This is the song stuck in my head: twenty one pilots: Stressed Out . It speaks to me on a couple of levels, the first being that I simply like the sound of it. Second, I have been hiding myself quite a bit, because I care what people think. Part of Borderline Personality Disorder means being extra sensitive about things. I’ve heard it put as “walking on eggshells,” both by literature, the internet, my mother, and my husband. It’s difficult to manage day to day stresses as it is without having a total meltdown, which is what I am constantly fighting off to varying degrees of success. Last year I did not succeed.
Almost exactly a year ago, I tried to kill myself. I was incredibly depressed after two miscarriages, the second resulting in a D&E because I was at 17 weeks. I never bounced back. I was in the hospital (9GN) for the fifth or sixth time within that last year, and I finally just got so mixed and overwhelmed and caught up that I climbed up on a dresser in my bedroom there and jumped off onto my head. I broke my neck, shattering my C5 vertebrae, which they later reconstructed with mesh and bolts, and my back, fracturing my T6 in three places. I had the surgery for my neck and now I have a scar on both the front and a huge one on the back. I am constantly playing with it and it reminds me of everything that happened.
There is no easy fix for depression. There is no cure for BPII, or BPD, or GAD, etc–only treatments that can ease the pain and hopefully keep people mostly happy and functional. Honestly I just aim for happy at the moment. I need that first. I’m working on functional. I keep saying this to my therapist, but it’s so hard to try and live well when a year ago you were trying not to live at all. It takes me a very long time to process and recover in general. I’ve never had to recover from something like this before. I understand the whole situation leading up to the event, but this post-suicide life is distinctly weird, unplanned, and almost surreal.