HG Awareness day

I am stuck in a prison. 

It is a prison with several rooms, a flat screen TV, private showering facilities and high speed internet. But it is a prison no less. 

I am 30 weeks pregnant and suffering from hyperemesis. Not diagnosed until week 13, I suffered from extreme nausea from week 7. 

I have avoided admittance to hospital as I have largely been able to keep fluids down. But I have periods of being sick ten plus times a day, everyday. 

What I have not avoided is the relentless, debilitating, soul destroying nausea. The type is that is there when you go to bed and there when you wake up and doesn't once leave your side for a moment in between. 

The lack of support I have received for this illness is truly shocking. From healthcare professionals to family members I have been dismissed, ignored and left to fight largely on my own. 

The tiredness that comes along with both being sick and feeling sick all day as well as that associated with growing a human has made work almost impossible. 

Work is a place I hate but am forced to stay in because I am pregnant and unable to find a new job. It is the worst job I have ever had and spend my lunchtime crying in the toilets or wondering the streets aimlessly in a bid to escape the toxic environment. Yet, even being at work is more appealing than being off sick with hyperemesis. Still, as this isn't possible, at home I sit. 

So, back to the prison. As everyone I know has a job, people are not available to keep me company, so instead I sit at home. All day, everyday, just me, the couch and my frequent trips to the toilet to be sick. 

The loneliness and isolation I experience is utterly horrific. I am now 30 weeks and have spent probably 22 of those at home, on my own. 

I have an unpleasant mental health condition which only exacerbates how completely dejected I feel. It is very hard for me to see a time I wont be ill, stuck on my own wishing I was dead. 

Yes, shocking and perhaps irresponsible as that sounds considering I am pregnant, I have on occasion wished I was dead. My current outlook is so bleak it is hard to imagine ever feeling well or happy again. 

Yet I pretend I do or I can. The truth is that I am not coping at all. I have to suffer the terror of an amniotic leak and the indignity of wetting myself due to how violently I am often sick. 

I have to weigh up unbearable constipation as a side effect of the medicine I am taking, compared to being sick every, single day. 

I have to endure people telling me 'it will be worth it in the end' or 'not long to go now' as though these empty platitudes cure the nausea or the loneliness. 

I have to grit my teeth through countless suggestions of 'eating ginger' or 'eating little and often' or 'making sure I drink enough water'. As if I have somehow made it to the third trimester without attempting the basic remedies of run of the mil morning sickness.

I am tired. Tired of being pregnant, tired of feeling ill and frankly, at times, tired of life. Due to hyperemesis, I will never be pregnant again and I have been robbed of the opportunity to enjoy this one time life experience. 

My life consists of desperately wanting to get to Wednesday, when I am a week further along and feeling desperately crushed on a Thursday as I am so far away from the next weeks milestone. I have been pretty much depressed since December and come July will have wished 9 months of my life away. 

This is the horror of hyperemesis and what it has done to me. Not quite sick enough to be admitted to hospital, yet too sick to lead any sort of normal life. 

Oh well, only another 10 weeks to go eh? 

Thinking about leaving

Starting my individual sessions

It has been two sessions again since I have written anything, sorry about that. They have been a bit interesting and a bit mundane in equal parts. As the title of this blog suggests, they have also made me think, quite seriously, about leaving. But ill get to that later.

I am pleased to report that the member I don’t like did not come back after he stormed out; indeed he hasn’t been back at all. It is my gut feeling that he will not return. According to the therapists, he is thinking about ‘going private’. I have never thought this setting is right for him. Whilst he undeniably has a lot of problems, he never seemed to get the whole ‘group’ aspect and in my humble opinion, he would thrive in an environment where it is only him. Anyway, I am hopeful that this is the last time I will have to mention him on here.

Last week, I started my individual therapy sessions, a full three months after almost everyone else. I am not sure what I was expecting and I am still not sure what I think about it to be honest. It was a woman, which I was not looking forward to and I was worried that she would struggle to understand me since she is not English and I speak very fast. I hope that does not come across as xenophobic, I am certainly not.

I was also angry about the situation; starting my therapy so late and what I felt this represented. I knew that she wasn’t responsible but as the ‘face’ of the programme and my ability to irrationally apportion blame, I was concerned I would be overly angry. I was pleasantly surprised that she began by apologising, in a way that I felt was sincere. She acknowledged the programme had fucked up and she said I was well within my rights to feel angry. She was apprehensive about how I would be towards her but as it turns out, I ended up being far more rational (at least towards her) about it than I had feared.

I explained to her about my private therapist and what I felt these sessions would be about. I would continue to talk to him about the things that really mattered to me as, frankly, I trusted him with my life and I had only just met her, and would converse with her about the group. She seemed slightly taken aback by my approach (I am guessing no one else is seeing someone outside of the programme) but was very acquiescent. I assume she is trying to gain my trust. I ended up speaking a little bit about my childhood, but mainly we spoke about the group and my relationship with my boyfriend.

This week, we spoke a little bit more about my past but mainly focused on my desire to leave the group. She was very understanding about my misgivings around the group and didn’t try to persuade me to stay, or discuss it with the group, which I thought she might. The final decision will lay with my therapist (with input from my boyfriend) and I told her I would have an update next week.

