate various symptoms of the BPD, OCD and recurrent depression, and others to help me sleep.  The cocktail consists of Trazodone, Quetiapine, Temazepam and Diazepam.  I get up at around 5am to let my dogs out, and take some more Quetiapine, and then go back to bed (the Quetiapine is an anti-psychotic and part of my daily medication routine, the only optional medications are Temazepam and Diazepam but I've been taking these regularly for a number of years - it's something I'm trying to address).  With the best will in the world I try to get up around 9, but if I'm perfectly honest, 9am very soon becomes 10am, 11am, 12pm.  At my worst, although before I had dogs, I would frequently get up between 1pm and 2pm.

Initially, when I got my new puppy and following a recent hospital admission, I was able to get up at around 9 - 10am, which I loved.  The dogs were happier.  I was even taking them for a walk first thing which made us all feel brilliant.  However very gradually it's crept back to midday.  So far it's only been just over a week, but I'm fully aware that staying in bed that long is not good for my dogs or my mental health.  It's shaken their routine up, and although they do have a few breaks to go outside during the night, me being unconscious does nothing to entertain and stimulate their minds.

As a result, in the last few days I've come down to piles of poop in my living room.  I take full responsibility for this and to be perfectly honest I'm ashamed this last few days has resulted in them being forced into that. I saw my CPN today and she agreed; something has to change.

I've identified the problem.  That of not being able to get up at an appropriate time.  I also know that 9 times out of 10 it's because I'm not properly awake enough to rationally decide it's time to get out of bed.  I often feel very drugged up in a morning and without weighing up the pros and cons of getting up (the pros being happy stress-free dogs and owner, the cons being a soiled living room and 2 grumpy dogs, and one very groggy owner) I quickly re-set my alarm for a few hours later, or just turn it off altogether.

The solution?  I'm going to get one of those old-school alarms and set it to go off half an hour after my bedside alarm goes off.  That way, I get the option to get up gently to some soothing rain music (with the aid of 'Sleep Cycle' (for more information visit the iphone app site here), but if I do decide to go back to bed I will be rudely awoken by a very loud, very persistent bell.  The only way to turn the alarm off will be to drag myself out of bed, go downstairs and turn the thing off, by which point the smell of freshly made coffee prepared very kindly by the timer on my coffee machine will be circulating through my system and I should be awake enough to rationally decide that getting up now is far better than returning to bed and being lazy.

The expectation of getting up with
the new plan in place

Watch this space.

All change in the blink of an eye

No matter who you are or how you are it's not uncommon for a day you thought was going perfectly to suddenly turn into a nightmare.  Since the worsening of my BPD symptoms I've found that this occurs frequently.  Where as before, during spells of good mental health, these days would perhaps occur monthly. for me they occur around twice a week.  It's nearly always down to something very trivial. And it always feels like the very biggest problem the world could have thrown my way.

I felt like Superwoman

Yesterday is a good example.  I'd been having a rough couple of days anyway, my meal times had gone out the window, my sleeping patterns irregular and Sunday night turned into an alcohol binge that left me vomiting through the night and feeling worse for wear on Monday.  However, on Tuesday morning I woke up feeling like a new pin.  The weather had picked up a bit and I was looking forward to taking my dogs on a good walk to burn a bit of energy off.  My house was reasonably tidy, but I always enjoy a bit of light housework in the afternoon to get things ship-shape.  I had my sister coming round for tea and my parents were visiting a bit later.  I felt like superwoman.  Nothing could shake this positive feeling, and I was sure this would be the way I'd feel forever.


It all went wrong during our walk.  I let both dogs off the lead and one of them disappeared about 400 meters ahead and would only come back when she was ready.  We did manage to have a fairly decent walk but the disappearing dog trick had well and truly set the tone.

One of my dogs is a 4 and a half month old puppy.  I've been trying really hard to get her toilet-trained but it's proving very difficult.  I'm confident that my method is fine, it's just a very long, slow process.  Sadly, she had to live away from me for a couple of weeks when she was around 3 months as I spent a few weeks in hospital. I wonder if perhaps this has made things extra hard.

I spent over an hour stood by the back door with her, in blocks of around 10 minutes, waiting for her to go.  I could tell she needed to because she was doing her usual sniffing and walking round in circles.  After over two hours of being vigilant she finally caught me off guard and did it on the floor anyway.  

