I awoke the next day totally in a haze. I had a hangover feeling with no awesome, epic story attached to it. I was in the hospital. They put me on a mood stabilizer. Yeah, that's really cool… I can imagine getting a standing ovation from the frat boys. I stumbled to the restroom and noticed it was dark out. Having no clock in my room I had no idea that it was actually 7pm. When I came out of the bathroom one of the other patients saw me.
"Morning, sleepyhead!" she joked.
"You can't sleep?" I asked.
"No hun. It's 7pm. You slept all day; slept like the dead."

I slowly made my way to the common room. I was starving, having not eaten anything since the night before. Unfortunately they had already closed the kitchen, so I'd have to resort to the usual peanut butter and graham crackers at snack time. We would have three snack times a day - one in the morning, one in the afternoon and one an hour or so before bed. And every time, we would be offered peanut butter and graham crackers, and a soda, milk or water. It was quite a comforting snack, but it quickly got tiresome. After filling up on as much snack as I could, I went to take my meds. Again I was given Trileptal, and again Family Guy was more amusing than normal. I decided to go to bed early. And surprisingly, I slept through the night without the help of a sleep aid. To this day, including when I am sick or drunk, I have never slept so much in a 36 hour period, and I doubt I ever will again.

Tim was sitting next to me on my bed. He listened to what I had to say with such interest and his stare was compassionate. He told me that he was here to pick me up and that I was invited to his house for a while. We hopped in his car and arrived at his house ten minutes later. His house always was so warm and inviting… his mom however, was not. I entered the house with him and we sat around the island in his kitchen. His mom offered me coffee, mainly cause she felt she was required to, and sat down across from me. All of a sudden, the compassion that was in Tim's eyes was gone… he was vacant and distracted. This was an intervention. I was warned that if I ever so much as thought about Tim she would do whatever she could to see that I'd be punished for it. She didn't like me. I was this emotional basket case who would doom her son to failure for the rest of his life, and she wasn't going to have it.
"I'm trying the best I can!" I plead, my words falling on deaf ears. I look at him and he looks away.
" We can't be friends," he says. "I just can't take it anymore. You're so dramatic and needy… You've become so annoying. I can't stand it." My heart is crushed. Could this really be happening?
"This isn't fair!" I protest, sobbing. "You said we'd be friends forever! You said you'd always be there for me! You said you loved me! Why are you abandoning me? Why are you abandoning me?!"

"Allyssa… Allyssa… hun, you're having a nightmare." The nurse gently shook me awake. "I could hear you from the nurse's station." I sat up, my heart racing, my forehead drenched in sweat. It was just a dream… no… a nightmare. It didn't happen. We're still friends. He still loves me. It'll be okay. We'll be okay. The nurse offered me a glass of water. I guess all the 3rd shift nurses weren't so bad. I set the cup on my night stand, laid back down and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning I awoke with the buzzer above my head. This time, I hadn't slept for 24 hours. The initial side effects must be wearing off. "I had a nightmare," I told Dr. Eaton. I told him about everything, about Tim, about his mom, about me. I was so afraid that the damage done to our friendship was irreversible. I had to call him. I had to fix this. I just had to. So during my first break, I called him. My hands were clammy as I held the phone in my hand. Why was I so nervous to talk to my best friend? It went straight to voice mail. His voice was soothing, "Hey this is Tim. Leave a message." Oh God what do I say? I don't wanna say the wrong thing… "Hey, it's me," I said nervously. "Just calling to see how your day is going and to tell you I miss you. I'm sorry for being so fucked up. I'm sorry for treating you the way I have. I really wish you would come and see me. It would mean so much to me. I know I don't deserve it, but yeah… Just please call me okay? I'm worried about you and I wanna know if you're okay… if we're okay… Are we okay? I know you want space and I'm trying to give it to you… If you don't wanna talk to me I'll understand. Have a good one. And remember, even though it doesn't seem like it, I care about you." I hung up the phone. I felt sick to my stomach. Damn it what the hell is wrong with me? How hard is it to just give him some damn space?! If I really cared about him I'd be able to give it to him. Tears were streaming down my face. I can't do this anymore! I can't stand it! I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was one of the older male patients.
"You okay?" he asked. I wiped my face and forced a smile. 'No I'm not,' I thought.
"Yeah I'm fine. Thanks for asking."
"Wanna talk?"
"Yeah, sure."

