Therapy

A lovely someone sent me a link about the best way to support someone with BPD. It revolved around validating the individuals feelings, emotions, actions and reactions. It encouraged patience and empathy. As someone with BPD, my world is very isolated, as it is for most people with secondary level mental health problems, which is exactly why I selflessly write poetry and document my thoughts and experiences via my blogs, to engage, validate and show empathy towards the many people out there suffering and that feel alone.
I feel depressed, teary, stuck, lost, insignificant, frustrated, isolated, misunderstood, a burden, worthless and helpless every single day. I am self destructive, self harm is my biggest problem and suicidal thoughts linger around me constantly. I worry that if I communicate and reveal this to the professionals, they may admit me into hospital, which has kept happening once or twice a year since 2013. From my experience, mental health professional’s believe acute ward’s are not the answer for someone with BPD, which I believe to be an inaccurate theory as they cannot tarnish us all with the same brush. It just cannot be so black and white! If I am at risk to myself, of cause a safe place such as a hospital with twenty-four hour care is the best place to be. The only alternative is daily half hour visits which rapidly decrease and then you end up seeing a community psychiatric nurse every fortnight. There seems to be nothing in-between, no happy medium. If I tell my loved one’s, I worry them, upset them, confuse them and somewhat push them away as they are not equipped to take on the heavy load of problems that I undergo. I personally find helplines’ pointless. The NHS home treatment crisis line is always busy, inundated with many fellow sick people reaching for help. The longest call back time that I have experienced to date, was three whole hours. In that time the damage I feared had already been done.
They say that the best remedy for my personal mental health problems are medication (which I do take religiously)and agree that they help, and therapy. DBT (Dialectal Behavioural Therapy) was designed for people with BPD. Unfortunately it is very hard to come by. To my knowledge, in the city that I live in, you can only get DBT if you opt for private care. Unfortunately I am not lucky enough to be able to afford private care, and so I am stuck in this unhealthy merry-go round of ups, downs, highs and lows, my life hindered by anxiety, depression, psychosis, emotional instability, feeling trapped and misunderstood.
Despite feeling let down by many mental health professionals and the NHS care provided, I don’t want to live the rest of my life the way that I have been these past three years. Therapy has been suggested as a method of care. I had a therapist who performed psycho-dynamic therapy upon me for almost twelve months, first once a week and then twice a week. Unfortunately she suddenly passed away. I was then reluctantly catapulted into a group therapy where I was deeply misunderstood, it made me feel helpless and lead to some serious self destruction. I was then asked to not return, rejected and abandoned once again. This was over a year ago. I believed that I was on some kind of waiting list, I didn’t push or pursue the matter as my experiences were so sad, so bad, so detrimental towards alot of my relapse’s, I was in no hurry to try it all again.
Following my last relapse and hospital admission in May 2016, I came to discover that I had been taken off the waiting list. There has been alot of inconsistent information thrown my way since my discovery, confusion about where I may have my therapy, what therapy, do I even need therapy? The issue is still to be resolved, but if I hadn’t had my relapse, I would have still been silently waiting for contact that inevitably was never going to come!
I have always been very adamant about having individual therapy from a female therapists. I had an assessment two weeks ago, with not one but two male therapists in a rather small room. I felt judged and anxious. I have no recollection of what I said within the one hour and a half appointment but I felt uneasy and like I had failed. It felt like I had just talked my way out of a job. I felt that my intelligence, past success and vocabulary made them analyse me quite intensely and it did not go in my favour. I hope that they remember that ones achievements do not counter their mentality.
I am now anxiously waiting upon some kind of answer or report. I asked them to watch my, “BPD” vlog on my YouTube channel because what I said and how I felt whilst filming that at 4am at my parents house for sanctuary, most likely describes me better then I did in that tiny room with two male strangers. My fate is in their hands, I shall report all as soon as I am informed. Please see my BPD vlog below and watch it and share it, if you may?

We all make mistakes but such serious ones should be avoided…

For those of you keeping up, the floodgates have opened with great gusto! The dam has broken and the tears have recommenced. The drought was not long but appreciated all the same.
I just wanted to ask you (as someone who suffers from mental health) and/or (your carers, support, friends, family, help) not only keep a close eye on your mood, diet and day to day routine, also keep an eye on your medication. I have often been given to much, to little, double or nothing and been left to figure out what is right all by myself. Yes I am a thirty-one year old woman and I should be able to take full control and responsibility for what goes into my body but it isn’t that simple for me anymore. I get confused a lot. My memory is poor. I am lethargic most of the time. For those reasons, plus my impulsive, self destructive tendencies to harm myself and take over doses, I am only allowed a weeks instalment of medication at any one time. They bring it to my house and I follow the time table on my blister pack.
Lately I have been given a few new additions to my already heavily medicated care plan. If able and compos mentis enough, I know to always check what is what that they have given me, as the pharmacy often makes mistakes and deliver the wrong dose or completely miss something out. I can understand that these things happen accidentally and the incidents are few and far between but none the less, very dangerous. My medication enables me to get up, get out and try to live some sort of normal life. They are the fuel to my motor, the switch to my brain, the motivation to do anything but nothing.
As you know, home treatment team have been visiting me daily since my last incident. The nurse that came yesterday brought a concoction of about ten tablets when I was only supposed to receive two of one, three of another and nothing more. “PRN”, is a medical term for as and when required, rather then a regular prescription. They have been prescribing certain meds to get through my crisis and I can take one up to three times a day if required. All of my other medication is compulsory. I must take certain ones, at certain times throughout the day. I have medication for depression, for anxiety and anti-psychotics. It’s fair to say that I am rather heavily medicated in order to try and live a more comfortable life.
The doctor that came to see me on Tuesday prescribed an additional 50mg to the 700mg of anti-psychotics that I already take. I usually take it at night and he wants the adjustment to the dose to be consumed along with my morning and afternoon medication. Therefor I will be taking the anti psychotic throughout the day and night, rather then just at night. A nurse dropped off the additional medicine last night, along with extra of my already prescribed anti-anxiety meds! This is a classic example of when the help goes wrong. If I had consumed the extra tablets delivered, on top of the three that I would have already consumed that day, I may have had a mini and accidental overdose. This is a classic case of communication breakdown. Somewhere along the way the prescription was misinterpreted, and more then necessary was distributed. I am so glad that I recognised the blue pills that the nurse was going to leave with me. I asked if she could take them back because I don’t need any additional self destructive distractions. The problem is, someone out there may have not noticed and consumed the lot. If I was emotional, eratic or even suicidal at that point, I may have not been so sensible and cautious. Such mistakes can lead t fatal possibilities, which is really sad because when you engage with the help, it suggests that you really do want to get better and in this particular case, it could have been the help that hurt or killed me!