Stay away from YouTube; especially, if you have Borderline! You feel the urge and temptation to click on their channel. You already know it’s going to be something negative. Don’t do it! Stay away from those ignorant channels. Don’t even bother looking for them.
As a Borderline/Bipolar/Anxiety… I sometimes get into these slumps and feel down. Not to the point of depression. It’s a mild depression. You know the storm will hit sooner or later. I’ve seen stories on how Borderlines are these Cluster B in with the psychotic people. That’s what this fool listed on his channel. Psychotic people! We’re in with the NPD. You can’t find one video that doesn’t list NPD and BPD together by these so-called “therapists.”
Borderlines experience emotions fifty times better or worse than the other “average” human. When someone makes a critical observation of our appearance, we tend to go overboard. That means, you hate us. I remember my mother making a comment on how she wished I wore more feminine clothing and makeup. Well, I took it and ran with it. Meltdown City! Oh, so you want me to be more like my older sister! Well… your sister does this and that! The worst thing you can do is compare us to other siblings, if there are any. I hated being compared to my siblings. It made me like my mother a whole lot less. So, I rebelled like a motherfucker. I made sure not to wear dresses and makeup. I enjoy baggy clothes. I love dark clothes. That hasn’t changed in over twenty years. Cotton pajamas are my favorite. Something that doesn’t cause me to itch. I hate fur coats and anything made of wool. I hated that itchy fabric they put in dresses. And when I reluctantly wore a dress, 9 times out of 10, I had shorts on underneath them. Even today, you won’t catch me in a dress. My daughter is the opposite of me. She loves her dresses. I hate them. It doesn’t matter the style. But yes, I hated it when my mother compared me to my sister. I honestly feel like a clown with makeup on.
Well, why don’t you dance? I suck at dancing. You don’t want to see me dance. I won’t attempt it unless I’m drunk. Which, I can’t drink anymore. I wasn’t born with grace. My daughter has a natural grace about her. I never did. I preferred to watch sports, scream at the television set, and participate in sports myself. I played softball for twelve years. Yep! I was in the 90+ degree heat, waiting on a ball to come my way. I watch basketball, football, hockey, baseball (that’s my love), and various other sports. I’m not a fan of golf or tennis. When March Madness begins, I’m yelling at the television with my husband.
It just pisses me off, that they make people with Borderline like the foulest creatures on earth. We have no hearts or souls. We’re classified as cluster B, quiet Borderline, evil, manipulators! Listen, the only thing I manipulate, is a way to get into my husband’s pants every night. I put my manipulation to good use. To talk to companies about keeping the lights on or if I run out of gas on the side of a highway with kids in tow. Or when those solicitors call… I turn on my manipulation. It usually ends in a funny phone call. So, if you call my house about home security… get ready for me to answer, if I answer. I also have severe social anxiety. I hate answering phones. If manipulation is going to keep me from freaking out at a grocery store, I’m going to use it. I hate standing in an aisle and having to choose a spaghetti sauce that everyone will enjoy. There are thousands of jars in one aisle. I felt like Robin Williams in the coffee aisle. I was having a meltdown over a jar of spaghetti sauce! Choose your destiny! Do you want the one with five cheeses, more garlic, or roasted red pepper? Do you want organic or the cheap stuff that leaves a tang in your mouth? I felt my skin go clammy. The sweat pouring from my forehead. Choose your destructor! I just want one jar of sauce! I want direction arrows that state, “This is the sauce for you!” I had to leave that up to my husband. He knows “the look” when I’m about to freak out. “This is why, I stay home! I hate going to the store!” Yes, he’s heard that one many times. He will pull me to the side, “I got this. Go sit down.” I will usually make out the grocery list and hand it to him. He also handles our money. I’m not good with money. Some may think it’s controlling. Let’s see, wild shopping trips? Yeah, I’ll buy everything in the store. Even shit we don’t need. I’m not responsible when it comes to money. It took us over a year to learn that. Don’t give Jen the credit card. She loves to shop! I won’t purchase anything without his consent. I could blow over three hundred dollars on one grocery trip compared to his. Hi, Bipolar… we get along, don’t we?
