“I had thought one aspect of BPD was feeling too much.”
This was a comment made by Roderick Hart, of ‘Fragmented Mind’ on my previous post, ‘Waiting room of the world’. That post contained a quote from the film ‘Shadowlands’, which described the anticipation of spring as being like a ‘nothing time’, a ‘waiting room of the world’. It reminded me of the difficult state of ‘emptiness’ in between intense emotions. That state which feels like nothing because (metaphorically) it is neither full of the blizzards and storms of winter, nor of the intense heat of the summer sun. If it comes as a surprise to hear that many with BPD can often feel that they experience too little, rather than too much, then I hope that this post will be helpful. It is based on my reply to Roderick Hart, and as he was kind enough to indicate that my explanation was useful, I wanted to share it more widely, and to elaborate a little (okay, a lot!).
‘Chronic feelings of emptiness’ is the seventh of the DSM IV criteria for BPD. I have often wondered what it feels like to have this symptom, and what exactly the criterion means. How do I know if I have experienced it? As with a number of DSM IV criteria, I think that my initial understanding of what it involves, was too narrow. I was defining ‘emptiness’ in a very limited way, which was restricting my ability to see how it applied to me. I had the same experience with how I initially defined anger (‘externally-aimed’ aggression); abandonment (physical abandonment); and black and white thinking (intellectual inflexibility and being very categorical about one’s views). It took me a while to see anger as also involving silence, denial and withdrawal; abandonment as also involving feeling left alone to deal with one’s emotions; and black and white thinking as being more about how one feels about a person, than about how one approaches an intellectual argument. Once I broadened my definitions, it became much easier to how the DSM criteria applied to me.
I used to think of emptiness as being equivalent to ‘nothingness’, and I used to think of that nothingness as being absolute. It was an easy linguistic trap to fall into – I construed ‘feeling empty’ as ‘empty of feeling’. I was forgetting that an empty glass may have no liquid in it, but it is still full of air – it is not true to say that there is nothing at all inside.
Chronic emptiness means a number of different things to me, and the way I experience it changes. I suspect the same may be true of others with BPD, and there may be no single definition of what chronic emptiness entails. But for me, it can be captured by the following four states. Others with BPD may be able to relate to some, all or none of these. Some may be able to relate to them but may not describe these states as ‘emptiness’. For them, it may feel like something else entirely. But I hope that for at least some people, the following descriptions will strike a chord. For me, all of these states are associated with a strong desire to self-harm, and that desire is described in some of the posts that are referenced below.
Feeling cut off. Sometimes I feel as though I have no access to my emotions. I know that there are feelings – quite powerful feelings even – swirling below the surface, but I feel completely separated from them. I know that they are there, but I can’t feel them. I can sense their presence, but it’s almost as if they belong to someone else. When I’m in this state it can feel incredibly frustrating and difficult to cope with, and I wrote about it my post ‘What’s in a name’, although I didn’t think of it as a type of emptiness at the time.
Lack of identity. Although this is a separate BPD criterion in its own right – ‘markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self’ – for me, it is also connected to chronic emptiness. In my post ‘The unbearable insubstantiality of being – BPD and identity’ I described how I may not ‘feel empty’, but I feel that I am empty – that I am devoid of content and have no substance. Therapy has been particularly challenging recently, with a great deal of trying to ‘dig below the surface’ and figure out what’s behind my various behaviours, thoughts and actions. The process is confusing, exhausting and difficult – but it’s also scary. Not just because of what I might find, but because of the fear that I may find that there is nothing there at all. That I’m all surface – and no substance.
Craving intensity. Much as intense emotions may be incredibly, almost unbearably painful, I crave intensity. Sometimes with every ounce of my being. It’s like a drug that I just can’t get enough of and a tiny taste of it leaves me desperate for more. Sometimes I fear its power and the hold it has on me, but I fear its absence, more. It is the single strongest reason why I am not on medication, despite feeling very guilty for not trying it (as, conceivably, it could benefit not just me, but my husband and children too). Intensity makes me ‘feel full’ – full to the brim of emotion. But as a consequence, when I’m not feeling things intensely, I feel empty. I tried to describe this in my post ‘Waiting to fall – BPD and obsessive attachments’. It’s almost as if my scale of emotions is skewed – I am so attuned to high intensity that lower intensity emotions just don’t seem to register very much. They certainly don’t feel satisfying. If I’m not feeling intensely, it’s almost as if I’m not feeling at all. It’s either hugely powerful – or it’s nothing.