We headed to his room and sat on his bed. I told him about how I had called Tim even though I knew I shouldn't How could I have been so damn stupid? What the hell is wrong with me??
"It's okay," He said. "You're here now. If he really cares about you, he'll understand." All of a sudden, without even realizing it, we began to kiss. My brain had completely checked out. It was all about surviving the moment and doing whatever I could… whatever it would take… to not feel this way anymore. I didn't want to feel this way anymore! Our hands started to wander to carnal places. My heart was racing. Was this happening? All of a sudden something in me snapped and I pulled away. What the hell was I doing? We apologized profusely to each other. I couldn't believe it. I would never in a million years do this drunk, and yet I was doing it completely sober. I got up and left the room. To my relief, he would be discharged that evening. Neither of us told anyone what had happened.

I went out in the common room after the steamy encounter and sat on the couch, trying my hardest to look composed. Football was on TV, it being a Saturday, and I distracted myself by asking the other patients how the game is actually played. I hadn't known then, and to this day, I still don't really understand it. I was obsessed with looking one-hundred percent normal. The phone in the common room rang. One of the other patients got up and answered it. "Allyssa," she said, "it's for you. I think it's Tim."

I woke up the next morning to the buzzing of the intercom above my bed. It was time to check vitals, something they did twice a day. I groggily walked to the common room and sat down. I was now the center of attention among everyone. Since I had been admitted at three that morning no one had seen me sign in. It was similar, I would guess, to the initiations new prisoners would go through. "What's your name? Where you from? What you in for?" My turn came quickly, which I was grateful for. I'm not much of a talker first thing in the morning, especially given the current location. I sat in the chair, rolled up my sleeve and opened my mouth. I was a trained gorilla. Upon confirming that I was indeed alive, I retreated back to my room. I got dressed as best I could, lacking the essentials such as a brush, my deodorant, my shoe laces and my bra. All had been confiscated the night before. I flopped back on my bed and looked to the bed next to me. My roommate of the moment tearfully asked the normal initiation questions.

"You are so lucky," she said, "that you are getting help at such a young age. You're such a beautiful, young woman. You have your whole life ahead of you. What's someone like you doing in here, hun?" The buzzer above my bed went off again. It was time for breakfast. Thank God.

The food here was surprisingly good. It was definitely better than the undercooked or overcooked crap they served at the college, depending on the day. Breakfast usually consisted of bacon and eggs, toast, orange juice and a cup of coffee. Coffee would become my companion for the rest of my stay, as it had my other three stays. I quickly made friends with the other patients. Being in a setting such as this, one tends to form a very close, loving family, the kind of family one wishes they really had. These people would hear the deepest, darkest parts of my soul. They would become the ones who would pass the tissues across the table and give side hugs as we walked down the hall. These complete strangers already cared for me more than my mom.

After breakfast I fled to my bed. I knew the first group was next and I was in no mood to participate. When the buzzer went off I just ignored it and rolled over, putting the pillow over my head. Twenty minutes later the head nurse knocked on my door. "Since you're not going to go to group I might as well give you the aspirin you asked for." I followed her to the room where meds were administered. There were two young ladies sitting, waiting, observing. They were med students getting their field observations. Of course they had their lives together. I wonder what they thought of me… "You really should go to group," the head nurse lectured. "Don't tell me you're in here because of that boy. That's such a stupid reason to be depressed." I saw the med students staring at me. I knew the nurse was trying to make me feel better, but she was so invalidating. Didn’t she know how stupid I felt that this thing with Tim and I was stupid and that I felt stupid for it bothering me?

I just decided to go to group. I wasn't gonna give that nurse a reason to judge and embarrass me like that again. I entered the room and all eyes were on me. "You're back," said Jerry, one of the many therapists I had come to know and trust from my other three visits. "Can't say I'm glad to see ya to be honest. Nothing personal, you just seemed so much better when you left last week." The topic du jour was on being assertive as opposed to being passive, aggressive or the ever so popular passive-aggressive. I pulled out my journal and pen and began to copy the notes on the dry erase board. On the left was the list of words we were not allowed to say in group. These words had been on that board since my first hospitalization three years earlier. I imagined if I went over and tried to erase the marker it wouldn't come off.