Have you ever gone on Amazon and put a bunch of shit in your cart? You see things that you want so bad. Oh, this series and that series! BOOKS! I love books! You wind up having eight hundred things in your cart. You don’t want to look at my wish list. It’s a mile long. Don’t hand me seven thousand dollars. I know how to spend it quickly. And it’s always weird stuff that I’ll never need. If I can manipulate my way, I would love an endless bank account and a no-limit credit card. That would probably be a lot of Bipolar’s ultimate dream. You get that rush… then a few days later… BAM! Buyer’s remorse. I love that rush. I miss it. But yeah, don’t hand me your credit card.
Now for these people, who want to destroy people with BPD. I’m nothing like Arias. Don’t compare me to her. We know right from wrong. At least, I do. Remember? I feel guilty for killing a house fly. I just have loud vocal outbursts. I notice one thing, I’m extremely overprotective of my family. Especially, my husband. That man is a saint. The first two years into our relationship, we butted heads. I did call him every name in the book. Yes, I’ve thrown my rings at him, countless times. And I have apologized for my actions. I haven’t said a negative thing to him since. I was angry and needed to lash out. He let me do that. He also allowed me to scream out my pain. He held me during all my dark times. It took me forever to trust. 12 years and he’s still here. Not because of the kids. And not because he feels sorry for me. He loves me unconditionally. He grew up in an alcoholic and abusive family. He went through a ton. He is the calm in my sea. Now we know when those moments will strike. We actually laugh about my mood swings now. Do you hear yourself? Go in your room and calm down. But we never have a disagreement without settling it that day. After I calm down, I’ll joke about my mood swings. “I went overboard again, didn’t I?” He will word in a way that won’t be mean-spirited. “A little. But you’re back.”
With my kids, I’m patient. I don’t know why that is. Maybe it’s because I see myself in them. When they’re having their meltdowns, I giggle to myself. “Oh… I did that growing up.” They take it to that level. I use my own therapy techniques on my own kids. I will get them laughing and centered, by the time I’m done. I make sure to build my kids up and never tear them down. My daughter… oh, lawd! I love her to pieces. She has strong confidence. She will stare at herself in the mirror and pat her hair. “I’m pretty.” And I will confirm her thoughts. “You are beautiful.” She smiles and skips down the hallway. A part of me does feel a little jealous. I wish I had the confidence, she has. My sons are intelligent and loving human beings. My oldest son, Zachary, doesn’t believe in bullying or fighting. Even with all my mental illnesses, I’ve never hit or berated any of my kids. I’ve never screamed at them. I know what that feeling was like, growing up. So… making all people with BPD these screaming howler monkeys, who are abusive, doesn’t apply to all Borderlines. We are not these terrible people, they make us out to be. “Beware of the BPD people!” They enjoy attacking women, completely ignorant that men also suffer from BPD. Men are allowed to have mental illnesses, too. I wish the world understood that. I allow my sons to cry. There’s no shame in crying. There’s no shame in asking for help. You’re not a weak man, because you have a mental illness. So, go ahead and put me on the island with BPD… I’ll show everyone with BPD a good time. We could party like nobody’s business. We are not the enemy… we have a chemical imbalance in our brains. A traumatic event in some form has triggered it. If you look at the MRI’s of people with BPD from a “normal” person’s brain, you will see that it is in fact, chemical. I saw that and I was in shock. I really can’t control my emotions with this chemical imbalance. It really isn’t my fault. But how I treat other human beings, is my fault. I had to learn that and it was hard for me. My mind stayed frozen in time. That angry little girl wanted to scream and hit something. Now, she’s sitting in the corner, playing with her glove and reading her favorite books.