is NOT affiliated by any treatment centers, we will NOT be accepting phone calls as we build out a resource page, please email [email protected] for any inquiries

Stay Connected

© 2018 Addiction Unscripted All Rights Reserved.

  |   507
[ Opinion ] [ Personal Narratives ]


“I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of being sad. I’m tired of yelling. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of being angry. I’m tired of feeling crazy. I’m tired of feeling stuck. I’m tired of needing help. I’m tired of remembering. I’m tired of missing things. I’m tired of being different. I’m tired of missing people. I’m tired of feeling worthless. I’m tired of feeling empty inside. I’m tired of not being able to let go. I’m tired of wishing I could start all over. I’m tired of dreaming of a life I can never have. Most of all, I’m tired of being tired.” 

Borderline personality disorder (BPD) is a condition characterized by difficulties in regulating emotion. This difficulty leads to severe, unstable mood swings, impulsivity and instability, poor self-image and stormy personal relationships. People may make repeated attempts to avoid real or imagined situations of abandonment. The combined result of living with BPD can manifest into destructive behavior, such as self-harm (cutting) or suicide attempts. Hearing that from my psychologist made me break down. I will never be normal I thought. I was never normal as a kid. I was always getting into trouble and doing things for attention. I felt like my whole life was me showing off for attention. 

When you have borderline personality disorder, it’s hard to hear anything that has to do with a personal flaw within yourself. Hearing that no medication can cure this disorder was even harder to hear. When I was 21 my brother overdosed on heroin. I became obsessed with death. Not only did I try to kill myself twice, but anything that would ever go wrong in my favor; I would threaten my life to whom ever was making me feel this deep emotion. I went on outrageous tangents. The first time I tried to kill myself was because my dad was selling my brothers Harley Davidson motorcycle. I took all the pills in my purse and layed down next to his bike and waited to die. I woke up. 

The second time I tried to kill myself I got into a simple fight with my boyfriend and Spartan kicked his Harley Davidson over. I broke every piece of glass in his house. I then took all the pills inside my purse and waited for the ambulance to show up and take me away. I didn’t have a job, I couldn’t hold a job, I couldn’t even get a job. I was relying on my dad and mom for everything. Every time something didn’t go my way, I would threaten to jump off a bridge. I would often drive to this bridge, thinking to myself, “You’re too much of a pussy.” Every time I got into a situation that could be as little as being bored, I would think to myself, “How am I going to kill myself.” I thought about every possible way. Cutting my wrists, overdosing, jumping off a bridge, carbon monoxide poisoning, exc. How the hell and when the hell will this ever stop? It stopped. 

It took a long time of forced therapy and taking my medications as directed. The first time my parents forced me into therapy I had to go or they would stop supporting me, and disability wasn’t enough to pay the bills. It felt nice to be in a room with about ten other girls who were experiencing the same trauma. We talked about all our crazy stories. I didn’t feel so alone. Another thing I did was open my mind to spirituality. I really liked the concept of a God up above and I started to study it a little bit. I would then talk to God and it felt like someone was listening. I took all my medications as directed every single night and let me tell you, it isn’t easy for me to remember. I got a therapist who I love. She’s like a best friend. I can tell her anything and I know she won’t judge me. 

I also have another best friend named Emmy who would listen to me go on and on about all my problems. Reassuring me that I, Jennifer, would get through this. DBT therapy was not for me. What was for me was getting a job. It kept me busy during the day. I wouldn’t sit and dwell and feel sorry for myself that everything with my brother was my fault. I made even more friends because I had coworkers. Most importantly, the thing that absolutely saved my life… was getting my dog, Amos. Amos, is a mutt that I picked up off of Craigslist for 25$. I give this dog all of my love and he loves me back unconditionally. He follows me where ever I go. He knows when I’m sad and comes to comfort me. His cute little playful self just brings me thee most amount of joy anybody can ask for. I take him everywhere with me. He is a service dog in training. Every time I get stressed out and even think about death, I could never leave my little Amos to live out in the cold world with out me to take care of him. I used to take care of my brother a lot. When he died, it left me with no one to care for except my boyfriend who is a very independent, low maintained guy. My dog needs me to feed him, take him on walks, take him out to play and go to the bathroom. He has given me a purpose. I thank God for him everyday. I also thank god for guiding me through this mental illness to what I call a cure, not wanting to die everyday. “The accidents of life separate us from our dearest friends/brothers, but let us not despair. God is like a looking glass in which souls see each other. The more we are united by Him by love, the nearer we are to those who belong to Him.”-St. Elizabeth Ann Seten