A Sense of Hope

Was very heartened to get a comment on my last post from a reader who found my sense of hope "inspiring" and like to see my proactive approach to my condition. (thanks Stacy!) I worry sometimes - especially lately when I have been doing so well and am the closest to recovery that I've ever been - that people will find this blog to be saccharine and superficial. So it is good to hear that people in the world are finding some support and help in it.

When I started writing here in the fall of '09, I had just started my journey to recovery. I had just been diagnosed with BPD, although I has suspected it for a while and had displayed the symptoms for about 5 years. I'd been through so much before then, so much that I never shared anywhere, not even in my personal journals. The only record of those 5 hard years lies in my memory and a few small scars that never fully healed.

But when I started this blog, I was in a dark place again - I had limited functioning in the real world and barely left the house, let alone my bed. At my best times I was numbing my feelings with daily fast food binges and escaping reality with continually watching Grey's Anatomy DVDS; on my worst days I would take extra sleeping pills and a few shots of Vodka to lull myself into painless sleep.

I wanted to die, but knew I couldn't let that happen. The mental image of my family and friends at my funeral was frightening. So my only other option, if I wanted to survive (be it only to protect my loved ones from the pain of my death), was to fight.

So I did - I took that proactive approach; even though it seemed hopeless I did it anyway. I got evaluated and diagnosed. I started seeing my counselor regularly. Even though I had little faith that it would help, going to therapy and group sessions at the mental health center were comforting, they soothed me almost as much as eating or drinking. There were setback, such as the fact that the DBT group in my area was on hiatus. So I bought a DBT workbook and did DBT on my own with guidance from my therapist and discussions with others in group therapy. Often I had to push myself to do things I just didn't feel like doing, like simply leaving my room to go out into the real world. Going to therapy and group was taxing on days when I was simply exhausted, so I had to push myself. And each time I did, it got a little easier. My therapist always seemed so impressed with my ability to work so hard to recover. But she hadn't seen the years I'd spent not recovering. And besides, I didn't have a choice. It was fight or die.

Which brings me to today. I'm not recovered, but I'm better than I've been in years. I'm thinking clearly, making decisions, I'm less emotional and more level headed. I've learned how to deal with some of the major problems that have tripped me up and ruined my life in the past five years. More than that, I have actually written plans on how to deal with them - specific steps and strategies to followed when I feel lonely or scared or someone hurt me.

So overall I welcome the sense of hope that I have now. It's been hard-earned and long awaited. And for years I didn't think it was possible to feel this way. But I know now that was one of the lies that BPD tells you. I know now that there is hope.