 

Reason for leaving

So. in an earlier blog I stated that I would stick it out, that I was one of the only people who had been truly committed to the programme. This change in attitude may seem sudden, but it is something I have been thinking about for a while. The problem is with the other members and the therapists themselves.

There are two other members who, increasingly, I cannot bear to listen to/look at. I know, this intense reaction is part of the condition, but I am unsure of what else I can do. One member, the one whom I get along with just fine outside of the group (when we walk to the station together, there is no more contact than that) is so hard to deal with in group. He talks, a lot, incoherently and randomly a lot of the time. He cuts across other people, he doesn’t listen to advice but his worst offence is he repeats himself. He basically has one stock story (he had an interaction with someone either in the street or on public transport, which was either positive or negative) which is repeated ad nauseum. He is not interested in why these things happen to him, only in telling what has happened to him. He does not seem to be capable of reflection or self analysis nor is he willing to take it when others offer it. He listens as much as he can before either speaking over them, or completely ignoring what they have just said. It is exhausting listening to him and I am beginning to feel less empathetic towards him.

The other member is like two different people. Before the break, she engaged and was pleasant and looked like she wanted to get better. Since we have been back, she has made it clear that she doesn’t think she has any problems. She cannot relate to anything anyone says since she ‘definitely doesn’t have BPD’ and she constantly looks bored. I have found her attitude to be quite condescending, as if she is looking down on us. This is a hard programme to get into with, what I am told is, a long waiting list. I find it hard, bordering on impossible, to believe that she doesn’t have any serious mental health problems. How else would she have referred in otherwise?

I basically feel she is me from a couple of years ago. Deep down she knows that there is something wrong with her, but she pretends otherwise and insists that she has no problems and her reactions are fine. She called herself normal (I have previously listened to stories she has told us and she is not, in my opinion, normal at all) and feels that her behaviour warrants no further attention or analysis. I asked her why she kept coming then, if she didn’t need any help. She replied that she wanted the 1-1 therapy but couldn’t get that without coming to group.

My main problem with this is that it seems to me that I am the only person who accepts and understands the condition. It makes me wonder, why then, have I been put in a group with people who don’t? Would I not benefit from being around other people who are equally accepting? No one else seems to want to get better and increasingly, I am getting nothing from these sessions.

Which brings me to my last point; the therapists themselves. I think I have mentioned previously that I dislike one of the therapists and like the other. That said, I don’t believe either of them are very good at running this group. There is no structure, there is nothing to take away from it, there is no control. We sometimes just sit there in silence. I really don’t know what their role is in this. The questions that they ask are obvious. I suppose the crux of this is I don’t feel it is specialist at all. It could just be IAPT but on a group level. I want treatment that is specifically designed to tackle BPD. I don’t believe this is what I am getting. I feel short changed and majorly disillusioned.

Apologies for the negative and rambly nature of this post.

Until next time, over and out.

It's been a while

Finding it hard

So, as predicted, I have already become useless at this blog. I haven't updated it for two sessions now and the third one is in a couple of days. So, as well as dreadful writing skills, I also have time keeping issues. Well, you can't say you weren't warned.

Aside from my obvious lack of blogging ability, I have found that when I have 'good' sessions, I find it harder to write about it. Kind of makes sense I guess. I have often found in the past (certainly its why my therapist thought I would be a good idea in the first place) that when I have felt overwhelmed by emotions I have found I easier to articulate them in an email rather than say them face to face. I am quite cowardly as it goes and can only find truthfulness once I am safely behind the computer screen. I don't have to look at anyone's face to misread their reaction or indeed let them have any reaction at all. It allows me to say my piece and them completely switch off.

Indeed. I am only writing this now (1130 on a Friday night, don't be too jealous of my rock n roll lifestyle) since something has greatly angered me. Upset the equilibrium that I was, for a change, experiencing. Only when I am truly angered, or feeling some other extreme emotion can I put finger to keyboard.

The reason for my anger

This is an interesting one. When I explain what has set me off this evening, I expect you will laugh and think how truly childish and petty I am. As usual, as everyone who has known me, friends and family alike, you will only see the event and not what has caused the event. People don't take the time to look behind why I would react so strongly to something so minor. It is hardly ever, if ever, the event itself. It is always what it represents.

I need to go back for a little bit for some context. I don't have any skills, at least not any useful ones. I am of average intelligence, weight, looks and anything else that you can 'be'. There isn't anything that I excel in. I am not a great runner (though that is not for lack of trying) I can't swim or play an instrument, I don't speak another language nor am I good with my finances. When I was younger I became obsessed with the TV show Friends. I watched it constantly, almost like my life depended upon it. I grew to learn the words, at one stage I claimed I knew every word to every episode. I used to challenge people to give me quizzes, I would always win. Then my younger cousin came along and liked it just as much and watched it just as much as I did. Suddenly, I wasn't the Friends expert anymore. I had one thing that I was good at, it was superficial at that and I couldn't even hang on to it.

