Love you forever.

I’m 14 and I’m sitting on the computer room floor. I’m uncomfortable and I’m nervous. Would they shut up. My sister sits in my lap, my hands are covering her ears. My youngest brother nuzzles my shoulder. Please, just stop. My parents are yelling again. My Dad is leaving. No wait, my Mom is leaving. Dear god, someone just leave. My other brother has taken off on his skate board somewhere. I need to get out. 

Bipolar disorder. My Mom is just having an episode. Deal with this, fix her. My father’s bags are packed. No, make her leave! Please! Your father and I are separating. Take me with you. Don’t leave me here. 

Everything was always out of control but we found peace and love in the chaos. She’s been in bed all day. Again. Take the kids to school, pick them up. Attempt to make chicken fingers. The little one is refusing to eat. Just please listen to me. I know I’m not your Mom. 

I’ll love you forever,

I’ll like you for always,

As long as I’m living

my baby you’ll be.


Who are you? It’s Mr. Hyde. Back away slowly. Who are you? Breathe in, breathe out. Let’s go shopping. She’s back. Everything is as it should be and the sun rises. 

I’m 22 and I’m standing in my bedroom. My partner is sitting on the edge of the bed. You don’t love me enough. I throw the ashtray. What day is it? Why isn’t he listening? Please respond. I throw a bottle of nail polish. Just fucking answer me! He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get it. I lost our baby. I’m abusive and he takes it. 
I’m leaving you. I need to run away. I can’t look at the pain in your face anymore. Love me harder. I’ve got to get out. We stand there, watching 8 years of love crumble away. But I love you. It’s not enough. 

But I love you. Okay. It’s been months and he holds me like it’s only been a day. Please forgive me. Of course. Everything is as it should be and the sun rises. 


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The shit-eth hath hit-eth the fan-eth.

In 2013, I had a baby. He was beautiful and perfect. My Mom, the nurses and the doctors commented on our “bond” and since dealing with pregnancy loss, he was everything I had wished for the last three years and more. Until he wasn’t. 
For 3, very long, very hard years I suffered from post partum depression. Which I now know, mixed with my BPD, was quickly pushing me over the edge. My reality was skewed, I was volitile and I was insanely over protective. But, some days I was super disconnected from my child, wishing he didn’t exist and feeling like I was trapped into a life I just plain didn’t want anymore. Somehow I thought it was all normal.
Sitting in a doctors office 3 years later and the words “you’ve got post partum depression” are rattling around my insides. Okay, I say, I suppose that makes sense. 



In 2015, my family was destroyed by my father having an affair and leaving my Mom. My anger quickly turned into rage and it wasn’t very long before I was destroying his entire existence. Granted, this ended up saving their marriage, but I didn’t care at the time. I wanted to watch his world burn. I wanted that women to feel what we felt, she was somehow maintaining her own marriage and keeping it from her kids. Why did I have to suffer and they didn’t? Why did my mother have to sit and comfort her children but she didn’t? A few months later my parents were back together and all was well.
Except that it wasn’t. Cue major mental breakdown. “You’ve got severe anxiety.” Bring in the big guns, spend the next 7 weeks in a group therapy setting, trying to understand why your anxiety is different from all the other patients. There is something wrong with me. Someone please help. 
It’s 2016 and life is fine. Except that it’s not. But I had been coping, or at least I thought I was coping. I’m not even entirely sure what I was coping with, but I was doing it. “I think this goes deeper than post partum, how was your childhood, what we’re you like 5 years ago?



I’ve lost 40 pounds, I’m exercising more, why don’t I feel better? Isn’t that the key to depression, diet and exercise? “I really think it’s time for medication”. I sit on that one a while, ultimately calling my doctor and making an appointment to discuss my options. 

Maybe I’m bipolar like my Mom. Maybe I’m like my sister. I’m still not on meds, and the therapist tosses Borderline Personality Disorder into the fire. It swirls around with my other diagnosis’. I knew there was something wrong. My brain is wrong, I’m wrong. The heaviness of that diagnosis sways my reality, I feel comforted by my anger. Hello rage, hello grief. My consciousness is aware that I’m peaking, but I let it happen. I let the gorgeous black pull over me like a child’s favourite blanket. I just want to sleep, indefinitelty. Darkness take hold and pull me under, sweep me into your undertow. Carry me far, far away from this madness. 

I’m still coping. I’m still smiling, I snuggle up to my son every morning, thanking someone’s deity I didn’t succumb to the hands clawing at my sheets. I’m okay. I’m doing fine.  

Hi, I’m Kayla and I have Borderline Personality Disorder.

A week ago my life was tipped upside down and given a good shake. Sitting in a doctors office, the sweat from my ice coffee leaving a terrible, wet ring on my jeans, I was politely shaking my head no while listening to Dr. What’s Her Face describe my behaviour as borderline. Borderline fucking what? My brain quits listening as I imagine myself stuck, one foot in the crazy and one foot out. Through the fog of my day dream I hear the words Borderline Personality Disorder. I resist the urge to pull out my phone and give this new term a quick google while she rambles on about seeing my GP and getting myself medicated. See, it feels like just yesterday I was making an appointment to be medicated for anxiety. Or was it post partum depression? And I was signing up for a new group, social anxiety something or other. How could I possibly be more fucked up than that?
With a polite “take care“, I’m ushered out of her office and I step onto the elevator. Borderline Personality Disorder. I pull my phone out. I type it into Google and the elevator grunts to a stop. I press enter as I’m walking out of the building and I’m immediately assaulted with support groups for loved ones affected by someone with BPD. Erase. I have borderline personality disorder. Press enter.

Chronic emptiness. Fuck. Impulsive behaviour. Double fuck. Extreme emotional instability. Well shit.
Suicidal tendencies.



And there, standing at a bus stop on a busy street, everything clicked into place while simultaneously falling apart. My over analytic brain began questioning my very existence, if this is what I am, who I am, what is my reality? Am I this person? The pavement starts to tilt. I lean against the bus stop marker. My mom isn’t picking up her phone. 


Where are you? I need you! My Mom calls me back. I have borderline personality disorder. Of course you do. Everything clicks, “well when you were a teenager..”. My brain hurts. Why didn’t anyone know? God, I’m so evil. I’ve been so evil. This is why I don’t have friends.
I’ve created a realm in which I’ve never mattered. I remember all the accusations. I remember finding comfort in raging, belittling the ones I hold dearest. My brain wants to resist the idea that I was responsible for it all. They abandoned me, not the other way around.
Everything on the World Wide Web states that I’ll be okay in ten years. Mass amounts of CBT and DBT therapies and I can turn this around.

If I can come to terms with my diagnosis.