Such a stupid, simple word. Used to describe horrible situations and despicable people. I never thought that it would be used to describe me…
I went to the doctor last week. This is my second meeting with him. It’s been a month since my first appointment, and a lot has transpired since we first met. He adjusted my meds… A lot, I might add. He took me off of everything, the antidepressant, all save one mood stabilizer, and kept the Seroquel. It’s a drastic change. He said that I was over medicated. I guess I could agree with that. I was on Lexapro, Trileptal, Topamax, Seroquel, and I’m pretty sure that there was another one, but I can’t think of it right now. Maybe, I was over medicated. But it wasn’t a gradual reduction, a weening off of the meds, it was a cold turkey stop of everything and an uptake in the Seroquel and Topamax.
He said, why are you angry? Who are you angry with? Well… If I knew that, I probably wouldn’t be sitting here. I wouldn’t have the anger that I have right now. But I’m not always angry. There are times of peace and joy in my life. They may not be ever present, but they are there. There are times that I laugh uncontrollably. But there are times of extreme sadness, and there are times of unwarranted anger and aggression too.
So, last week, I went back to the doctor. He asked me how I was doing, if there were things that we needed to talk about that we didn’t think of the first time. And there were. Because during that long month, there was an episode. A suicidal episode. I made it through. My husband made it through. No one got hurt. I overdosed a little on the pills that I have left…. Oh, it was. a sleeping pill — because I wasn’t sleeping, that was the one that I couldn’t remember. But during that episode, the person that came through, wasn’t me. And I know, or feel, that it can’t be disassociative identity disorder, because there is no memory loss or gaps in time. But it wasn’t me. I felt everything in me change, my facial expression changed, my eyes changed, my posture changed, even my voice changed. Everything in me changed, and it was something that I couldn’t control. I could hear everything that was being said. I just couldn’t do anything about it. It has to be a coping mechanism. Right?
Anyhow, I told the doctor about it. He was quiet for a minute. And he looked at me with a solemn expression and he’s like “you know you could hurt someone like that, right?” And he called me dangerous. My memory at this point is fuzzy because all I can think about is that he’s calling me dangerous. I haven’t been hurt this much by someone I haven’t known personally in a long time. But he just sat there and called me a dangerous person. And he’s fiddling with his phone, and I’m scared that he’s fixing to call and have me locked up. I just want to scream at him and punch him in the throat, which would only prove his point. But still. How could you say that to someone?
I have never had a history of violence toward anyone but myself. Have I wanted to hurt someone else? Yes, who hasn’t? BUT have I acted on those thoughts? No. When I have those thoughts, I take them out on me. I would rather hurt me than you. It hurts me to think of hurting someone else. And having someone sit there and tell me that I could kill someone just struck a nerve. It scared me, and it really hurt my feelings.
Now that I’ve had some time to reflect on the conversation, I’m wondering if, maybe, he didn’t hear me correctly. Maybe he thinks that I said that I didn’t have a memory of what happened. Maybe he thinks that the alter took over and I had no idea of what was going on.
I don’t like this doctor. If all he is going to do is put MORE stigma to people with BPD, that’s not fair. People with BPD are far more likely to be the victims of abuse than the abuser.
Posted on May 31, 2016, in Mental Health and tagged Bipolar, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, BPD, doctors, mental illness, mental-health, Stigma. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.