journey not recovery

In my previous post on object permanence ( object permanence or lack thereof ),  I discussed how impossible it felt for me to "hold onto" others; to grasp their image in my mind, to continue to feel a relationship, connection, and even realize their and my own existence. Out of my sight I could barely seem to clutch anything solid to tell me the other person was still there. I could not internalize them. Quick Note Piaget put forth the theory that children obtain "object permanence" at around the age of 4-7 months. At this stage children are able to learn that objects continue to exist even when not in view. The psychoanalyst Lacan said that between 6-18 mo the infant becomes able to recognize themselves as a separate entity, to be able to see themselves and hold onto a self-image. I couldn't grip this myself, the mirror was not provided well enough. This means drifting in the void, darkness around you. Reaching out in all directions can you see me am I here?  A...

I worry I will wear people thin like paper dolls crumbling beneath the weight of me. I am an empty hole, always needing something, someone, anything. I try to fill it with people but they always disappoint me or end up abandoning me without explanation. So instead I fill it with slicing my skin, making a deep void I can physically see. Or fill the emptiness with literal emptiness, the lack of nutrition. I feel that I am a burden, a baby never fully developed. I rely on others for me to know that I exist to myself. I am revolving hospital doors constantly for the last 16 years. People see me over and over again, on repeat, the same story and wreck of a girl. Everyone gets sick of me being sick in the end. They invest energy, see no progress just worsening harm, and they become hurt and take it personally, walking away from me. This happens over and over  My psychiatrist Dr. V is a miracle. He lets me Be. He sits with my sadness silently so I'm not alone with it. Sometime...

Sometimes I wonder what progress I have made from the girl smashing soap dispensers and openly cutting on the unit, to the girl cutting quietly with glass mirror shards when left alone. 4 days a week of therapy and still I'm a crime scene body with screams that are silent. When will I not need to do this? How many people will have to listen to me before it's close to my parents hearing me and when will that just be enough? Because it never is. And I'm curious, when does the pain get to be enough? When does the suffering add up to something succinctly expressed?

I'm 34 years old and I've been struggling with what people call "mental illness" my whole life. PTSD, MDD, BPD, and anorexia are the labels they've settled on over the years. They, borderline personality disorder in particular, have been used to control me throughout my life, but labels don't define me anymore. As I've gotten to know myself, labels stopped being part of me, though I'd be lying if I said they don't still haunt me...damage has been done. the mental health system has hurt me as well as helped me. I'll continue getting into that in later posts. Mostly, this blog is to share my journey. I don't label myself as "in recovery" because to me that means something other than where I am now in my life as an adult. I still starve myself. I cut myself badly and frequently, struggle to get through the days. I just got out from another hospital stay just days ago. But I am working towards something like healing, if that exists. N...