Immense longing. Of all the states I am describing, perhaps this is the one that most readers with BPD will be able to relate to as being closest to their own experience of chronic emptiness. And yet it wasn’t until I read an excellent and moving post called ‘Hollow’ by Sunny Spells and Scattered Showers, that the penny finally dropped and I realised that what I was feeling was emptiness. The author described her feelings of ‘profound loneliness and longing’, which her therapist said related to the emptiness which is a symptom of BPD.
‘Hollow’ seemed to perfectly describe the way I feel when I am visited by what I refer to as my ‘pit of need’. Sometimes, it feels as though a giant chasm opens inside me – a bottomless black hole of need that is longing desperately to be filled and made whole. It seems as though I would do almost anything to fill that chasm. It’s frightening how completely without boundaries I feel at those times. Sometimes the pit of need opens up when I’m in the presence of people I feel very vulnerable with; sometimes it comes out of the blue when I’m separated from someone (for example, my therapist). The immense longing is what used to make me hesitate about describing it as ‘emptiness’ – if I was feeling such longing, how could I be empty? But I was falling into that linguistic trap I spoke of earlier. After I read ‘Hollow’ I realised that it’s because I was feeling so very empty of what I needed, that I felt such immense longing. What is it that the ‘pit of need’, needs? Sunny Spells and Scattered Showers says “…..I do not know”. And I’m not sure I do either. That’s what my journey through therapy is all about. But to quote from ‘Hollow’ again, whatever it is, the feelings associated with its lack, are “horrible, and overwhelming”.
The emotions of those with BPD often swing between polar opposites, occupying the extremes, with little room for middle ground. The psychiatrist who diagnosed me said ‘at least you’re able to feel intensely – some people with BPD feel empty all the time’. Although I have no evidence one way or the other, I suspect that most people with BPD are familiar both with feeling too much, and feeling empty. Maybe, however, one mode dominates more than another, and perhaps that is person dependent; but that is purely speculation on my part. What isn’t speculation, is that both modes can be painful, and both can involve emotions of different kinds. Feeling empty does not mean feeling nothing. It means awareness of a gaping hole; but without necessarily knowing what is missing. It means longing to be filled, but without necessarily knowing with what. It means feeling as though you could collapse inwards, because you are without a core. It means feeling like this – a very short poem I wrote when I was right in the middle of the experience.
Looking back over this post, I realise I have linked to a number of my own past posts. It was not intentional; it’s not an attempt at self-promotion. I am genuinely surprised by how much I appear to have already written about emptiness, without realising it. I am surprised at how much a part of my experience it has been, without me until just recently, having been able to give it a name. I thought I was writing this post to help others understand how emptiness could be a facet of BPD. But I think I have ended up teaching myself, most of all.
March 8, 2015 at 10:13 am
That’s a beautifully written post, thank you. I can identify with so much of it.
March 14, 2015 at 9:26 pm
Thank you SO much – you’ve made me smile 🙂 I’m glad you can identify – it’s an amazing feeling when you read something that describes what you’re going through, and I’m so grateful to other bloggers for the times when that has happened to me. It’s humbling to know others identify with what I write. Keep in touch and take care…
March 8, 2015 at 3:34 pm
Pit of need, anger in withdrawal, being left so alone in my emotions….I could just relate to this entire post. Thank You ❤
March 14, 2015 at 9:24 pm
Thank YOU! I really appreciate receiving comments, and I can only apologise for being so slow at responding! I’m so glad you liked the post, and that it struck a chord. I have received so much from other bloggers, so much insight and support, both in terms of their posts and comments, and it’s a privilege to be able to add or give something in return. Thank you 🙂
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March 8, 2015 at 4:20 pm
Reblogged this on MAKE BPD STIGMA-FREE!.
March 8, 2015 at 4:33 pm
Thank you so much for the reblog – glad you liked it!
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March 10, 2015 at 6:53 pm
March 8, 2015 at 6:49 pm
This is a great post, but I couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy at just how little I know about BPD, beyond the basics. What I am realising while reading this is that I don’t relate BPD symptoms to my own difficulties. Take last week, full of intense emotion over my Therapist and yesterday and today, I feel completely empty, dissociated. What you describe here about feeling too much or empty, describes it perfectly.