I just sat and cried and cried and cried and cried.  I felt so sad.  Within a few hours, after a cup of tea and a bath I was feeling fine again.  But during that hour following poop-gate I was just so depressed, and couldn't envision a time when I would feel okay again.  It literally felt like the world was ending.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is the lack of insight I have into my moods when they're at either end of the spectrum.  Now, while I'm ambling along in the middle of the mood spectrum I can see perfectly clear that I won't feel happy all the time, and that bad moods will pass.  But in the thick of it, all you can feel is the current mood and it just seems like that's the mood you'll spend the rest of your life in.  My response yesterday was that of complete over-reaction, but it happens so frequently, and no matter who tries to tell me the feeling will end I just can't see it.  I think for me, that is one of the very defining symptoms of my BPD.

Self Harm - A Secret Obsession - YouTube Video

During a particularly difficult time I made a video about my experience of self-harm and posted it on YouTube.  On the 8th December it'll be 4 years since I posted it.  It's had over 230,000 views.

Please be warned that this video is potentially triggering, and the "related videos" that appear after the video and down the side bar are very graphic so please view with caution.

(Please click the link below to access video)

                            Self Harm - A Secret Obsession

During my late teens and early twenties I struggled with self-harm.  To this day I do still struggle.  My habits of self-harming have changed.  I used to superficially cut myself on an almost daily basis.  I find now that I remain self-harm free for about two months and then resort back to it.  These days the cuts are much deeper.  I have also turned to overdosing in recent years.  Although I did overdose from the age of 20, they were usually very small and had little impact upon my health.  I recently ended up in a coma over the summer following a large overdose.

If I could go back and talk to myself as a teenager I would tell myself to get help while things were still under control.  If I could see the way it has escalated from a small scratch to me ending up in a coma I'd take the small scratch a little bit more seriously.

Can two people with BPD have a meaningful friendship?

I ask this question because of recent events.  During an inpatient stay at the beginning of the year I became friends with a patient, Joanne, who at the time was 19, 4 years younger than me.

It's an unusual situation meeting people on psychiatric wards.  I always swore I wouldn't make any lasting friendships through mental health services, but when you're sharing a room with other young people for several months it's difficult to not get emotionally attached to other patients.

I was always a little bit suspicious of Joanne.  She would often exhibit attention-seeking behaviour.  My experience of self-harm is that of a private one.  I was shocked when in her first few days she began cutting herself in full view of other patients and in many instances would insist they went and got a nurse on her behalf.  I immediately refused to be part of such games but some of the other less savvy patients would feed into this attention-seeking behaviour.

I am confident that a lot of what she talked about was founded in lies. She would make up stories of previous experiences, usually very far-fetched.  For example, at the age of 19 she claimed to have had 3 pregnancies.  One, she claimed, was aborted, another miscarried and a further baby she allegedly gave birth to "in secret" and "gave it" to her friends parents.  I'll let you make up your mind on the authenticity of these events.

She seemed to treat being an inpatient like a game.   On some occasions she would enquire about the circumstances of my admission, and then seek to "get equal" with it.  For example, on finding out I'd been under a section at one point, she set out to get on a section herself.  I began having to lie to her just to prevent her from striving to compete with me.

Sadly, a good friend of mine, Kath, who I also met as an inpatient (a much more successful friendship with a non-BPD patient), was not so wise to Joanne's behaviour.  Joanne became locked in a battle to out-do anything Kath did, or anyone else for that matter.  Since meeting Joanne I have taken a number of overdoses, and although I haven't personally told her about this, word soon gets round when you go missing from the psychiatric ward for a few days to get treatment from the medical side.  She would then claim to have taken similar overdoses.  But she never got ill.

Over the last eleven months I've been incredibly lenient and ignored the fact she would often lie or exaggerate things for attention.  I blamed it on immaturity.  For all her flaws, I could also see a little bit of me in her.  It felt like I'd found a "little sister", and I had started to try and guide and protect her.

Over the past few months however it has become an impossible task.  If she hasn't been an inpatient she has been trying her hardest to become one.  I'm lucky in that since June I've only spent 13 nights as an inpatient.  She, on the other hand has become so determined to be admitted.  I think she's been an inpatient on four occasions now, the first three she was almost physically removed from the unit after refusal to be discharged.  Currently she is trying all measures to prevent herself from being discharged.  All she cares about is getting attention on the ward.  Where most people would love to be out of the hospital getting on with their lives she relishes being in there.

It's come to the point where enough is enough.  I've found myself becoming increasingly nasty when talking to her.  I am sick and tired of her behaviour.  I do believe she can help a lot of what she does and says, especially because the majority of what she says is a lie, told to gain sympathy.  I found myself almost bullying her.  I've since made the decision to cut her off.  I no longer have contact with her.  It was a pointless friendship that I invested far more in than she did.

It made me feel sad to lose a friend, until I had the realisation that there was no friend there in the first place to be lost.