If I Knew Then

Getting a diagnosis felt so bittersweet. For a really long time, I struggled with impulsivity, anger, mood swings, and exhausting, intense relationships. I would get upset over what someone did or said and suddenly I hated that person and wanted nothing to do with them. My tongue constantly cut like a blade; no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape it.

I tried many meds, mostly SSRIs, that never improved my symptoms. I felt a constant emptiness when I wasn’t having erratic mood swings and my friendships and relationships suffered as a result. When I did date and get to know people, the relationships were short and intense. Even then, I caught myself getting attached too quickly.

Late last year I started a new job that dealt a lot with customer service. This made it especially difficult for me because I couldn’t mask or hide my feelings. I spent every day going from a good mood to a bad mood to being sad and then cracking up with people. My behavior had gotten so noticeable that my friends began to point it out. I found myself embarrassed and wanting to hide. I hated the idea that someone would think I’m mean when in reality I’m struggling.

The day I got my diagnosis, my doctor suggested I choose between a higher dose of my sleeping medications or a mood stabilizer. In her opinion, getting more sleep would improve my mood and anxiety, which she believed was the culprit behind my mood swings. As usual, I was indecisive and told her I was okay with anything. She began asking me what triggered these episodes. I told her about pet peeves at work or someone being a “bad” person and that’s when she decided that I was better off with a mood stabilizer. 

She began asking me about my family history of mental illness. In my culture, talking about mental health is taboo, so I genuinely don’t know my history. She told me that my symptoms had the potential to be due to bipolar disorder, but that they aligned better with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). 

I cried. That day my psychiatrist’s wifi had cut out so we finished our session over the phone and I couldn’t be more thankful for that. I choked back tears through the end of our call and sat there numb after. My psych told me that BPD is an exhausting disorder and people suffer from it a lot. She told me that realistically we had to focus on managing my symptoms not curing them. The idea that this could be my reality for the rest of my life is terrifying and makes me doubt I’ll survive it. She recommended DBT, Dialectical Behavior Therapy, and individual therapy and even helped me look for it. I was very hesitant and almost resistant at first because I felt hopeless. When the call ended I decided to research all night and the rest of the week until I felt I knew enough about my condition. 

As terrified as I was and still am, having a diagnosis means there’s hope. Hope that I can find ideal treatment and that I’ll thrive. I’m looking forward to learning more about myself and others and navigating these new uncharted waters.