It was the same with board games, monopoly in particular. I wasn't as intelligent or talented as my siblings so I searched for something, ANYTHING that I could be the best at. Monopoly for a while became my new thing. But of course, when average-ness is part of your DNA being the best, if you even ever were, never lasts. Slowly but surely I have noticed that even my good board games 'skills' have deserted me.

And so, in a long winding and rambling fashion I come to this evening. My boyfriend, who I love very much, excels at everything. He is just one of those people. There isn't anything he can't do and everything comes very easily to him. He ambles through life in his mild and unassuming manner, quietly winning at everything he turns his hand to. Without really trying. As I am sure you have now guessed, he beat me at monopoly. I could see it coming and my stomach just began to fill with dread. Is I fair? He is good at all the stuff that matters, can't I be good at the stuff, just one thing even, that doesn't? Of course not. It is just another reminder, which at this stage I hardly need, of how utterly average I still am. And probably always will be. I know his reaction to my latest episode is to refuse to play games with me anymore, thereby missing the point entirely.

Back to the sessions

Still, I digress. Apologies. This blog is supposed to be about my treatment, not a commentary on the inane details of my average life.

The sessions haven't been particularly hard for me, though I would like to make clear, not enjoyable either. The session this week was interesting and I almost feel like I learnt something and was perhaps preparing to be slightly less harsh on myself. Events of this evening have, of course, put paid to that. But for completeness I will share them with you anyway.

The member I do not get along with stormed out of the session after a heated discussion with another member. Afterwards we were asked what we thought about him leaving and I gave an answer which in my head I knew not to e what I actually thought. So coloured I am in my distaste for him that I gave an answer which satisfied my need to 'get' at him rather than the truth. After a few minutes, I actually volunteered this information to the therapists. I often find I am too honest for my own good, but in this instance it was probably for the best.

I simply stated that my comments could probably be discounted since I said them out of my intense dislike for the member rather than a true reflection on what I thought. I was praised for my honesty, which I found odd.

Honesty. That is the backbone of the lesson I thought I had learnt. At the beginning of the session I noted that I had had a small argument with my boyfriend and had gone to bed with my back to him. He tried to reason with me and actually something he said resonated. At that point I had forgiven him. Yet. I couldn't tell him this. In my head I wanted to turn round and give him a hug, but I denied myself this. Why you might ask. Probably because I am bat shit crazy, but the shrink in me thinks it might be trying to validate the feelings I had in the first place. I was so mad that I couldn't possibly be over it that quickly. It was literally like cutting of my nose to spite my face. I was the only person I was hurting but not hugging him. The only thing I felt I could do was tell him this. So as ridiculous as it sounds (believe me, it reads badly, it was even worse out loud) I explained to him that I wanted to hug him but I couldn't.

Eventually, I did turn round and hug him. The therapists think that I am getting better just by being able to articulate these thoughts. I myself disagree with that, but I wondered something else. I thought that maybe, my way of cutting down the time that I feel hyper emotional is to simply say it out loud. I wonder if by forcing myself to read my mind aloud I can hear how irrational I am being and thus begin to 'come out of it' much sooner.

I know. It's not much in the way of getting better. Reads like a slightly less version of crazy. But, until tonight it made me think maybe this is MY version of getting better. Then I lost at monopoly and lost all hope again.

Sigh. Back to the drawing board. Luckily for me it is a place I am extremely familiar with.

Until next time, over and out.

A session with a victory - and possibly a lesson

Tension

Things with the person I don’t like (who was unfortunately back) came to a head today. I am still not sure how these sessions are helping me and after today I am not sure how I can come along week in week out when I really hate this person. And after today everyone, including him, is under any illusion as to how I feel about him.

I was disappointed to see him back, so I was quieter than I had planned to be. I didn’t say anything during the check in but was probed by the therapists to expand upon what I had said last week once the session ended regarding my annoyance at the programme. I explained that I didn’t think there was much more to add and I didn’t want to take up time from the group on what I felt to be admin. They disagreed and said that it was something for the group to hear. I wont bore you with what I said, it was a longer discussion of the points I raised in my last blog. I got quite animated and it is probably the most I have spoken for a while. As is usual when I feel defensive, I became very sarcastic and I imagine quite detached.

He was sat next to me, as always, and I could feel him itching to say something. Once it was over, the conversation moved on to authority and feelings of trust. I felt I had taken up enough time plus I knew I didn’t have anything positive to say so I was quiet for the rest of the session. He simply could not let this lie and tried to ‘bring me in to the conversation’. He often assumes the role of therapist, asking people questions in his entirely arrogant manner. The way in which I refused to answer lead to a silence where it was obvious (as if it hadn’t been before) that there was a problem between us. It is the most tension I have felt since I started.

Putting words in my mouth

All session he kept referring to something I had brought up a long time ago but distorting what I had said. It got to a point where I could let it go no longer. I coolly informed him that he was misrepresenting what I had said and he needed to stop making me out to be a timid victim without a voice. If I want to talk, I will, like I have done in sessions past. Unlike him, if I don’t have anything to say, I won’t prattle on happy to hear the sound of my own voice. I have no problems speaking in session; I have a major problem with being selfish and self-centred about how much time I take up.

