"Gone"

On Saturday, February 5th, I finally did what I should have done a long time ago. I had myself committed to the mental ward of St. Catherine's Hospital in Garden City. The negative attachment associated with this is at the forefront of my mind as I openly discuss this. Perhaps some things are better left a secret or kept to ourselves. Yet I cannot help but try and at least share a little of this experience and the impact of seeking help. 

For some of you reading this, it is a blog you have been patiently waiting. Others I realize it is a blog that is bringing on new information and maybe even a little pain. For that I apologize. My intention is not to open old wounds or to make anyone feel hurt by not telling you sooner. My only fear is that this will not explain to the extent that is needed for understanding. As my youngest sister so eloquently pointed out, “What matters is the central idea not so much the words that go around it.”

My husband told me that when I was pregnant with our son I had desired so badly for our little boy to be happy that when he was born he took all my happiness and left me with none. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps I have been depressed for that long. Almost two years of living in a world that is bleak and dark. If so, then what kind of person does my son see? This is all he knows of his mom.

My anger, hurt, pain and frustrations have been a part of me for a long time. The journey that I have struggled with to find myself the past few months has been long and exhausting. 

You would think a person who has lost loved ones to suicide would not have those thoughts in their mind. That assumption is wrong and is what led to my seeking more professional help. The constant feeling of being shoved against a  corner with no where to go, no answers to questions, and no solutions had quickly worn me down yet again.

Taking with me to the place of “gone” was a couple days clothes, toothbrush, and Cthulhu. Later my husband brought one of my little Buddha statues and a blanket. Almost childlike bringing a stuffed toy and a blanket. Cthulhu was popular with others and a source of comfort. Clinging onto my green friend during group sessions, meals, and consoling with after individual therapy I felt as though I were but a child lost. 

The extensive individual therapy I received while there has brought up old wounds and correlation's that I have denied even existed. None of us have a perfect life, all of us have skeletons. The key is how we work with those. About six years ago I was diagnosed as Bipolar. A couple of months ago this diagnosis was stated as incorrect. Now, while “gone” I am given a new label. Two new labels. Major Depressive Disorder and the big one Borderline Personality Disorder. 

Taking the DSM III test confirmed these suspicions of the doctors and therapists. Good news is my new medicine for the depression is much cheaper, and I am allowed to take an antidepressant. As for the new labels, they are only labels after all. At least that is what I keep telling myself. For so long I associated a part of my identity as being Bipolar. When that was removed I was left with this empty hollow space that said now what? What is my reason for being so odd? The new labels leave a feeling of detachment from myself. 

Borderline Personality Disorder. A condition in which people have long-term patterns of unstable or turbulent emotions, such as feelings about themselves and others. These inner experiences often cause them to take impulsive actions and have chaotic relationships. People with BPD often are uncertain about their identity. They tend to see things in extremes and their views of others may change quickly. Other symptoms of BPD include: Fear of being abandoned; feelings of emptiness and boredom; frequent displays of inappropriate anger; impulsiveness with money, substance abuse, sexual relationships, binge eating or shoplifting; intolerance of being alone; repeated crises and acts of self injury such as wrist cutting or overdosing.

My background growing up is consistent with those that are diagnosed as BPD. 

Home again with anxiety issues and facing the huge task of getting “well” I feel exhausted and yet lighter. The demons I have to face and work through seem large and overwhelming at times. The new medication has given my mind a bit of a rest, allowing laughter and happiness to flow. Rationality is becoming my friend again. 

Yet, I do not believe this diagnosis is the end all be all. It cannot be the full reason for my complete and utter breakdown. At least I have a starting point.