(A side note - I'm not sure how long or in depth I will get, its a week today since a nasty fall which left my with post-concussion syndrome, neck and shoulder injuries, and week of doctor and lawyer issues.)
Until a few months ago, anyone who brought up even the most remote possibility that I had BPD would've seen me explode with fury about how it was just a diagnosis that put the blame on a person who had been abused and blamed them for all the pain they suffered from what happened to them at some point in their life. It was only after I spent 28 days at an inpatient program and the doctor who oversaw my treatment there (who happened to be the one person I formed any sort of bond with as far as the staff went), spoke to my outpatient psychiatrist that I began to accept the diagnosis. My regular psychiatrist and I spent about two hours discussing it and for the first time ever there wasn't any disgust or blaming or judgement. The main part of the discussion was actually how abuse sets up the factors that make it so easy to develop this disorder later on.
When I spoke about this to my outpatient therapist she said she'd known this all along but knew the topic was off limits for discussion, I asked if she was able to handle it and she assured me she was. Her ability to handle it lasted about a month. The second to last time I saw her she made the remark that the way I felt about something was "crazy", which I took offense to. When I wanted to discuss it at our next session she began to accuse me of being manipulative in everything I did, including my choice of topics to discuss in therapy. After verbally ripping me apart she asked "Well, what do you think about that?" when I told her I felt like melting into the couch I was sitting on, she reminded me where the door was. After a few months of bouncing to some other less than stellar therapists, I now have a psychologist who is one of the sweetest and most caring people I've ever met.
So...how do I think my BPD began?
Well, I'm not sure if I would have developed it regardless but some things when I was 12-14 played out in a way that definitely taught me that drama = affection or caring.
I began to have my first severe panic attacks when I began junior high at age 12. The school counselor began to try and help me deal with them and in the course of the first few times I spoke with her I mentioned some things going on at home - how my mom had been very sick the past few years and how my dad drank heavily. For the first time ever, I got sympathy and support from an adult for what I was going through, and even a hug which was a completely foreign thing in my frigid family. Not long after, my dad nearly killed the whole family while driving drunk the wrong way on a rural highway. Today I realize that should've warranted an immediate call to protective services, but instead it got me more sympathy and affection.
I had been severely sexually and physically abused up until age 11 and truly was still enduring daily verbal and emotional abuse. I shamefully admit though, that I wasn't above embellishing things after awhile to get more caring and love at school - I exaggerated the dangerousness of my dad's drinking and my mom's verbal outbursts...knowing those wouldn't get me taken from the home (had I spoken of the abuse that stopped when I was 11, I'm sure I would've been taken away within hours).
In my mind, if there wasn't chaos going on at the moment there was no way for me to have love.
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