When I feel this way about someone, there really is no come back. It was one of the first things that struck me when I was researching about BPD. I read that once people with BPD made their mind up about someone, they became incredibly inflexible about that person and nothing could change their minds. I thought, finally, I am not the only one who feels this way. I find it practically impossible to like someone once I have decided I don’t. From then on in, everything they say and do, the looks they give, the clothes they wear, basically everything, irritates me. It is all further evidence which, to my mind, backs up why I don’t like them in the first place. Normally for me when this happens, as I have to admit does fairly often, I am able to remove myself from the situation so I no longer have to see or hear them again. With this guy, I don’t have that option and now I am panicking. Inwardly, of course.

Adrenaline rush

To the casual observer today I was in complete control and if anything, a bit bored by the whole proceedings. I didn’t raise my voice, I occasionally laughed and was, I think, quite factual in my recounting of what actually had happened and how I saw the situation. Inside, I as shaking, seething with anger and feeling a bit nervous about speaking out. I think most people who know me would be shocked by this as I think I come across as quite confrontational and as if the confrontations don’t affect me. But they do. It takes me a long time, sometimes hours, to completely calm down, although outwardly I don’t suppose people notice a difference. I was still shaking when I got on the bus to go home and it is only now that I am writing this that I feel a bit calmer. No doubt when I have to retell it to my boyfriend, I will feel a bit out of sorts again, perhaps I will just point him to this blog instead!

Whilst I was feeling nervous and panicky on the inside, there was a part of me that was glad to have finally made it clear how I feel about him. I felt it was a ‘moral victory’ especially since others spoke to me outside to concur what I had said.

A useful barometer?

It occurred to me recently that this guy may end up being the test as to whether I am getting better or not. Completely unlike me, trying to see the positive in this, I wonder if being able to tolerate him in the long run and engage with him, despite the fact that I can’t stand him, will mean I am on my way? Of course, being back to the usual negative me, I think not. Or rather, not that it won’t work but that it can’t since I can’t see a time when I WILL be able to tolerate him. I can’t even look him in the face when he is talking to me; such are my intense feelings of hatred towards him.

I can see one of two scenarios for next week’s session. The first is that he simply won’t turn up again (I can but dream) or the second is he turns up, announces he doesn’t have anything to say, is quiet for a glorious 10 minutes at most, before he then decides actually he does have something to say. I wish for the former but I know it was be the latter. Mark my words, the thing he then has to say will take up the entire session. Can’t wait.

Until next time, over and out.

First two sessions back

Help or hindrance 

Oops. As warned in my first blog post, I am already falling behind and not updating this every week like I had wanted to. I have now had two sessions back since the summer break. In some ways they have been uneventful and in other ways they have been quite the opposite. I’ll only speak briefly about the first one, largely as it was over a week ago and I can’t remember but also because only one thing of great importance, to me anyway, happened. There were only 4 of us, the two people who I suspect have dropped out (one who I couldn’t stand and couldn’t be happier about and another for whom the writing was on the wall from the first session. The only one to engage even less than I did) were not in attendance.

We were told that there would be no more structure (such as there has been anyway) and began with the dreaded ‘check in’. However, before this began the therapists let I and the other guy know that we should have our individual therapists by the beginning of October. This was not welcome news. I had initially been told that it would be the beginning of September. For me, this has set the scene for the rest of my sessions. It feels to me that the people running this programme have little or no understanding of BPD. One of the feelings I struggle with the most is that of victimisation, of feeling like an outsider, like somehow, I matter a lot less than everyone else does. All this programme is doing is reinforcing this belief by having almost everyone else have an individual therapist. How cruel.

Not wanting to start back with a rant, I used my check in to voice my disgust at this latest development but ended by mentioning I had started this blog and the best thing that had happened to me over the summer (probably ever actually); moving in with my boyfriend.

This week’s session

This has probably been the worst session for me so far. Still angry about the events of last week, I arrived to my session in torrential rain. As I have previously mentioned, I find being caught in the rain far more distressing than is normal. My boots turned out to not be quite waterproof and when I put my foot in a puddle which went up to my ankle, I knew my fate was sealed for the day.

I was in a furious mood. I didn’t want to look at anyone, let alone talk to anyone. Everything everyone said annoyed and irritated me. I was the least tolerant I have been yet and had to bite my tongue not to say things which, whilst true, I would inevitably regret voicing.

I refused to participate in the check in stating I had nothing to say. One person dominated this session, which I found very difficult to deal with. All in all, it left me with over an hour to mull over why I am putting myself through this.

It turned out another member has come to the same conclusion, telling us she was leaving. I had to admit, I wasn’t overly surprised. To begin with I felt like I probably had the most in common with her, but has time has gone on, I have found I like her less and less. Her main problem is she doesn’t believe she has BPD. Although, obviously, not medically qualified, I am pretty certain she does. I feel like she is me (although to differing degrees and with different problems) a few years ago. Unwilling to admit she has a problem, very defensive when questioned and inflexible in her position.

Whilst I will not be upset at the loss of this particular individual, I find myself wondering how this group will continue. We have halved in only a few months. Whilst the best session I had was with only two other members, it does strike me that there is perhaps something wrong that so many have dropped out. I am assuming that everyone had to go through the same rigorous process I did to get in, so it seems odd that they got it so wrong with half the group.

