I Suffer From A Personality Disorder & Here's What Living With That Is Like

By Nayab Imtiaz | 5 Jan, 2019

I see her standing in the middle of the room. I hear her voice, screaming in a distance, filled with pain. So much pain. I hear her, I see the look in her eyes; the look of pure destruction. I watch her destroy everything in the way and I see our mom flinch.

I am scared, terrified, I am stuck in my body, I can’t move. ‘’What is happening?’’ I whisper. I am scared and I want to run away, but I am paralyzed.

‘’Tum pagal ho gai ho?’’ says mom.  

‘’Stop, please stop, I am scared.’’ I whisper, but no voice escapes my lips.

The bell rings and she’s gone. I blink, hoping for it to be a bad dream, but it isn’t. I look around and see my dad’s laptop in pieces. I stand there, still recovering from what just happened.

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She’s gone but I am not; I want to be gone, disappear, and not exist so I do what I do the best; I run. I run and shut myself in my room. With the lights off and curtains drawn closed, I break down again; crying and struggling to breathe.

This episode is what it took my parents to realize I needed medication for my Borderline Personality Disorder.

My mother’s words still devastate me, but I don’t really blame her. We live in a society where people don’t ever consider mental illness real. They’d rather blame it all on your lack of faith or jinns instead than wrapping their head around the fact that the brain can get sick too.

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I lived with Borderline Personality Disorder and suffered in silence until I reached my breaking point. I was lucky I survived suicide attempts, twice. Everybody isn’t that lucky.

I still question life, my existence. I still don’t know how I am still alive. I push everyone away because I am scared to be abandoned. I can’t deal with my emotions so I just sit there with a knife in my hand and carve away on my arm.

I walk down the street, catching two girls looking at me and paranoia hitting settling in. Are they talking about me? ‘’They are, they hate you,’’ a part of me says, so I fasten my pace and ignore it, but I can’t.

‘’Shut up,’’ I scream, but there is no escape; at least not a permanent escape. I swallow my pills and the thoughts go away for a while. I feel numb and walk around a zombie, but survival first, right?

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What do you do when “I have a headache’ is still easier to say to escape a social gathering than ‘’I am on the verge of a panic attack?’’

How do you cope when saying ‘’I fell’’ is still easier to say to explain bruises and wounds than saying, ’I punched a wall/cut myself because I can’t cope with emotional pain.’’

I am tired. So tired. All the time. And I want to sleep.

Mom says when she was my age she never used to get tired. Do I tell her I use every last bit of my energy to not lose control? 

I have more questions than I have answers to. I am stuck in this downward spiral and I can’t figure out who’s the enemy; the people who abused me for years or myself. It is an endless struggle, a collateral damage and people around me doesn’t make it any easier.

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Cover image via humanresourcesonline.net

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