Dear BPD - A Letter to The Devil On My Shoulder.

Dear BPD,

I hate you.

You sneak around in the background, lurking in the shadows. Then you rush out at me, screaming, and make so much noise I just can’t think. You wear so many different masks and disguises, I never know what to look for from one day to the next. You rattle my nerves and keep me anxious – never able to relax and enjoy the moment because I’m always trying to head you off at the pass.

I hate you because you hold me back. Constantly whispering doubt in my ear about everything – parenting, friendships, relationships, work, hobbies, me and my abilities. You make me feel like I have to justify everything to everybody – even the fact that I’m here at all.

You stop me doing the most basic things that everybody else can just take in their stride, and when I stand up to you and attempt a display of defiance, you just laugh and punch me in the gut. I hate you because I have had to spend so much time and energy learning your ways, how to walk through each day avoiding you – how to keep you quiet. There are so many things I would rather have spent that time doing.

I hate you because there is no middle ground. Either you have stolen all of my energy and I can do nothing, or you are barking at me, sending me into constant physical and mental motion until I am completely exhausted. You sit in the corner, quietly pushing buttons and plucking at nerves while nobody is looking, until I explode with unprocessed emotion and have to deal with all the consequences that follow.

I hate you because to everybody else you are an all-encompassing label. People can just attribute all my behaviour to you and dismiss it, when sometimes, I’m actually just being me. You are a chain around my ankle, weighing me down - giving me just enough room to move so I think I can soar, then yanking me back down into your pit.

I hate you because my children deserve better.

But here’s the thing about you, BPD: as much as you want to be pulling the strings like some evil puppet-master, I will always have choices. Sometimes, I forget. But then I remember. I have choices, and that is why I will always come out the other side.

I choose to accept your presence, since you are never going to leave, and I accept the reasons you arrived in the first place.

I choose to accept that I have no control over the reactions I get from others – people are people and I am responsible for my own conduct only.

I choose to accept that if I incorporate management strategies into my daily life, then over time, you will get smaller and more insignificant. I will then have to waste less time focussed on you. I accept that sometimes, on occasion, you may still get a bit too big for your boots, but now I accept that that’s OK, because I can put you straight back in your place.

Finally, I choose positivity.

I choose to believe that you are simply a tiny part of my life, as opposed to the powerful, labelling force I could easily let you be. While I accept that hatred and resentment are two perfectly valid emotions that may well up from time to time, I choose not to let them overwhelm me.

I choose to learn from my experience, and use it to improve my parenting, friendships, relationships, work, hobbies, me and my abilities.

I make these choices because my children deserve better.

Yours calmly,

Sarah Myles