In many ways, I think feeling empty is a lot easier than feeling the intensity, of anything, really. By remaining empty, involvement in anything is benign whereas intensity leads to much more risk taking and maybe disappointment. In some ways, this probably contributes to my urge to isolate.
As always, very thought provoking.
March 14, 2015 at 9:37 pm
As usual, your comments have really made me think, and put another spin on things…I hadn’t thought about intensity leading to risk taking and possibly disappointment, but I think that that’s true. I’m certainly more ‘daring’ in terms of my openness with my therapist and the extent to which I tell her how I feel about her, when I’m feeling intensely. A couple of friends have commented on the degree to which I’m sometimes very honest with my therapist (for example, a few months ago I told her that I loved her), and I think that what drives that is both my immense desire to be understood and cared for (perhaps I think such declarations will ‘elicit’ something from her?), but also, I think you’re right that intense feelings make me take more risks. So, my ‘declaration of love’, as it were (and yes, it makes me cringe to think about it!), came right off the back of my therapist letting me show her my self-harm (on my hips, so not it was definitely a case of deciding to show her/her accepting to see, as it is not obvious). It was such an amazing and intimate moment, and so intense, I think that was what allowed me to take such a risk.
Although intense emotions over our Therapists are very painful, it’s good to be able to have them and talk about them, and so from that point of view, I’m glad that you were able to feel them, although I know absolutely, how excruciating they can be. And that emptiness and dissociation often follows, as a way of protection from the hurt. I was in that cycle for a long time since Christmas, with almost every session oscillating between intensity and disconnection. For the last few sessions (since my events described in ‘Intensity’, I think, or just before), things have been much more settled. I think in some ways it’s a function of having got into a topic/area that has just proved immensely fruitful and keeping the continuity between sessions has been easier. I literally go in with about 9 things written on my hand to talk about, cover about three of them, and have an even longer list next time! But I know that we will come to a halt at some point, certainly after the Easter break if not before, and I will be back to that emptiness again, and my own urge to isolate…..
Thank you again for continuing to read and comment and provide such helpful and insightful comments. Despite my terrible tardiness at replying, I’m so grateful to you for continuing to feed back to me, and to read – you’re a treasure 🙂
March 15, 2015 at 4:20 pm
I’m not sure if I’ll ever tell my T I love him 🙂 Your bravery and your willingness to face the vulnerability are inspirational! I do feel as though Paul and I are beginning to connect and, at times, it does feel a little weird. There is not much I wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing, so that must be a good thing. Going back to face him when I wasn’t happy AND talk about the problem HE was causing, was a pivotal moment and Paul made it so easy… for the first time in my life, someone listened to my side without any adverse reactions…pew, just as well because it might have ruined the relationship, but at Dr Gerald says, we need to continue to go back and repair the torn fibres. It still feels a little weird to conduct therapy on the relationship with your T, although I trust it will reap the rewards.
Thankfully, my Easter break only cuts out group that week… I can live with that 🙂 Paul is on holiday the week after next, but I am okay with that. I use the time to reflect, however, maybe it might feel different this time because I am closer to him…mmm…we’ll see
March 9, 2015 at 1:01 am
I don’t have BPD, but as a dissociator, I really relate especially to Feeling Cut Off – I know the emotions are there, on the other side of a wall, but I can’t feel anything. It’s a horribly uncomfortable feeling, and I’d rather just have the bad feelings, but sometimes, that’s not possible. The other one I relate to is ‘Immense Longing’ – a loneliness so intense, I feel as if everyone on the planet has died, leaving me behind. That hasn’t happened so much to me lately, but it’s very painful to go through when it does.
Thanks for explaining so clearly about BPD. I like the names you give these states. I mean, I find them helpful.
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March 14, 2015 at 9:22 pm
Thank you so much for your comments, which I really appreciate. I completely agree, I’d rather have the awful feeling itself, then the horrible sense of being cut off from myself. Yes, the longing is definitely very painful – I’ve had a lot of it over the last couple of weeks, and your mention of death struck really me. Part of what really gets to me about the longing is the fact that I long for what I cannot have and the hopelessness of the longing and the fact I can’t change anything, is horrendous – just as longing for someone who has died is futile because nothing will bring them back. I’m glad you found the naming of the states helpful, and thank you again for reading, it’s good to hear from you!
