What Recovery Looks Like To Me

 

I’ve been wanting to get back on here and write out some more helpful and informational posts about being borderline, my journey to an autism diagnosis and sexual violence trauma, but honestly? I haven’t been able to find any words for a long time to even try and describe how I’m feeling and how I can possibly turn those emotions into anything helpful or positive. I often forget that despite this blog being mainly informative and helping others feel less alone, it’s also my personal outlet. It doesn’t have to be positive and rosy because let’s face it, life isn’t always like that. Me and so many others can testify how hard it can be at times and I think it’s just as important to highlight that. Yeah it’s great when celebs and influencers speak out about their struggles with their mental health, but it’s always in the recovery period they do that. When things are looking rosier again, it’s not as often we see people outwardly talk about the deep pits of depression whilst within them. 

But despite feeling, well, not my best, I’m also in that stage of recovery too. That’s the funny thing with borderline, you can feel absolutely rotten and lowest of lows, but still be doing better than you were and healing. You’ll have heard the phrase ‘healing is not linear’ many a time I’m sure, but for a disorder such as bpd, it’s the most truest of them all. Because our healing isn’t an upward process, it’s often an up, down, up a tiny bit, down a lot and then back up again journey as is natural with mood instability. I think that’s what I find the most difficult right now. I’m doing so much better, I haven’t had a relapse or notable incident in 7 months, I regularly communicate and meet with my CPNs and my psychiatrist and liaise with them when I need to, such as upping dosages or discussing new medication options, actually taking medication properly and strictly, using PRN meds when I need to, taking time out and communicating that to people around me, and yet when I hit that low once again, it all feels very pointless and worthless once again. Because if I can do all those things and still get stung by my depression and suicidal episodes, what’s the point? Should I just give up? How many times can I be knocked down and get back up again before I stand up broken and battered?

The lack of any emotional or object permanence in my mind and life has always been a hard one for me. If it’s not happening here and now, it doesn’t exist. So if I’m not happy and stable right now, I can’t even remember the last time I felt it, or imagine a world where it’s possible. My entire reality and perception of it is darkness and dread, like a black cloud slowly spreading its darkness and poison into every crevice of my brain and world, hanging heavy over me. And surprisingly enough? That shit is hard. But it can also have the opposite affect on me, in that when I come out of it (and I always do because here I am), I can’t even remember what caused it. It’s a mixture of lack of permanence and probably quite a lot of disassociating, but I don’t even recall the events of most of my crisis episodes and relapses, other than coming out of what I can only describe as a hazy dream and realising “oh, shit.” and opening my eyes to a hospital bed. Which I suppose is a positive, but can also be fucking terrifying. 

Imagine the worst, darkest moments of your life that at the time you know felt like the only true reality possible and you know felt so so real and harrowing, but at the same time, not even remember why, or how you got there in the end? It’s scary to say the least. Almost like being terrified of my own conscious and subconscious brain and what it is capable of leading me to, being terrified of my own thoughts and how fast they go from “I’m fine” to “I can’t do this anymore”. Because the depression episodes I can handle, I can handle a few long days spent sleeping and napping and crying and zombie walking around like a dark cloud. But what I can’t handle is the episodes where I go from depressed to utter crisis suicidal ideation manic depressed and I’m unreachable, unable to be reasoned with or rationalised, only capable of destroying everything in my way of what I think I want and need to make it stop. I’ve had people (my family, friends, exes, professionals) tell me the things I’ve done and said to them during these crisis episodes, and it’s horrific.  Think, watching a video of yourself absolutely and utterly black out drunk making a tit of yourself and then times that by a thousand and add a dash of sinister and darkness to it kind of horrific. Because I have no idea sometimes what I say and do. I’ve had entire conversations and phone calls and not remembered a single word of it, and those conversations are where I’ve said my worst most awful thoughts out loud to the people I love and hurt them in the process. 

It’s scary. But it’s my reality. And honestly? It’s what keeps me going. The look and the sound of my loved ones in person or at the end of the phone after these episodes and when I’ve come back round to some sense of reality and rational senses is heartbreaking. Watching your ex boyfriend sob as he retells you the night from his perspective and how scary it was watching me nearly leave in front of him, listening to your mum cry and tell you she can’t lose you and how much she loves you, seeing your niece and sister after and realising all you would be leaving behind in your wake. It haunts me and forever will. The pain and grief I have caused the people I love the most will always weigh heavy on me. Almost as heavy as the pain I feel that gets me to that point where I forget what I have and what I love. But it keeps me going, it reminds me why I’m doing this, why I’m trying, why I’m reaching out and why I keep going no matter how much I feel like I can’t take anymore. 

But those days aren’t everyday. Some days it’s easier than others, I wake up, I have plans and goals and a to do list as long as my arm and even sometimes a smile crops up or a happy thought or memory. This up and down rollercoaster of a journey into recovery isn’t easy. But there’s no alternative. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but eventually you realise it’s not going to just end, you’re not going to snap out of it like a bad dream, not without a shit tonne of therapy and probably a shit tonne more of prescribed drugs, and even more tears and sadness, and yep, some good days thrown in there. It’s a process, not a solution. Sometimes realising that is fucking hard. It’s not fair, it sucks, but wallowing and throwing myself on the floor and having a tantrum (and believe me I’ve done them, 23 and proud) won’t fix it either. 

To me, this is recovery. Being able to say you know what? Those last few days were fucking rough, but I made it through them, I probably made a few shit decisions here and there but I’m not perfect and I’m learning and I will just sort them out now, because right now is better, and that’s enough for me. Being able to take some PRN, get into bed with my purple lights on and a big hoodie and grab sully with his scented head and snuggle up under the duvet and the weighted blanket and tell myself “this isn’t forever, this will pass” as I cry and fall asleep, is recovery. It might not be brilliant, it might take more screams and cries than I’d like, but it’s a hell of a lot better than a 136 suite of a hospital bed that’s for sure. 

Recovery isn’t linear. It’s not a one way suits all. It’s YOUR journey and YOUR story to do and make yourself. We naturally put ourselves down in our day to day lives, but putting ourselves down on how we are healing and learning is ridiculous because, who the fuck cares how we do it? There’s no rules or procedures on getting better. Scream into the pillow, sit in the same unwashed unchanged pyjamas for 3 days and wallow, turn off your phone for the day, cry for what feels like eternity or eat a tub of ice cream. Do whatever the hell you need to get yourself through to the other side because you’re the only person that can do it. No one else is going to pull you through, so why on earth should we think about what someone else would do about it? 

Remind yourself every day or at minimum whenever you’re down of your achievements, the smallest are sometimes the most meaningful to us and that’s what’s important. Even if the only thing you can say is that you survived and you’re standing here right now, you should be so fucking proud. Because I know I am. 

Meg x