Where does this leave me?

This leaves me with one person who I don’t mind and other person, who I can’t stand talking during session, but oddly, can have a perfectly normal conversation outside of it. I can relate to issues both of them have, so it could be worse I suppose.

Still, it has got me thinking, is this really working? It’s difficult isn't it, I went in with a preconception that it wouldn’t work, so I don't know if my thinking is prejudiced by that or whether the evidence that I have written about really shows that this format clearly doesn’t work, either for this condition OR for this group of people. I certainly feel no ‘better’ than I did when I started. If anything, I am feeling slightly more persecuted that I usually do. All the strides that I have taken towards fixing my broken mental health have definitely been achieved with my private therapist.

Yet. I will continue with it, at least for the time being. It was suggested during session this week that I was also thinking about leaving. I assured the other members that whilst I hated it and didn’t particularly like anyone there I would continue to come so long as my therapist thought it was a good idea. I told them that my particular quietness today was down to being wet and in a bad mood about that. I expected to be more vocal during my next session. I sense it will be a struggle, but then again, with only three of us perhaps I will find myself having another good session.

Until next time, over and out.

The best sessions so far

And then there were three

Easily the best session to date was when three members of the group didn't turn up, leaving me with one person I liked and one I didn't. A little background to this blog post, the night before I had been eating an apple and got some of it stuck between my teeth. It annoyed me a bit but I was watching a film so was distracted. I figured when it came to brushing my teeth I would be able to dislodge it. I couldn't and became increasingly agitated. The harder I tried to get it out the more distressed I became when I couldn't. My intense feelings like this are usually shown through anger and I lashed out at my boyfriend. It got to the stage where I felt suicidal. I really felt like I would rather die then continue to feel the way I did. I was scared at the intensity of my feelings and realised that, despite thinking I was more 'normal' than the rest, I was still, in fact, very ill.

This was weighing heavily on my mind when I went to group the next day, but as usual during the check in I didn't say anything. The check in was quicker than usual as there was only three of us, so we moved onto the exercise. It was easily the worst one. We had to look at pictures of people and explain what we thought of their emotional state, what they thinking blah blah blah. I felt like a child at school. I could tell that the other two weren't that interested either, so, for the first time I addressed the group uninvited.

Will I get better?

I asked if I could say something off topic that had been on my mind, to which they readily agreed. I explained what had happened the night before and how irrational I knew those feelings to be. What I wanted to know was, was coming to this definitely going to help me get better? I very much did not want to feel like that anymore, or have those extreme reactions. I was desperate by this stage. I usually trusted my own feelings but this latest incident had left me worried my mental state was in decline.

I was honest, I stated that I had been thinking about dropping out. At the moment the group felt more like a hindrance than a help. But I was willing to stick it out if there was a chance it would help me.

Once I finished speaking, I apologised for the other two for talking off topic and taking up time. I was surprised by their response. Both were happy I had shared something and were pleased to be talking about something real rather than the exercise. It turned into a very frank, open discussion where we all had a chance to say something and, more importantly I felt, comment on what others were saying. The member who I thought I didn't like, turned out to have far more in common with me than I had realised. We had similar problems with our family, same sense of abandonment and same outlook on the diagnosis. I actually felt comfortable speaking and interacting with the other two. I didn't run out at the end and instead walked out with the others discussing what had just happened.

Something for the check in.

The therapist asked why I hadn't brought it up during the check in as that was exactly what it was for. I think there were a couple of reasons. As I've said previously, I like to plan out what I say before I say it. There isn't time during the check in for me to gather my thoughts quickly enough. Second, I wanted to get a sense of the room to see how susceptible they would be to me bringing it up. I didn't want to talk about it if I felt like they wouldn't care or want to listen. I fear rejection and try to avoid it at all costs. But most importantly I think I was able to bring it up because there was only three of us. I didn't feel like I was 'hogging' the floor and felt more at ease with taking up time. It got me thinking, I would get on a lot better with this group if there was only three of us all the time.

Break for the summer

This session was in stark contrast to the next session, which was the last one before the break. We were back to near full capacity which meant I was back to being silent. Immediately I felt like I didn't want to share more than was absolutely necessary.

The therapist asked how it was going and if there should be any changes to the way it's run. I couldn't bite my tongue over this and explained that more needed to be done to ensure that people weren't unfairly talking for too long. I was surprised to see most of the group agreed with me. It felt like a small moral victory, although the proof will be in Mondays pudding.

Until next time, over and out.

A Typical Session

The beginning

There is obviously nothing such as a typical session, given the nature of what we discuss it is inevitable that each one is varied. However, there is a certain formula that each one loosely follows and whilst we may end up far away from where we started they usually begin in this way.

We go round the circle and do a 'check in' so see if anything has happened in the last week that has affected us or that we want to raise. Increasingly, this takes up almost the entire session. Some members tend to use this as their own private therapy session and will talk on and on and on. I myself take a different approach. I am still getting used to having to talk in front of other people and to be frank, I find it quite selfish and self indulgent to take up too much time. I therefore usually say very little, if anything.