March 9, 2015 at 3:50 am
Reblogged this on Marci, Mental Health, & More and commented:
She explains emptiness as feeling cut off, lack of identity, craving intensity, immense longing and a feeling of hollowness. I would like to add a lack of direction and purpose as if everything were meaningless and feeling like you don’t know what you want and even if you did it would never come true for you. Great post to read an in depth perspective of the criteria of chronic emptiness.
March 13, 2015 at 9:56 pm
Thank you so much for the reblog, I’m glad you liked the post! Thank you too for the excellent and very helpful comment. Yes, I completely agree with your addition of lack of direction and purpose as part of what emptiness can mean…thank you again!
March 9, 2015 at 9:03 am
Oh man. Relate to this whole post. I can’t wait to see my psychiatrist to talk about all the things.
March 13, 2015 at 9:53 pm
Thank you so much for reading and commenting, and it’s good to know you can relate! How did your appointment go? I hope it was productive and I’m glad if my post helped to prompt some discussion 🙂 Take care, and keep in touch!
March 10, 2015 at 5:23 am
Wow, your post and the one you linked to “Hollow” describe exactly what I feel although I do not think I have BPD – empty. I once described to my therapist that it’s like there’s a needy, black hole void inside of me. Like I’m hollow, an empty shell.
March 14, 2015 at 9:17 pm
Exactly, and the strange thing is I have only been able to really see it and describe it since I’ve been in therapy, whereas I’m absolutely sure it’s been there for a very long time, but I just never thought of it in that way ….I’m glad the post struck a chord with you, thank you so much for reading and commenting!
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March 11, 2015 at 6:26 pm
Oh how I have missed your writing! Feverishly devouring all the posts I’ve been missing… hope you are doing well and that we can catch up sometime soon? xxxxx
March 13, 2015 at 9:51 pm
It’s so good to hear from you – and to read your latest post! 🙂 Thank you for the wonderful words, and yes, I would absolutely love to catch up soon. Do you want to email me when might be good for you? Looking forward to chatting soon xxx
April 7, 2015 at 8:05 pm
As I read this, it made me wonder if what BPDs seek is something that none of us really have. I hadn’t thought of this till now. But as I read your post, I thought, do any of us truly have a core? What is that core made of? I have no idea. I’m not BPD but I have family members who are and an ex, and I know I have many of the same feelings you describe but not to the same extreme. But when you talk about a core or identity, I wonder what is inside any of us.
What would it look like inside a seemingly healthy person? What IS their core? You’re a good writer after all. You express yourself well, something many people can’t do. You probably have other talents, maybe a sense of humor, certain values, particular preferences that define you. But maybe you also change your mind a lot, maybe you haven’t found your “thing.” But most of us haven’t. This isn’t a “you should feel lucky” comment. It’s more of a philosophical question.
What makes up a core? I have no clue. We are just here. I don’t know that there’s anything to figure out. Sometimes I wonder if we’d all be better off to stop trying. You even ask that question, what if there’s nothing there when I actual get there? But maybe we’re all nothing and everything at the same time. I really don’t think there’s a there, there. So if you get there and find nothing, maybe that’s okay.
I don’t know if this makes sense.
April 24, 2015 at 10:33 pm
Hi and thank you so much for your comment and many many apologies it has taken me so long to respond. I tend to want to respond fully to people’s comments because I love interacting with those who read my posts, but as a result, it sometimes does take me a while to be able to respond. I often think I should just approve comments and then reply later, but I find it hard to ‘let myself off the hook’ in that way! I am so very grateful for your thoughts, particularly as a reader without BPD, but who has family members with the diagnosis. I love to connect with others with BPD, but would also love to be able to do more and chat more with those who encounter it in those they love.
I completely agree (and other non-BPD friends have said the same) that many people with BPD have the same sorts of feelings as those without the diagnosis, but to a much greater extent. I tend to think that the difficulty with BPD is that: on the one hand, we have the same feelings, but much more intensely and to a greater extreme, but if someone tell us our feelings are ‘normal’ in that sense, we risk feeling invalidated; but on the other hand, some aspects of BPD lead to us having a world-view that is diametrically opposed to that of other people, and in those cases we risk feeling completely misunderstood. For example, having a world-view that assumes by default that one is not understood, valued, wanted or cared for, unless there is proof otherwise.
