Life in a Bind – BPD and me

My therapy journey, recovering from Borderline Personality Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I write for welldoing.org , for Planet Mindful magazine, and for Muse Magazine Australia, under the name Clara Bridges. Listed in Top Ten Resources for BPD in 2016 by goodtherapy.org.


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Post-session poem

I arrived at therapy this morning all prepared to plunge straight into where we left off at the last session. But my therapist’s daughter’s car was parked outside – and so something rather different happened.

I’m used to there being other people in the house when I have my sessions – my therapist’s husband, her daughter. But on Friday mornings they’re both usually at work, and I love how it feels knowing the house is empty, and it’s just the two of us. There’s this feeling of ‘having her to myself’, of feeling somehow that we are both more free to be who we are. There’s the sense that when I leave the house we can linger at the front door a little longer than a split second, that we can exchange casual words without being ‘overheard’. For a split second, leaving, I feel less like a patient, and more like – I guess, a daughter.

There was an immediate sense of having that taken away today. Utterly unexpectedly, all those feelings I know so well, of exclusion and of loss, came flooding into the session, taking over. It was about this morning – and I was aware that the experience was bringing in aspects of my childhood, when I ‘shared’ my mother with various others in the house. But it was also about the weekends, and about holidays and therapy breaks, and about the end of therapy and after – it was about all the times, now and in the future, when others will be there, and I won’t.

In a way, I’m glad that she got to see. Since returning to therapy after Christmas, I’ve felt secure enough to share a number of feelings I was too afraid to share before. That experience has been wonderfully connecting, up-building, and sustaining, and I love where we have got to in our relationship. And so the experience today felt like being able to share a level of grief and pain with her, that so far I have only been able to experience at home, alone. It was more contained, a bit quieter, a bit less messy, shorter-lasting, than it is at home. But it was physically and emotionally painful, and strong, and present. Most of all, it was shared. And for that, I am thankful.

I’m at a coffee shop, trying to ‘recover’ before I have to go into work. I know that by the time I’ve ‘written it out’ I will be calmer, and ready to face others and be a ‘different me’. I wrote this poem in a couple of minutes, in the middle of trying to write my ‘therapy journal’, so that I don’t forget everything that’s happened in therapy this week. It’s rough around the edges, and in the middle, and it’s missing words here and there. A bit like how I feel.

 

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This work is hard

Not for the first time, a quote from the TV series ‘Dexter’, really hit home. Earlier today I’d been talking in therapy about my marriage, and the fact that I have no idea how to proceed. I’m not after an ideal – but now that I understand what relationship is, I want to love and be loved in a way that honors that, and the person I am becoming. I don’t believe the grass is always greener – but perhaps sometimes, it is.

I ran from a parental home into a married home, taking the damage of my childhood with me. Not seeing that, then; but being unable to see through it, now. Nowhere feels safe, apart from the refuge of my therapeutic relationship that feels more like home than anywhere else. I know that there I am accepted, and there I can be who I am. It’s the only place where I can think clearly; where my sense of self does not feel under threat.

Outside that relationship, I’m not sure which way to run. But I think my therapist would say that ultimately, whether the marriage survives or not, there is no need to run. If I can internalise that place where I feel accepted unconditionally and where I can be who I am, then my sense of self is not really under threat. It can bear with the past, stand in the present, and be open to the future.

But right now I’m just too scared and confused. This work is hard.

 


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The funniest moment of my week

I’m so glad that art psychotherapist Emma Cameron posted a link on Facebook to this hilarious song about attachment to one’s therapist. Of course, as with some of the best comedy, it’s funny partly because it’s so uncomfortably spot-on!

I hope you enjoy it! I’ll be playing it to my therapist at my next session – will you? 😉