25/01/2017 06:01 GMT | Updated 26/01/2018 05:12 GMT

Humdrum Naked Truth Of BPD

Naked Truth

It isn't always positive. It can't always be a life confirming tale about the strength of the human spirit shining through brightly and defeating the demons of depression and mental illness.

Life doesn't work like that. Hurt, pain and daily unglamorous struggle is as much part of life as the achievements and food days for all of us, including those with BPD. It just so happens our condition makes those times of hurt and pain cut deeper and last longer because of the very nature of the insidious little shit which is BPD

To begin with it wouldn't be honest and as a half- arsed writer I try to keep my life writing as close to the essential human truth I experience as I can manage. Even more importantly, glossing over the bleak, dark and genuine emotional pain would be a disservice to anyone reading this who has BPD or other mental health problems themselves never mind the army of under appreciated heroes who are the carers for a loved one who suffers.

If I was to sit in front of this keyboard and write what everyone wants to read, which is roughly a regular tale of modern day redemption. How I use my DBT training and inner strength to courageously slay BPD dragons my work would belong in the fantasy section along with all the other dragon based stories and arguably the myriad of political election manifestos we are going to be swamped with in the coming weeks from our mutual friends in Stormont.

In an effort to slice right through that simplistic greeting card positivity or alternatively write something so doom laden that I once again get accused of trying to be alarmist or in some twisted way attention seeking I thought I would just detail my past week in as neutral and documentary style I can muster.

Spent four or it could have been five days in my pyjamas with absolutely no sense of time or wish to do as much as wash my face or shave. Between hours spent under the duvet half sleeping/half hiding from the world I watched nonsense on the TV. Didn't really matter what it was but another human voice soothed my symptoms as is the case for many with BPD when they are unable to face the people-y world outside the front door.

Each night I would tell myself tomorrow would be the day I at least managed to get out of the house and create even thinnest veneers of living a life. Then the morning would come along and I was still in the same emotional and mental place as the night before.

Heart would sink as realisation kicked in that another day was going to have to be endured where my only goal was still to be alive at the end of it. Quite seriously, on such days as anyone else with BPD will tell you, is not giving into the more exotic strong impulses of ending it all comprises the one and only aim to work and hope for.

On Sunday I woke up with a 'just do' mentality so took full advantage while it lasted to get my gear together and drive down to the Bolthole in Dromore where at least if I am feeling up to it I can swing by Via Wings and have human beings who know and accept me for an hour or two.

Unfortunately, yesterday woke in the v dangerous territory which can sometimes follow a 'just do' day where I had the willpower and energy but with it all funnelling into the strong impulse to go down the exit stage left impulse. Being a veteran of every possible BPD led emotion and impulse I knew the only answer was to chug down enough meds to leave me swaddled in the arms of a sleepy half life where although it rendered me not fit to get out to meet people in Via Wings or anywhere else it also lessened my ability to act on the dangerous suicidal impulses.

That brings us through to today... I have managed to write something faintly coherent and because of that there is a pretty good chance I will be in a state to employ some of the anti BPD skills I have learnt which means I have high hopes of getting out under my own steam to meet people and perhaps even make it to E2A Theatre rehearsals for Oliver tonight.

I have presented the facts of my past week as accurately and without prejudice as I remember them as a witness would say to a judge. From the discussions I have had with friends I have made over the past few years with BPD it is a fairly typical unglamorous account of a low but not acutely bad week