At times I find myself transported back to the waiting room at the community mental health team. I sit and listen to people talk about quite serious, stressful, often hurtful things, and I struggle to emphasise. To be fair, not with everyone and as the sessions have gone on, I have found more in common with others. But there are a few who I simply don't care about. Ironically, these are the same members who tend to 'hog' the floor.

I find myself analysing the therapists as well. I notice the number of follow up questions each member gets asked, to see if it is fair. Most of the time it isn't, which greatly annoys me. I have a very strong sense of what is fair and I often find myself very irritated that the therapists do not better regulate the group. It may be that these sessions need to be less structured and more organic but as someone who loves organisation, I find this lackadaisical approach difficult to take.

The middle

We were told that for the first 8 sessions there would be an 'exercise' which would shape the session. This was to ensure that we all spoke and got used to each other. After the summer break the group are to shape the sessions but to begin with there would be a specific question which each member would have to answer.

These questions have been varied, some of them useful, some of them, frankly, not. The one I probably found the most engaging was to explain an interaction with someone else where we had to guess their motivation. I am often accused of 'mind reading' by my therapist who suggests that I never correctly guess what people are thinking or mean. I disagree. I base my decisions on past interactions, quite an evidence based approach I feel. Anyway, it was interesting to say it out loud and attempt to justify my thinking. Again, my answer compared to others made me fee slightly more 'normal'. To me, some members were very paranoid in their thinking. It got me wondering, is that how I come across to non BPD people?

The end

The end of these sessions are very odd for me. We all sit in the same seats that we chose on our first day, so I am sat fairly near the door. It feels almost like an anti climax. We spend over an hour discussing difficult issues and then once it hits 3 the therapists stop us and I immediately grab my bags and leave. There is no 'round up'. It is very unusual for someone to beat me out the door and I proceed to walk, almost run, out of the hospital. I don't want to see and definitely don't want to speak to anyone from the group.

It means I don't really have time to process what has just happened and what I said. Therefore when my boyfriend inevitably asks me, how did it go, I usually tell him I don't want to talk about it. Partly because I really don't, but also because I am not sure what to say about it. I am quite calculating in my thoughts and like to have planned out what I am going to say before I speak.

All in all, the sessions leave me in a worse mood and I often feel drained. Both emotionally and physically. I try and meet up with friends or do something nice in the evening so I have something to look forward to .

I have one more session to write about before we are 'back' to the present. My sessions start up again on Monday. I appreciate I have been a bit slack but will try and do the last one over the weekend so I am ready to start next week. Writing this blog post has been the hardest one yet, not sure why.

Until next time, over and out.

My understanding of BPD

What is MBT?

I need to go back a bit for this blog post. After a couple of sessions I began to realise that I had had my diagnosis of BPD for a lot longer than most of the others. I seemed more, I don't know, at ease with it. Sure, the name doesn't sound great and it does seem to suggest negative connotations, but I was so happy to finally have a name, a condition, a reason for why I felt the way I did that I saw straight past that. In the early sessions they tried, and in my opinion failed, to explain to us what was meant by 'mentalisation'. In basic terms I understand it to mean changing the way we think about things, our feelings and emotions in particular. How you change something as automatic and ingrained as the way you think, I just don't know. They are yet to fill me with confidence that this can actually be achieved. Still, it seems to me that, first, you need a good understanding of the condition before you can understand the treatment.

Extensive research

My phobia counsellor suggested to me that she had been reading up on something and wanted to share it with me. She stressed this was not her area of expertise and she might be wrong but from her time spent with me and her reading she thought I might suffer from something called a borderline personality disorder, had I heard of it? Like 99% of the population, I told her no, I hadn't. Immediately, my back was up, was she calling me a schizophrenic? No, as it turns out, she wasn't. She asked me lots of questions, but the one I always remember is 'do you still feel sad after watching a sad film or reading a sad book a long time after the event?' I thought, oh my god, yes I do. I don't watch sad films (Pay it forward ruined those sorts of films for me, didn't see it coming and cried, genuinely, for about a week after watching it) or read sad books (I have only just forgiven the friend who gave me One Day to read, over Christmas no less). For me, it just wasn't worth it. I can't watch or read something emotional, realise it is fiction and move on. It makes me so upset, in a really intense way. My therapist thinks I can't cry for myself so I use these things as an outlet for my own pain. Makes sense in a way.

Still, everything that she asked me about the condition applied to me. I had gone from feeling like a potential schizophrenic to feeling like I had an answer in a short space of time. I went home after the session and immediately logged on to google. The real test would be whether my therapist though I had it, but for me, I was already convinced.

Turns out there was more information out there than I was expecting, for a condition I had never heard of. I wouldn't say a lot, but I was pleasantly surprised, for example, that the NHS had a page on it. I became obsessed with reading about it, largely I think as the more I read the more I was convinced that this is what was wrong with me.