I agree that the nature and form of this thing we call ‘I’ is a major and centuries-long debated philosophical question! 🙂 And for many people, there is indeed no such entity. This ‘I’ is simply a kind of illusion that is so much more than the sum of its parts – but there is no one thing that forms our core. And yes, it is very tempting to think that there is no question here to figure out. I am a big fan of Wittgenstein, who thought that philosophy wasn’t about finding answers to perplexing questions, but about showing why certain questions were nonsense, or showing why we found them perplexing (generally because ‘language’ was misleading us into thinking about something in the wrong way, and comparing apples with pears, as it were). We all know what we mean when we talk about ‘I’ – perhaps the idea of a ‘core’ and an internal object is simply a false one, drawn by comparison with the external world, where everything is discrete. I think I tend to take a similar approach with free will – if I feel that I have it, then I do, and that is all that it consists of.
I wonder if talk about a ‘core’ and about ‘identity’ is about something else – not about something ‘hidden inside’ but something about experience and about how I relate to the world, and how I see myself in it. If I feel I don’t know who I am, perhaps what I’m saying is not that I cannot describe one set of qualities that together make up ‘me’; but that I do not have a sense of what I like or don’t like; that I’m not quite sure what is important to me or what I believe; that I don’t feel I have a consistent and enduring sense of myself or others; that I may not know what I want but that doesn’t feel ok or like a feature of me, it feels like a gap and a hole in my fabric…..
Sorry, this is all getting even more philosophical and I’m definitely feeling like I’m not making much sense now!
Thank you so much for your comment and for starting off this train of thought – do keep in touch!
August 24, 2015 at 7:27 pm
Reblogged this on Borderline & PMDD.
September 12, 2015 at 7:24 pm
Thank you so much for the reblog! (apologies for the delay – I have been away….)
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December 4, 2015 at 3:20 am
The “craving intensity” portion hit home to me so deeply. I have never read or heard anyone describe that before and yet it’s something that is a huge part of my personality. I too refuse medication for fear of becoming someone who doesn’t feel much. I need to feel, to feel a lot or I am nothing. I have not been diagnosed as bpd but firmly believe that I am. I’ve always known I was somehow different from others, less emotionally able to face the world and didn’t discover bpd till my late 20s I believe.
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July 7, 2016 at 5:38 pm
Hi, I just posted a blog on how I experience emptiness and then I came across your beautifully written post. For me it is like being in a desert, sometimes I liken it to being injured in a desert because I feel in pain and all alone. For me being empty isn´t being without emotion it is being alone with sadness, rejection, abandonment. I loved reading your blog and can´t wait to read some more
July 22, 2016 at 10:12 pm
Thank you so much for reading, and for your comment, and it’s good to ‘meet’ you! I read your great post, and I’m so sorry you have this experience too – I can really relate to those feelings of sadness and rejection. I like the desert analogy – I have always tended to think in terms of a bottomless pit, but your image has made me think it’s also like an unquenchable thirst…thank you for this way of thinking of things!
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July 23, 2016 at 10:26 am
Thank you for helping me see my thoughts can actually help others. I used to just think of it as shadows entering, then one day I just felt literally like i was in a desert and writing the analogy helped me make sense of not only that, but all the other states of mind I experience. Sometimes I feel like I am at the bottom of a mountai, others I feel I am climbing to great heights. Sometimes I feel I am just drowning. It all changes so quickly. Thanks for your kind words about my blog
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July 15, 2016 at 12:12 am
I can definitely relate to the unquenchable craving for intensity, and the feeling you mentioned of being cut off from emotions just reinforces this craving. At ‘baseline’, all my emotional distress is muffled and unreachable, as if I can sense its presence but not its actual content. But I know it’s there, which is scary and unpredictable, so there’s a nagging desire to disclose my inner life in the hope of being understood. Then I start to think 1) what words would I even use?; 2) even if I found the right words, it’s not like they’d understand; 3) since I’m not actively feeling the distress yet, I shouldn’t tell anyone about it, because we all know what happened to the boy who cried wolf; and the one felt most intently, 4) I shouldn’t smear my pain on others. So I don’t say anything to anyone.
