I have BPD: I’m ill, not a bad person
I always try to be honest about my mental health. My close friends, family and those who read my blog and Twitter feed are aware of my condition, along with my good days and bad ones too. It’s not an easy conversation to have, but it usually goes one of two ways;
Me: “I’ve got something called borderline personality disorder.”
Them: “Oh! …what’s that, then?”
Those conversations are always interesting. I tell them that before my diagnosis with borderline personality disorder – or BPD for short – I was given a diagnosis of depression and anxiety at the young age of 13. I never really opened up about it to others, as I already had a reputation at school for being ‘the weird girl with the cuts on her arms’, I didn’t think anyone my age would understand my constant battles with low moods and zero self-esteem. After my dad passed away in 2006, it almost felt like I finally had an excuse to be open about my feelings. The trouble was, I’d got so used to hiding how I was really feeling, that even in the grips of grief I still insisted that I was fine.