Kiera Van Gelder Quotes

Ironically, the word "borderline" has become the most perfect expression of my experience - the experience of being in two places at once: disordered and perfect.

Thirty seconds of pure awareness is a long time, especially after a lifetime of escaping yourself at all costs.

I'm so good at beginnings, but in the end I always seem to destroy everything, including myself.

An inner ease spreads inside me. Such is the power of acceptance and understanding from other people, the power of validation

We do not deserve to be trapped in hell. It isnt our fault.

But when I look at myself squarely, it's not just that I have a few difficulties or unresolved issues. Unlike those lucky people for whom therapy or medication delivers them back to themselves, I've been suffering from something that was unnamable for most of my life. Yes, I've had periods of relative stability, but the whole concept of "recovery" brings up some painful questions. What do I recover? With drug addiction, you hear that you can recover and reclaim your former self, the person you were before you started using. With other psychiatric illnesses, getting rid of symptoms means you're more or less back to "yourself." But what if you simply don't have a solid self to return to - if the way you are is seen as basically broken? And what if you can't conceive of "normal" or "healthy" because pain and loneliness are all you remember? "You were such a happy child," my mother says. But I don't remember that. So what do I recover?

I need them to be aware and present with me in the midst of the storm, not just tell me what to do.

Yet I also recognize this: Even if everyone in the world were to accept me and my illness and validate my pain, unless I can abide myself and be compassionate toward my own distress, I will probably always feel alone and neglected by others.

For those of us with BPD, entering into a shared experience means passing through the ring of fire that leaves us feeling even more burned - and in this case branded with a label no one would ever choose to wear.

I may have no emotional skin and come undone at the smallest interpersonal upset, but I'd make a great bullfighter or firefighter - anything that gets my adrenaline going and focuses me on a physical target. The motorcycle is all of that and more. When I'm on the bike, it feels like a door opens in my chest and the world rushes in, pure, fresh, and sparkling with clarity. It forces me to approach fear with total awareness and to pull reason mind into the moment of intense reactions.

I'm not interested in Bob Marley telling me to 'lively up' myself. The only music that satisfies me is Nine Inch Nails and Trent Reznor's voice crying through industrial rhytms. In the August evenings, I lie on my bed with earphones, letting his laments roll through me like unrepentant thunderstorms. I envy the courage that carries his voice into the world. He doesn't berate himself for pain and anger; he howls. And this delights me, even though I feel ashamed when my own rage comes to the surface. My anger doesn't signify courage; it's just more confirmation that I'm bad.

We need this help from the outside because we don't know how to to do this for ourselves. We start with a deep deficit - a chasm really - when it comes to understanding and being tolerant of ourselves, and that's even before we go forth to do battle with the rest of the world. As soon as someone judges, criticizes, dismisses, or ignores, the cycle of pain and reactivity ramps up, compounded by shame, remorse, and rejection. The act of validation, simply saying, 'I can see things from your perspective,' can short-circuit that emotional detour.

In some ways, com­ing to terms with my­self and work­ing to­ward re­cov­ery has been like say­ing "I love you" to some­one but keep­ing a loaded gun hid­den in your back pocket, just in case that per­son pisses you off enough.

I've grown up with an ethic, call it a part, that insists I hide my pain at all costs. As I talk, I feel this pain leaking out - not just the core symptom of BPD, but all the years of being blamed or ignored for my condition, and all the years I've blamed others for how I am. It's the pain of being told I was too needy even as could never get the help I needed.

But what if you simply don't have a solid self to return to - if the way you are is seen as basically broken? And what if you can't conceive of "normal" or "healthy" because pain and loneliness are all you remember?