What doesn't kill you makes you stronger

There were times in which I lived in constant fear, times in which I lived under various threats. I was afraid, not in the least of myself: who I was and what I could do - in a negative sense, that is. I'm talking about those times in which I used to hurt myself on a regular basis, those times in which I lived with paranoia, those times in which those two voices in my head dictated what I should and what I shouldn't do. Life was truely horrific back then...

Still, it is widely known that most disadvantages also bring some advantages along with them. And now I can look back at those times and tell you, dear reader, that even though I'm diminishing the amount of antipsychotic meds, I'm quite okay now and that that hopeless situation has more or less stabilised. That is when you know that negative things, negative situations and people who have a negative influence in your life can actually make you stronger. That is, when they don't kill you first. 

 
I've been through a lot, and still there is a lot of sh*t in my life, primarily caused by specific persons, but I don't give up. I keep my head up and I work towards a better future. However, it's not always easy, as some people can really get under my skin. Even in those extreme situations though, I have to keep calm and reconsider their value in my life: Are they really that important? Or do I just give them too much importance in my life? The latter seems to be true most of the time. I'd better value those persons who really care about me. As everyone acknowledges, you can't choose your family, but you can choose your friends. And it's not as if all my family members have this bad influence in my life, no, not at all! There are many who truly love me and care about me, even when I'm in a complicated situation - you know who you are. However, some carry more weight in one's life, and it just happens that one person who carries a lot of weight hurts me a lot every now and then by, for example, begrudging my luck. Is it jealousy? Is it just bitterness? Frustration because things don't go like they want? Actually it doesn't matter, but it's not fair, that's the least I can say. But hey, even though it affects me, it doesn't kill me, quite the contrary in fact, it makes me stronger!

It's been 13 years now that my life was turned upside down by a depression that slowly but gradually took over, disguised as a Personality Disorder. As you may have read in earlier posts, I suffered from severe depression, selfharm, psychotic episodes, a growing feeling of uneasiness, unhappiness and bitterness towards myself, to name just a few. For those who have known me for more than 10 years, you know exactly what I'm talking about. The others may consider themselves blessed ;) No, honestly, I was a completely different person. And sometimes, that person tries to take over, even in the present, but I'm stronger than I've ever been and I know how to handle these situations. Now, I can reflect better and I know how to recognise and take care of my weakest points. And I have to admit that these weaker points are those that have made me who I am right now. 

This week, for example, I talked about the voices in my head with one of my best friends. He was quite interested, and also asked me if I was okay with it, because I showed him some of the drawings I made about my deepest feelings and about the things that torture(d) me in my life. I consider myself lucky to have a friend like him, and although it was at first somehow weird to talk about it - it's not as if I do this every day - it was also good to talk about the voices, just to check how strong I am when it comes to this. He recommended me to watch a very encouraging video. I'd like to ask you to take your time to watch this video. What this woman, Eleonor Longden, says... oh man, I recognise this almost entirely, with the only difference that I'm not yet as far as she is when it comes to coping with the voices an sich. Just watch this video... One day, I want to be able to do what she does: give a testimony like hers, and be a true inspiration for others.

The upcoming week is quite an important one. It will be a week of negotiations and big decisions, that much is certain. It could mean an enormous change in my life. However, much is at stake now. Now I have to get to know myself and recognise my weakest points. Now I'll have to get over all those persons that make me feel worthless and unloved, even in the present. I have to grow bigger than my problems. I've already survived a lot, thanks to all the sh*t I've encountered in my life. I can honestly say that it has made me stronger, much stronger. It still affects me, I'm still quite a vulnerable person, but I can somehow build walls around certain parts in my life that are still weak and easily hurt. I don't always succeed unfortunately, but hey, that's life, probably. 

I'm blessed because of the fact that I don't have to hurt myself anymore. It's been five and a half years that I did this for the last time. I feel so proud that I've been thorough in my fight against selfharm. I've eradicated the thoughts and the urge to cut myself. Now it's time to take the following step: helping others to gain control of their urge to cut themselves or to hurt themselves in any other way. And this wish could well become reality soon, who knows. I'll keep you guys posted! For now... keep your fingers crossed for me, please. Next week could turn my life upside down once again, but then in the positive sense this time :) 

 

Struggle

Life is a struggle. Fact! BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder, for the outsiders) is a struggle. Fair enough. But at the same time, a struggle can be the beginning of something new...

We all have our own struggles in life. Usually, if one struggle is (almost) over, another one appears. Since last Tuesday, I'm officially DM, Master of Arts. That means that the ongoing struggle with my Master's thesis is over. Finally, as some might say, without any congratulation whatsoever for having graduated Cum Laude... :S However, after graduation follows the one-million-dollar question: What do I want to do now I've graduated? What kind of job do I want to do? And especially: Will I ever find that job that is a perfect match with my high hopes and wishes?