Group was over and it was time to see Dr. Eaton, my psychiatrist. He had been my psychiatrist last week and was this time as well, so apparently I hadn't scared him off. "So this thing with you and Tim is still bothering you?" he asked compassionately. I liked him. There was no judgment or scolding in his voice. If he was judging me, his many years of work had taught him to hide it. "The nurse at the college suggested I try a mood stabilizer," I told him. "She thinks it'll even me out." This made sense of course, since my emotions were seemingly out of control all the time. I'd much rather be a robot if it would save my friendship with Tim. He smiled. "Okay. We can try that. I'll start you off on Trileptal and we'll see what happens. Usually it's given to people with Epilepsy to prevent seizures, but one can take it for mood as well. It's a fairly new medication, but it doesn't cause weight gain. Seems kind of silly to give a depressed woman something that would cause her to gain weight, don't you think?" Did I mention I liked him?

The rest of the day was full of groups and free time। No one came and visited me during visiting hours. I wasn't surprised. I was very tempted to call Tim. I wanted to talk to him so much, beg him to come see me. He never did of course. Why would he? I had scared him off. Who could love an emotional freak? At bedtime I took Trileptal for the first time. I was sitting in the common room watching Family Guy with a couple other patients. I began to feel drowsy and almost high. I could get used to this! Never had Family Guy ever been so amusing! After a while though the cloud 13 feeling turned into extreme dizziness, so I stumbled to my room and went to bed. Little did I know that I wouldn't remember waking up until after supper the next day. I wouldn't even remember getting up to get my vitals taken or use the bathroom.

~ Allyssa

I wasn't a stranger to the eighth floor at AnMed Hospital in South Carolina. The drab decor, the smells, the nurses; none of it had changed since I had been here three years ago. This time, I was a veteran. I had packed a suitcase, making sure that I had my journal, a ball-point plastic pen and my name on every item that would be confiscated and locked up. I had a list of my friends' phone numbers, knowing that I would call them and beg them to come visit me. They were my family; my support system. I didn't have to write his number down though. I had it committed to memory. How could I not, with the obsessive amount of texts I sent him everyday?

Yesterday was my 23rd birthday. I received so many happy birthday wishes from everyone from my family in Maine, to people I had friended on Facebook just because we took a class together two semesters ago. I didn't get one from him though. His was the only one that would have mattered. Again I wasn't completely surprised. He wanted time apart; distance; room to breathe. For some reason I had been unable to give him these things, even though I desperately tried to. He was trying to abandon me and push me away. I wasn't going to let him. I loved him. He was my best friend. I was not going to lose another best friend.

The familiar feelings of mania and nervousness overwhelmed me as I rode the elevator up to the eighth floor. I had been in the emergency room for at least four hours with the college counselor. At the time she was all I had, and school policy dictated that she remain by my side. I looked down at my arms as we ascended. They were red and swollen from the exacto knife I had taken to them earlier that day. In some surreal way they looked beautiful, and it scared me. The elevator stopped and we buzzed the nurses' desk. We said our goodbyes as she went back to the elevator. I walked through the double doors and up to the desk, hearing the familiar click-click of the doors behind me. This was it. I was here again. And damn it, this time better be the last!

Thus began the invasion of my very essence; both physically and mentally. I stripped down to nothing and donned the very fashionable hospital gown. I felt like I was checking into drug rehab as I watched the nurse search my belongings with gloved hands. She confiscated things such as my shampoo (apparently it had alcohol in it), my hair elastics and my underwire bras. Anything that could be used to harm myself was fair game to her scrutiny. She then probed me with questions. What year is it? What city are we in? Who's the president of the United States? And then came the part I hated the most - I was to tell my life story. Again. I had been in here not even a week ago. Do they not keep a record of what people say during these interrogations? After the grilling, she handed me the plastic cup for the urine test. I had smoked pot two nights ago. I'm fucked, i thought.

After my inspection I was allowed to put on my pj's. It was time for me to get my medication so I could go to bed. All I wanted to do was sleep. But I had to stay awake and wait for the pharmacy downstairs to send it up, even though I had brought my own. The head nurse was unsympathetic to my plight and wasn't going to put up with any attitude I may have. I could tell she hated her job, and was forced to work this floor, which was her least favorite. She herself had her shit together. She had probably slept through all their psychology classes. This is what I hated about all the third shift nurses. Finally my meds were sent up, and I was able to go to bed. As I walked away from the nurses' station, she yelled after me, "You tested positive for marijuana by the way. You really shouldn't do that crap." So much for confidentiality.