Relief

I had been lead to believe, largely by my family (my father in particular) that I was simply a 'drama queen'. There was nothing wrong me with, I was self indulgent and 'too sensitive'. With that message being hammered home for 28 years and no one around to offer an alternative I had begun to buy into it. I cannot explain the feeling of sheer relief I felt to discover that it was probably something I was born with. I say probably as it is a relatively new condition (first formally diagnosed in the 1980s) so the evidence is not as robust as one would hope. Still, from everything I have read and seen (there is one excellent video, American obviously, which I think brilliantly explains the condition from both clinician and patient perspective - I have watched it probably close to 30 times) the science suggests that people are born with a presupposition to the condition and the environment in which they grow up in can influence whether they develop it or not. There is evidence which shows our brains don't work in quite the same way as everyone else.

After the initial feeling of relief, I felt and still feel, vindicated. I knew, deep down I always knew, that there was something not quite right with me. For my family to make me believe otherwise was, a terrible thing to do which I am not sure I will ever recover from.

Back to the present

I think both my extensive research and my willingness to readily accept my condition put me in a somewhat unique situation in the group sessions. Some members are weary of the condition, others just don't know enough about it and some simply don't believe they have it. What they do have that I don't, is, currently, a genuine willingness to engage.

I think that, since I have had my diagnosis for a while and have talked about it at length with my therapist, I have a better understanding not only of the condition but more so of my interpretation of it and how it affects MY life. This, I have found, is not always a good thing. I have always been very sure about my feelings, or more importantly about being right. I guess, I felt them so intensely how could they be wrong? To feel this strongly about something must be right, no matter how 'irrational' it seemed. However, since I have gained a better understanding of my condition I now realise how irrational I truly am. Yet this does not stop the feelings. For example, I hate getting caught in the rain, not in a 'my hair will get messed up' kind of way, but a thoroughly depressed, crying kind of way. I don't know what it is but being wet in dry clothes is very distressing to me. Years ago, I would cry and feel sad and angry about it and think that was a perfectly acceptable response. Now, I still cry about it but I know how ridiculous and irrational I am being. Doesn't stop the intense feelings though.

I really do believe that sometimes ignorance is bliss and I was better off when I thought I was right.

Until next time, over and out.

And so it begins...

Apprehension

So, I shall begin my blog with what happened after I was told I would have treatment and was accepted onto the MBT programme. I assumed, obviously very wrongly, that with the bureaucracy out of the way, I could concentrate on the actual treatment. However, before I can get to that, there was, of course, more stress. The programme was to start in June with first a meeting with my individual therapist, followed up by my first group meeting. Out of nowhere the hospital called and told me my appointment had been cancelled. When I inquired as to what precisely had been cancelled (was it the individual therapy, the group therapy, the whole programme), I was given no information or reassurance. Following a very tense, and for me, very upsetting meeting with the programme head, it was made clear that due to staff shortages, I, for the the time being, would have no individual therapist. I would, however, still be starting the group therapy. It is interesting to note that, two months on I still do not have one. Still, I am getting ahead of myself. Finally, I was in a position to examine exactly how I felt about attending a group therapy session. The best word to describe my state of mind was apprehension.

As bad as I was fearing?

I don't know anyone who suffers from BPD so I don't know if my behaviour is normal or not, but I don't really talk to anyone about what's going on with me. Not my friends, certainly not my family and until recently, not with work either. Until this year most of my very large family had no idea I had had one overdose, let alone four and suffering from a mental health condition. Therefore the idea of talking about my extremely irrational and personal feelings was not something that in anyway appealed to me.

I mainly worried that I would not like the other people in the group, that they would not be 'like me' and that they would be more severely ill than I was. My main concern was that they would be psychotic and it would be like a longer, more intense version of the waiting room at the community mental health team. I had already decided that I would sit there, offering nothing and speaking only when I was directly asked a question. I entered the room on the first day, sat down, folded my arms and stared intently at the floor. This would become my default position for the majority of the next two months.

The reality was there were 6 of us, 4 girls and 2 boys of varying ages. I would guess I am at the younger end. I was half right and half wrong in my predictions. Not one of them appears to be suffering, at least outwardly, from psychosis. Although we all clearly have different problems and issues, I would say that we are of an equal-ish severity when it comes to the condition. Still, as I sat down and looked round the room, on an initial very superficial basis, I did not like a single one. Once we had all spoke and I had a chance to base my decisions on more than looks alone I concluded, yes I still don't like them. For some members this would change over time, for others it would not.

Ground rules

I won't say much about the therapists themselves (there are two leading the sessions) apart from to say imagine the most stereotypical therapist you can think of. Now double that and you are roughly where I am. I found it irritating to begin with, I now find it comical. Once we had 'introduced ourselves' they laid out the ground rules for the group, inviting us to suggest anymore as we saw fit. I won't bore you with all of them, they are exactly what you are imagining, respect others, confidentiality etc. There was one that I found odd. If you wanted to leave the group, you must tell the group in person and given them '4 weeks notice'. It seemed to me that I had decided that it wasn't for me, I would simply stop turning up, such as has happened with one member.