During the summer break, I'd applied to be a teacher of English in The Hague, but I was unlucky because there weren't enough students to let the course go through. I wasn't immediately worried, it was only my first job interview. Still, I'd liked the sound of it, so I was just a little disappointed. Although I graduated as an MA student of Latin American Languages and Cultures - with Linguistics as my specialisation - I do have an affinity with English. I can express myself better in Spanish, though, but still, this was a job that suited me. In the end, it turned out that it was better it didn't go through, as my grandma became seriously ill - as in lethally ill - and I was needed back home, in Belgium. I had to be there for my family, and especially for my grandma. Now, 5 months after the facts, she is back home, still not completely recovered, but stable and - I hope! - more or less happy that she's still with us, the family that practically adores her. I'm back in Leiden and I've been looking for job opportunities. I applied for two jobs with a motivation letter and my CV, but without any result. At the moment, I'm working as a teacher of Dutch, Spanish and English, as in, I give some friends of mine private lessons in these foreign languages. I enjoy it a lot, especially because I can give them all my attention, as I only have one student at a time. It also means that I can mould their knowledge somehow, just as a potter moulds the clay. It is a satisfying pastime, but it's not enough to pay the bills every month, if you understand what I mean. I don't want to give it up, that's for sure, but I need something I can use to pay the rent. And then there were the chats with my ex-psychiatrist...

She's a special person, always been, from day 1 on. We met when I was only a week or so here in Leiden. I had to go to the ER because I'd cut myself badly. After the wounds had been looked after, there she came, as a psychiatrist still in training. She was my first positive encounter with psychiatry, I have to be honest. Long story, I won't bother you with it now, my dearest reader. Anyway, it's been about two years now that she left Leiden and went working in Utrecht, where her qualities were better appreciated. Since then we've been seeing each other on a more or less frequent basis. She's helped me through a difficult period, although she wasn't my psychiatrist anymore. She's been of invaluable help and I can compare her with a precious diamond, there's only one of those on our planet Earth. Later on, when I was already feeling better, we talked about many different subjects, and one in particular that kept coming back time and time again: working as a hands-on expert in a psychiatric setting. She was of the opinion that it would be something I had to keep in mind. So I did. All our chats haven't been in vain: at the beginning of September, I wrote a letter to a psychiatrist she frequently works with, in Utrecht/Zeist. Of course I hoped there would come a reply, some interest, maybe even an invitation to go and talk with that specific psychiatrist. And guess what, today I had an appointment with that psychiatrist and her team coordinator. I can hardly believe it, but it wasn't some dream nor an illusion, no. It was as real as can be. 

So I went to Zeist by train this morning. And guess what, Debz wasn't that nervous. I'd say, just a little bit of healty tension. I'd decided that, whatever would happen, I'd stay myself, I wouldn't try to present myself as a different person, one that is better, less emotional, more stable or... no! I would be the person I am right now: a newly graduated Master of Arts, looking for a job in which I can excell, more or less stable, human - thus emotional when it comes to certain topics - borderliner, yes, but one who has learnt a lot in the past 13 years. And that experience is what characterises me. See, I have this heavy backpack, and in the backpack there are some good things I could certainly use as a hands-on expert, but there are also some heavy rocks I have to carry along with me, only because they are in the backpack I picked up some 13 years ago. I cannot just drop them, it doesn't work like that. I may need them in a later stage of life, who knows. 

Anyway, I didn't feel very comfortable at the beginning, and then there came some questions that were quite tough to answer. Somehow, I managed to stay myself, and I answered out of this spirit of mine, one that tells me it's okay to be who I am. Afterwards, however, when I went back to Leiden by train, there was this nagging doubt. Was it somehow okay? Had I been thorough enough? Will they accept me for an internship? But I also thought: this is exactly what I want to do! I want to help other people, not only fellow patients but also social workers, by looking in my heavy backpack, and using the tools I find in there. I want to be of some significance in people's lives, also when this means I'll have to deal with a lot of suffering, not only mine, but also the suffering of the patients I will eventually work with. Rumour has it that the psychiatrist as well as the team coordinator want to offer me an internship. How awesome would that be?! Still... there is this - other - one-million-dollar question: Is there money to pay someone like me? And what do the other members of the team think about a hands-on expert like me forming part of their team? The truth will be revealed next week, at the earliest. So I'll have to endure this feeling of insecurity, of nagging doubt... I mean, although I am already a hands-on expert - by my past (and present) as a psychiatric patient - I don't have that many experience. So that's something they have to keep in mind. I'll first need training, and only then will we know if I can be of any significance in their team. I really pray to the Lord for this chance, this opportunity. If they don't give me the chance to prove myself, they will never find out. It will be tough, yes, it will sometimes maybe even be unbearable, but at least, I want to have given it a try... 

 
 

The one who wasn't meant to be

The story that I'm going to tell you doesn't have a happy ending. So consider yourself warned. 