I climbed into bed. I didn't even bother turning down the covers. It was 3am and I just didn't care anymore. I tossed and turned all night, waking up frequently. Each time I awoke I would walk to the reinforced window. From my room one could see the blinking lights on the radio tower that was on my college campus. All I could do was picture him sound asleep in his bed, not having to worry about me and my freakish emotions. He finally had the peace he wanted. I was locked up from the outside world. It was happening again. I was losing yet another close friend because I was fucked up. I was crazy. An emotional freak. There was no hope for me to change. Little did I know that there was indeed help out there for me. And this time, I would find it.

What is Borderline Personality Disorder? According to WebMd.com, it can be defined as "a mental illness that causes intense mood swings, impulsive behaviors, and severe problems with relationships and self-worth" (1)

There are ways that Borderline Personality Disorder, or BPD, is diagnosed. Psychiatrists follow a guide called the DSM IV which lists every mental health condition, their criterion and their treatments. According to the DSM IV, BPD is characterized by: (2)

1. frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. Note: Do not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in Criterion 5.

2. a pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation.

3. identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.

4. impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating). Note: Do not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in Criterion 5.

5. recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior

6. affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days).

7. chronic feelings of emptiness

8. inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights)

9. transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms

In my experience, BPD can be very scary and almost euphoric. I can think back to many relationships that I've "messed up" and for the longest time I didn't know why. My moods were always up and down; always intense and hard to control. I felt out of control. In my worst moments, it was almost as if I was having out-of-body experiences where I wasn't myself. It was more than not thinking before speaking; I knew exactly what I was saying and thinking, and at the time, the most horrible things seemed more than plausible. I would be the most vicious with those I loved the most and were closest to me. I deeply loved them one moment, and hated them the next, most of the time because I felt abandoned. This abandonment was imagined, and yet I was without a doubt in my mind being abandoned. I would do anything I could to avoid this abandonment, which seemed unavoidable.

There was something wrong with me. I was feeling worthless and helpless. How could anyone love an emotional freak? I did everything I could to change who I was, but nothing seemed to work. There was something wrong with me, but I didn't know what. I turned to things like pot and sex to cope with my emotions. I also was trying to be someone else. I was trying to be the person others thought I should be, or at least what I thought they wanted me to be. Then the pot and sex turned into unhealthy ways to cope with everyday life. I knew that these things weren't effective. I even felt worse after doing them. And yet they offered the temporary relief I so desperately wanted.

I've been in the hospital four times total, as a result of suicidal thoughts. I didn't really want to die; I just wanted a way out. At the time I had already been diagnosed with depression, but I knew there was something else seriously wrong. No one would help me. They didn't want to help me. I know now that this wasn't the case. On the fourth and final hospital visit I was talking with the social worker. I remember trying to explain the reasons for my actions. And yet I didn't even know what they were myself. She then told me that I have Borderline Personality Disorder. I was scared at first. BPD for many years has had this stigma attached to it, simply because we have only just learned how to treat it in the past 20 years. People with this disorder were labeled untreatable in the psychology realm, and were considered outcasts in society. When the social worker handed me some information however, I became extremely relieved. I read the DSM IV, and for the first time I wasn't a freak. I knew what was wrong with me and that there was hope. I would be okay!

I enrolled in BPD-specific therapy known as Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, or DBT. This was developed by Marsha Linehan, a professor at the University of Washington. It consisted of one-on-one therapy with a counselor and group therapy. I was in the group portion for about a year, and have been seeing my counselor now for three years. She is a blessing in my life and I don't know what I would do without her! I will be starting up a more advanced version of the group therapy in September.

This is just an overview of what I have experienced over the past four years. I will continue to post more experiences and daily accounts as a way to cope with my BPD, educate others and offer comfort to others with BPD.

~ Allyssa

Bibliography and More Info on BPD:
(1) http://www.webmd.com/mental-health/tc/borderline-personality-disorder-topic-overview
(2) http://www.borderlinepersonalitytoday.com/main/dsmiv.htm