Going forward

I spent the first session sizing everyone up, putting them into the pigeon holes I love creating for people. I also spent a lot of time listening. I desperately didn't want to be there, but if there was a guarantee that by being there I would get better, then I wanted to make sure I heard it. I wanted to be able to call upon it, if after 18 months I wasn't fixed as advertised. But mainly, I sat there thinking, this isn't going to help me. This was my last chance to lead a 'normal life' and I can tell already that it isn't going to work. At that stage I wasn't thinking about dropping out but I was feeling very down about spending the next 18 months with people I didn't like, talking about things I didn't want to for no tangible benefit. Why then, had I decided not to drop out? Honestly, I don't know. I have a strong sense of fairness and, I suppose, propriety. I had committed to doing this programme, which probably has a waiting list, so whether I like it or not I am going to stick with it.

It is not an attitude I would maintain, but that is for another day.

Until next time, over and out.

The story so far...

Prelude

My boyfriend and my therapist think that writing could be a good outlet for me. I myself am not so sure. Whilst in theory I like the idea of a blog, in practice there are a number of blocks. Firstly my ability or rather lack thereof to write well. Second the fact that I struggled as both a child and an adult to keep a diary. I have always wanted to, but never seemed to stick at it for very long. I think my inherent laziness has something to do with it. Which brings me to my final reason, a blog to be considered a proper blog needs to be updated at least once a week, if not once a day. My hardcore all or nothing attitude means I may struggle to do this in which case I shouldn't do it at all. I find it hard to tolerate failure on any level.

Still, between me and you, even though I am no good at it (and I do so hate doing things I'm not good at) I secretly enjoy writing. It was my best subject at school and ever since I've graduated I have genuinely missed writing essays.

Clearly, these ramblings thus far are an indication that I have decided, at least for the time being, and against my better judgement, to give it a go. Time then, to introduce myself; my name is Holly and I have a borderline personality disorder.

The beginning

I don't plan on spending a lot of time on my back story, such as there is one. Needless to say I have struggled most of my life with the feeling that there was something wrong with me, without ever knowing what that was. For a long time, I admitted to no one (although on some level, definitely to myself) that I was struggling or that I felt I had a problem. My first overdose in 2010 was the beginning of my realisation that a) definitely something wasn't right with me and b) I needed to admit this and ask for help. For me, there is nothing more difficult than asking for help. Those trapped within the current mental health system in the UK will know that the difficulties don't end with asking. You have to beg, loudly, consistently and unceremoniously.

The best thing to come out of my initial overdose was my frank discussion with my new job about my mental health. I was referred to see our occupational therapist and in doing so met the person who would go on to save my life. Both metaphorically and literally.

My therapist (with some help from a counsellor I was seeing for my needle phobia) first floated the possibility of BPD in July last year. It would take a very serious overdose ( with time spent in both hospital and a psychiatric setting) for me to be officially diagnosed and exactly a year for me to start specialised treatment.

The middle

I figured getting the official diagnosis would be the most difficult part, and once they realised how serious my condition actually was, I would be 'home free' and able to start the enviable task of getting better. Oh, how naive. I won't bore you with the hoops I had to jump through, but suffice so say they were numerous and each one more ridiculously bureaucratic than the last.

My least favourite part of this process was interaction, or usually lack thereof, with the community mental health team. For me, this place was hell on earth. Full of staff who constantly seemed harried and uncaring ( the socialist in me wants to believe that this is due to cuts in the service making their positions increasingly untenable), a building that seemed to mirror it's inhabitants, crumbling, broken and grey and finally my fellow 'patients'.

At this stage I should point out that whilst I have a serious mental health condition and I am no longer under any illusions as to how ill I am, I am a functioning member of society. I have a full time job, an ever decreasing but firm set of friends, and more recently the most wonderful relationship.

My condition at times can be quite severe; I have had four overdoses, the last of which was in only March this year. Without going into the boring details there are 9 sets of criteria which categorise BPD. To receive an official diagnosis you need 5. I myself have 8. The one that I don't have is, unfortunately, the trait that most at the community mental health team seemed to suffer with and that is psychosis.

I would sit in the waiting room, desperate to be called in and inevitably being left to sit there ages after my appointment time, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone else. I really needn't have bothered. Most of the people there were either talking loudly to themselves, to the voices in their head or aggressively with each other. It terrified me. For someone who has desperately craved to feel 'normal' for most of my life, it was the most cruel reminder yet that I wasn't. Usually an incredibly empathetic person, I felt completely detached from my fellow human beings in this setting. I have never felt more alone or abnormal than during those tumultuous visits.

The rest

Still, the purpose of me attending these meetings was to secure a referral on to specialist treatment, something I had come to see as a holy grail. Eventually, and with a lot more heartache and stress, I was referred on to a hospital which offered something called Mentalisation based therapy (MBT). This is a treatment programme specifically for those with BPD and consists of group therapy and one on one sessions weekly. The programme is to last for 18 months. I started it in June and my intention is this blog will chronicle my treatment programme. This allows me to update it, hopefully weekly to coincide with the group sessions and hopefully chart my progress ( or lack thereof, I myself am still skeptical that this will 'make me better'). I am starting two months in, with a month break ahead of me before we resume in September. I will use this break to 'catch you up' on the first 8 sessions. Lucky you.

Being devoid of any creativity the blog is currently nameless. Hopefully, when my boyfriend wakes up he will have a brilliantly, witty name for me.

Until next time, over and out.