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Ida’s Diary

October 13th, 2015

Today I saw this: An Interview with Ida of ‘Ida’s Diary’, a New Film About Borderline Personality Disorder. I watched the short and it was a serious “aha!” moment. I started crying because seeing someone else going through and explaining things similar to what I deal with felt like having my heart ripped out and held before my eyes.

I haven’t seen the entire film, but I plan to rectify that as soon as possible.

I have so many things I want to say, but I’ve reached the point in my mental cycle where words feel like knives. I want to bury my head in a game, crank Miley Cyrus and Her Dead Petz, or Rob Thomas’s The Great Unknown, or Halestorm’s Into the Wild Life in my headphones, and tune out the world. Their words don’t feel like knives. Their words feel like hands soothing the ache in my stomach that I first noticed when I was four.

I avoid talking about my mental illness. With most everyone. And when it comes right down to it, it’s because…well, Ida said it herself. People don’t tell cancer patients to just pull themselves together.

My parents took me to a therapist because they believed I had behavioral issues that they could no longer control and they wanted someone else to tell me I was a spoiled brat who was doing life wrong.

The very first psychiatrist I saw never even spoke to me before he came into my room and told me that there was nothing wrong with me. I was just a bad mother who wanted a vacation from my children.

I may or may not have thrown a chair at him.

It wasn’t until my last suicide attempt that someone took my mental illness seriously. I’m sure it’s partly my fault. That’s not the mental illness talking. I have always avoided talking about my mental illness with most everyone. I didn’t trust anyone until I met my dual diagnosis counselor (who I no longer see). When I met her, I unloaded, and she hooked me up with a psychiatrist I could trust, and I got a diagnosis that is probably as close as I’m going to get to the truth. And then they made me go to group. And then I stopped trusting them, and I haven’t seen a counselor or psychiatrist since.

I mean, why do I need a counselor or psychiatrist? I should just be able to pull myself together. Normal people can just pull themselves together.

I feel like people look at me (and other people like me) and see a drama queen attention whore flake who can’t get her shit together. And most days, I’m okay with that. Most days, I don’t need anyone’s approval. If you can’t take the time to get to know me, and see that I’m trying my hardest every single day, then who gives a fuck what you think?

But other days, I kick myself constantly for not just pulling myself together.

Thanks for that, society. You rock.

  1. Little Monkey
    October 13th, 2015 at 20:57 | #1

    Right there with you. I think I had the same first therapist. He agreed with my parents because they were paying; first Dx = Rebellious Brat

    I didn’t take my own mental illness seriously until my last suicide attempt. It’s been over a decade now but I still kick myself regularly for not being able to consistently pull myself together.

  2. October 23rd, 2015 at 09:16 | #2

    @ Little Monkey Thanks for commenting! It’s good to know I’m not the only one.

  3. Heaven
    October 24th, 2015 at 21:37 | #3

    You are not alone, I don’t speak much about mines either. I have done the therapy as well and I hate having to switch to a new one as well after getting comfortable. I have people I can talk too but I don’t think it is enough. I find music helps me a lot when I am in a mood.

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