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Last night I watched the first ep of Sherlock and saw how Watson was advised by his psych to write on a blog so as to deal with his anxiety and ptsd.

so, basically that’s exactly what i’m doing.

I hate that the topic of mental illness shows up in 50%-100% of the all the posts I make. To be clear, I don’t do this to be edgy or get sympathy or attention–I do this because this is some shit that makes up 85% of my daily and moment-to-moment battles.

So yeah, in recent news, my fav Carrie Fisher died, but thankfully, from a heartache and not from a freak drug overdose, which is probably what her doctors would’ve pegged about her. I remember her interview in Stephen Fry’s documentary and she joked about how is manic episodes she would think that God was saving her parking spots.

I liked the fact that she was so open and frank about her fuck-ups, and didn’t mind releasing photos of her looking bad.

Thanks, Carrie. Those battles you fought was your cross to bear, and you’ve finished up your mission, spectacularly. I hope God feels better than percocet and that he confirms your parking-lot-saving suspicions.

Shifting topic a bit–I’ve been feeling really on edge for the past few days. A lot of it has to do with being back in Vernon Hills, which is a place I hate, in general, with a few spots of exceptions.

It’s just malls for miles and big ass cars whizzing by, filling up the huge mall parking lots, and there’s always just one tiny ass person in those big ass cars. It’s just shit–really awful. Because hear this. The other day I was in Barnes and Noble and found this flashy book disguised as medical guide. The title was called F*ck Feelings. You know at first I gave it benefit of doubt and thought it was just trying to be clever and edgy and subversive. But then I was wrong.

The writer, apparently with a M.D included a section of Borderline bitches.” I shit you not. It was horrifying. The writing was completely stigmatizing and ignorant. He described BPD women (cuz, apparently men are immune to such a bitchy-hoe disorder) as insane, emotionally manipulative and unpredictable, and also crazy enough to “kill your dog” if a relationship goes bad. The section was less for Borderline education and was more a laughing, bullying section for men on how to avoid borderline women (who apparently trap men and then destroy their lives through their insanity and infidelity and all that other good stuff)—of course, all the expense of women.

As someone who lives with Borderline Personality Disorder and tries to survive through the stigma of the public and also the medical industry, I was seriously hurt by it. I was hurt, not angry. I was too tired to be angry.

Something that really hurts me and others with BPD is the misconception that we are manipulative and toxic. I would really like to clear this up. If you know anything at all about the nature of this disorder and brain disease, people with BPD are too fucking sad and crippled by their illness to actively sit calmly for a moment to sketch out any kind of scheme to deliberately fuck up the lives of others. Like, bitch, I’m too fucking retarded right now by this monster I live with–I don’t have the time or the energy to try to gyp you into giving me something. It’s a disease that is incredibly alienating and lonely. When we cut ourselves or OD on meds, it’s pure coping strategy, not a fucking way to beg you to cough up sympathy. We are not there to hurt people, we promise. And honestly, I go out of way to warn people about myself, and especially during terrible periods, I tell people to stay away from me because I’m scared of being contagious–I’m scared of spreading all those dark vibes.

The prognosis for BPD is good though–it has improved significantly with the gift of Dialectical Behavioral Therapy. The recovery period upon initial diagnoses is 6 years with the help of medication, therapy, and communal support. What used to be the most untreatable and confounding disorder now has a skeletal structure of a treatment plan. More research is being done, and the stigma is lessening by people who care enough to spread awareness and educate the public. Now, educating and making others aware of BPD is really hard because of the stigma, which is still being furthered by asshats like that crackpot doctor from that awful book. I will try to write more about this later, as my part to put in my own personal research and investigations into it. However, it’s up to the public to be open and receptive to it.  Currently, there’s a fair amount of understanding for clinical depression because generally speaking, depressed people are blobs without spikes (I know because of my own d. episodes). But when it comes to mood disorders in the realm of Manic depression and BPD, things get ugly–in a really ugly way. I’m not joking when I say there is literal blood everywhere (don’t worry, it’s our own blood, I promise). It can tear people apart and wreck any comfortable platitudes we’ve all grown to love.

So, this is where I’m going to end my post for now.

My duty is to education and open myself up for the benefit of further understanding of BPD. It’s my duty to fit half the stigma.

It’s your duty to go unclog your brain and heart and dip your toes in this scary shit called open-mindedness and compassion.

Love, xoxo

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