Frighteningly relatable

A few days ago, someone that read my Borderline post suggested I read, “Get Me Out of Here: My Recovery from Borderline Personality Disorder” by Rachel Reiland.  I didn’t actually buy it until Monday and I didn’t actually start reading it until last night.  I didn’t get very far into it before I nodded off so one could say I read it – completely – today.  In pretty much one sitting.


Relatable.  Frighteningly relatable.

The author’s experiences and history that led up to her diagnosis aren’t the exact same as mine but they were familiar enough for me to still be emotionally and mentally exhausted hours after finishing the book.  Right down to the Catholic upbringing and attending Catholic school, but that’s mere coincidence.  Correlation /= causation.  I doubt the Catholicism directly contributed to her (my) mental illness.  It just made it extra relatable for me.

When she described the realizations she came to during her therapy sessions, I would find myself thinking, “But I don’t have anything even close to that in my past…oh.  OH.  Does that even measure up to what she experienced?  Could that really have impacted me THAT much?”  Again, not exact.  Just close.  And that happened several times while I was reading.  I’m not going to out-and-out say, “Yep.  This happened and it definitely contributed to this illness,” but I am keeping it in mind so I can talk to my therapist about it.

I don’t think the therapist I’m seeing is using anything close to the methods her therapist used to help her but I’m not going to march into his office next time I see him and demand that he start doing so.  It’s entirely possible that ANY type of therapy will be helpful at this point.  There’s also the fact that the events in the book occurred in the early 1990’s so there are likely new methods used for BPD now.

The outbursts she describes though…FUCK.  Is that REALLY what I sound like when I lose it?!  I hate admitting it but, yeah.  It must be.  I can’t imagine ever being able to forgive myself for every single time I’ve lost it with someone I care(d) about.  It’s really easy to hate myself right now.  How am I supposed to look anyone I’ve ever hurt like that in the face again?  I can’t hide in my house forever.  I want to create a new identity, disappear from my current circumstances, and start all over again somewhere far away.

As the title states, the author recovers from BPD after years of therapy and right now I can’t fathom being able to get to that point.  I suppose it’s possible that I could eventually, but right now I just don’t see it.    The author at least had the benefit of a good “support network.”  I have to work to fix this and I have to do it without people that I used to lean on, confide in, and depend on.  Because I drove them off.  Every time I think that, I go all cold inside and start crying all over again.  I don’t know if I can get better (or at least get stable enough to function), forgive myself for all the horrible shit I’ve done, AND grieve the loss of people that were close to me all at once.  And I have to do this within a very limited time frame so I can keep my job.  How can I possibly do this?

I guess the reader is supposed to come away with some feeling of hope that they can recover from this like the author did.  I don’t know how I feel though.  Tired, yeah.  Hopeful?  I don’t dare.


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