Now I’m just waiting for the next catastrophe to happen — an unpleasant conversation, a poor grade, a breakup — so that all the anger/guilt/shame will actually flare. Finally, my frustration about the muffled, unreachable distress is satisfied; now it’s clearly heard, very reachable. And it’s extremely painful, but also extremely intoxicating. Because suddenly, I don’t care about smearing my pain on others anymore. I just want it gone, and in this hypo-hypomanic state, I’m miraculously able to find the words for it. Best case scenario: some unlucky acquaintance gets to hear my thoughts and respond with concerned bemusement, I get to “flush the toilet” so to speak. Worst case scenario: I threaten suicide, test relationships, abuse others’ goodwill, maybe lose a significant other or two. Slowly, over the next few days, then I float back down to baseline. And the cycle starts all over again.
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March 28, 2017 at 3:18 am
Reblogged this on myjourneyasme.
April 2, 2017 at 10:16 pm
Thank you so much for the reblog!
June 24, 2017 at 6:17 am
Hadn’t felt this way in a long while,but today I do. It started by more frequent infatuations with my escorting clients. As I asked myself why, I realized that it’s because of a hidden need of love, since my family could not provide that. This realization is painful, and the only coping method I can think of is continuing my routine, practicing self love and accepting the childhood losses. I won’t make the mistake of my younger years of trying to find love from others. Nowadays it’s incredibly difficult to find true friendship or love. Id end up in worse shape than now. I have to be independent and strong, I do have that in me.
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February 14, 2018 at 6:01 pm
Thank you so so much for this post. Yesterday I experienced a terrible episode of emptiness which descended like a stone and as usual wouldn’t lift until it was ready to. 5 years of therapy have taught me how to recognise the beginning of a crisis, the trigger events and emotions and I’m managing better and better to intercept them and change their course. What I still fail to do is to recognise the onset of emptiness. I have managed to identify a chronic lack of self confidence at these moments, also a strong sensation of not feeling at home in my own home, of feeling a stranger and out of place. I also know that lines of poetry or prose which normally help me, fail to have any impact. My partner notices physical changes which build up over 2 or 3 days. My eyes darken and become unfocused. If I could only identify the above with the onset of emptiness I feel I could preempt a lot of suffering (myself and those I love). Thank you again and any further advice would be very gratefully received.
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April 4, 2018 at 7:07 am
I can not believe how incredibly helpful this story is. Thank you for writing it.
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May 12, 2018 at 9:03 am
Thank you for reading, and I’m really glad it was helpful 🙂
April 24, 2018 at 2:39 pm
I’ve known for over 20 years that I have bpd, among other things. My first good therapist let the word slip from her mouth and politely wouldn’t elaborate when I asked her to. I immediately went and bought a book on it. I was horrified because every word not only defined my mother, but also me, which meant I was like her – something I’d strived not to be. I’ve worked very hard on my bpd through the years, most recently with mindfulness and DBT. I’ve improved much, but it’s still always here and flares from time to time. I recently googled bpd – I don’t even remember why – and read about the emptiness. I’d never heard of that before, but it explains a lot. At home I have always felt like I’m lazy, apathetic, bored beyond belief, not knowing what to do with so much time by myself even though it’s much needed to de-stress from the outside world. I’d been with a therapist for 10 years. She taught me mindfulness individually and in group. Then she did the same with DBT. This was (unknowingly) all toward the the end of my time with her because she was promoted. Since then I’ve had a crappy counselor and a good counselor who doesn’t do mindfulness or dbt, but now she’s leaving, too, so it doesn’t much matter. My pastor, also a woman, says she understands bpd, having interned at a MH hospital. I do much at church, so we’re quite connected (3-1/2 years). Usually I’m pretty good at church regarding my bpd, but when it flares (saying something without tact, black and white thinking – as opposed to a total meltdown) she goes off on me, even in front of others. I realize not all of this is me, but also her, but I don’t know how to deal with it. This kind of thing and the emptiness are very hard, especially since I’m only now realizing that the emptiness is connected to bpd. I’m grateful that I read this. I’ve learned a lot and the knowledge of this emptiness being connected will hopefully help me – should I find another therapist who can help me with bpd.
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May 12, 2018 at 8:53 am
I’m very glad this post helped….as for therapy, I think above all it’s the quality of the relationship that matters and that heals. Someone with more experience, who’s happy to work drawing on different models and who is confident enough to use some flexibility….someone your gut tells you is right even if they don’t immediately seem to tick every box….good luck !
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