Mental?

I am 53 years old. I have had mental health issues all my life and am currently diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, Bipolar II Disorder, and complex-PTSD, with a sprinkling of anxiety thrown in just for fun.

My story begins when I was 18 months old and my father threw me into a coffee table, breaking my collar bone. Thankfully he was gone most of the time, so I didn't face his wrath. He died when I was 5. I was sad in some ways but my mom wasn't really sad so I was confused. I was crying one day and told her I missed him; she told me to smarten up and stop the tears. In talking with family, I have learned my natural father likely had bipolar II disorder, however nothing was diagnosed back then, not that he would've gone for help anyway.

Around about that time, my mom started going out a lot with her friends. She found a babysitter for me:  Mr. & Mrs. Mix (not their real names) lived a few blocks away. I started staying with them when I was 5. At first it was just during the day, but then I started having sleepovers. They got their victims by offering single moms free babysitting for the evenings. That's when it started. Mr. Mix would come visit my room and do things to me. I used to think Mrs. Mix didn't know until, one day, when Mr. Mix had been in with me too long, she walked past the bedroom and said, "Bob! That's enough!" It didn't stop until I was 11 and didn't go there anymore. I tried to tell my mom, but she thought I was lying. She always thought I was lying.

As a child, I was a loner. I would make a friend, smother them with attention, and then they would end the friendship. It happened so often. Childhood friends still avoid me like the plague. It still bothers me that I obviously have no idea of social customs and how to have a healthy, independent relationship. It used to make me so angry but now it just makes me sad.

My mom died in 1991 and I miss her dearly. She wasn't a bad mom; she did her best. Unfortunately, her best also involved talking to me about adult things, from about the age of 6. She had me make adult decisions, leaving me alone for short times when I was 6 and 7, while she was busy with friends. She married my step-father when I was 9. He was a nice man who included me in everything he and my mom did, before they were married. Unfortunately, he is passive aggressive and has some big problems of his own, which led me to learn more new ways of dealing with things. By the time I was 11, I was staying at home for a night while my parents went a couple hours away to visit family. By 12, I was doing weekends alone. Between 14 and 17, they went away for 4-6 week vacations, leaving me at home again. I honestly didn't want to go any of these places with them, so when they asked me (once again putting the decision on me), I told them so. I had a psychiatrist once call me 'a little prince' because I had to take on an adult role so young, and my mom put me and my opinions on a pedestal, leading me to have a big head, so to speak.

Next came adolescence. Oh man, what a rollercoaster. Up and down, flips and turns, hormones raging, experimenting with drugs, sex and alcohol. My moods were so screwed up. I raged at my parents, I gained and lost friends, I'd find a favourite person and push them away with my neediness. I was so happy to graduate and get away from everyone. I had 2 friends through high school; I still have one but the other broke off ties shortly after graduation. Now I have acquaintances more than friends. A couple of pretty good ones I try not to harass, but hold dear to my heart.

I met my husband when we were 17. We fell pretty hard for on another. He was a poor, farm boy, looking for love and an escape from his family. I provided that when he moved out of home and in with me. It hasn't been easy and we have been through some pretty rough times, but 36 years later, we're still going. I know I play a part in our relationship when I'm level, but this poor man has been through hell and back with me. I have no idea how h
e's still here and still sane. I've pushed and pushed the limits, and he always understands. When we got together, I was in a state of rapid cycling. My black and white thinking came out a lot, as well as pure rage over what, to me, seemed like a major life occurrence when it was really something small. I had horrible rage and I started taking it out on my husband by hitting and punching and slapping him. Never once did he raise a finger back to me. He took everything I threw at him, and he stayed. There was nothing I could do to push him away. Finally, I resigned myself to the fact he was in it for the long haul. Every time I hurt my husband, I would feel so angry with myself. I would spend the next day calling around, looking for help for a domestic abuse situation, but it was me against him. No one listened to me, no one had any help to offer. I felt defeated. I didn't want to hurt him, but I couldn't control myself, or so I thought.

I have had 6 suicide attempts. At 23 years old, after a particularly bad beating to my husband, I went to Alberta  Hospital to have myself committed. I didn't know what else to do. I knew something was wrong with me. They wouldn't take me; I wasn't sick enough. Seriously? I lost my mind, thinking that if I had a little fit then it would show them I needed to go in. It didn't work. However, they did give me the name and number of a psychiatrist who was starting a group for anger management for women. I met with him, joined the group, and the abuse stopped. I got to assist with facilitating the next group, which helped me with my healing and helped the ladies to know you can stop hurting others. I did it and they could do it.

I have been through 3 psychiatrists and 5 psychologists in 30 years. The psychiatrist I have now is gold. He treats me with respect, almost like a peer. He listens, really listens, and provides feedback, helps me be involved in my medications. He's just amazing. We are finally getting my meds settled, and I'm feeling better than I have in years. Having said that, I am more than prepared for things to go bad again. It's something we live with.

So, who am I? I am everything I described above.

How did I get here? Through the hellish nightmare of living with mental illness and with the support, love and understanding of the most incredible man in the world.

Where's the door? Right in front of me. Now that I don't bounce off the walls and lose it all the time, I can see the doors and I know which ones to go in and which to avoid. I hope I stay level and stable. I don't count on it though, as my body has proven me wrong on more than one occasion. 

Until the next time ...