I watched a clip via Twitter last night and they mentioned Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), which reminded me of my army days. I got sent to the shrink due to issues and a panel of them interrogated me. They sent me back to my regiment with a letter for my army doctor. The doctor’s was closed so I had it overnight. Curiosity got the better of me and I steamed it open.
It was 27 years ago but I know it involved Personality Disorder, I think it was Borderline.
Nearly 30 years I’ve dismissed it. Borderline makes it sound like barely a consideration. It turns out that’s just the medical term for an exact condition.
One that is characterised by anger, risk-taking, drink/ drug abuse, self-harm, suicidal thoughts and a lack of self esteem.
All the bikes I’ve crashed, the wilful disregard for life and limb, the years and years of alcohol dependency, self mutilation, mental anguish, anger and self loathing.
All. A. Fucking. Condition.
I thought the individual bits were normal.
I thought everyone else was a pussy because they saw a gap that was so tight that if *anything* went wrong they would die and they backed off. I did it anyway.
The bleeding I’ve done to try to atone for the unconscionable deeds of my past.
Slipping into overdose unconsciousness knowing I might not wake up.
If that’s how you are, you rationalise it. Everyone get’s stressed, the self mutilation is a release valve. You’re going to die anyway, why not have some fun on the way? If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention. Etc.
All. A. Condition.
The whole of my life is a lie.
I’m a tad upset, as you can probably guess.
I’m going, in another case of hope over experience, to see the doctor.
Most of it I don’t actually mind, but there are some aspects from which I’d give anything to be free.