When I was about 9 or maybe 10 years old, I felt so strangely alienated that one day, I asked my mom whether I was adopted or not. I can still remember that she looked as if she were struck by lightning. She was offended, that much I can tell you. But it was a rather serious question, I wasn't playing any games nor was I fooling my mom or myself. It was a question asked with the honesty only children have. I can't remember if it was then or only later that my mom told me that my parents were really happy the day my mom got pregnant with me. My sister is six years older than I am, and my parents already wanted a second child a couple of years earlier, but somehow my mom couldn't get pregnant, however much she and my dad wished it would happen. And then finally, six years after my sister was born, I came into this world.

Only later did my mom tell me the entire story, a story that still bothers me a lot. I already was a teenager, but I can't remember why or when exactly my mom told me what's coming next. She just told me, maybe because she had to share her story. Maybe it was bothering her in the same way as it still is bothering me. Anyway, my mom and dad'd had to go to great lengths to have their second child - me, indeed - and differently from what I was thinking, I was not a mistake, as I thought initially, but they welcomed me in their midst and they were very happy to have me. However, my parents thought that two children was enough, so my mom got herself sterilized. But then, the most unimaginable happened: only a couple of months after I was born, my mom got pregnant again, despite the sterilization. You'll probably ask yourself how this was possible. Well, that's what I did. I mean, first they had to wait so many years before I was born, and then, so shortly after I was born and despite the sterilization, my mom got pregnant with her third child. I can tell you that this was something they hadn't expected at all. As they had decided that two children was enough, they decided to have "it" taken away. Yes, my mother had an abortion. I don't know how many weeks she was pregnant with my brother or sister, but in those times they saw it as a mistake made by the gynaecologist, and not as a miracle of our Heavenly Father. 

I do realise that spreading this kind of information is kind of dangerous and maybe even unethical. I don't want to judge my mom and dad for their action, but I do see it as a miracle that God put into my mother's womb. And as a christian, I do believe that God had a purpose by doing that. Accidents don't happen when it comes to God's will. He's pretty clear in what He's doing. Nothing happens without a reason. As I got older, I couldn't forget about all this. It's not something that I took very lightly, quite the opposite in fact. When my mom told me this, I still wasn't a christian, so I didn't think about it the way I do now. Now, however, I utterly regret that my mom and dad took the wrong decision. They should have acknowledged that God wanted to do something good, that He wanted to give them the presence of a third child in their family. Abortion is not always inevitable, let's be realistic, but I'd like to suggest that in this case, it could have been avoided. There were no reasons whatsoever to have the baby aborted. As far as I know, my brother or sister was healthy. The only thing that withheld my parents were financial reasons and also the fact that our house would probably turn out to be too small. These, however, are rather superficial and invalid reasons in order to choose for abortion.

You see, the problem is bigger than you might think at first sight. As I've written in an earlier post, me and my sister have been experiencing problems in getting along for the past few years/months, and as for now, she's misbehaving again towards me, simply because she doesn't care about me. As for me, I can't stand this type of behaviour. If you're reading this, dear sis - which I don't think you do, because you've never ever accepted me and my life and the struggles I experience don't interest you an inch - then I won't say I'm sorry, because you yourself never apologise for your actions, nor do you take responsibility for them. This is the biggest point: I think that God already knew this, and that He purposefully wanted my parents to have another child, and I sometimes can't hold back my tears and utter sadness when I think about my dead brother or sister, the one who wasn't meant to be, but who could have been a real brother or sister to me, and not a fake one. He or she could have really loved me and showed me his/her concern. Maybe I would have found a true friend in this younger sibling. Maybe (s)he would have been there for me when I was going through rough times. And maybe (s)he would have appreciated my love for him/her, and would have returned it. 
 

Yes, I do have a sister, but she's so apparently absent in my life. I have the impression that for one reason or other, she'd rather I didn't exist. I'd be glad to tell you otherwise, but she has really hurt me just a few weeks ago. She obviously doesn't realise what I've been through during the past 13 years, and she doesn't show any sign of respect for my graduation as a Master of Arts, even though for me it was my crowning achievement: graduating Cum Laude. She only had one word for me when I told her the big news in all my enthousiasm: "Finally". Her reaction disappointed me and took me by surprise, even though I could have expected this somehow. I just don't get it, I've been through extremely difficult times, I've studied so hard and I've given all the best in order to write a qualitatively good MA thesis, but do you think she acknowledges that this really was such an abnormal achievement? No, she doesn't. Is it envy? I wouldn't understand why, but it has every sign of it. She's turned into a completely different person since she married my brother-in-law. At first, she still supported me somehow, but that brat has spoilt everything. For him, I'm like a ghost, it's as if I don't exist. His hatred and disgust towards me are pretty obvious, even for other family members. And if he thinks he's going to get away with it, he's probably even right. Life isn't fair, nor will it ever be. Only when I'm in Heaven with our Father will I experience what true love is.

Now I'm 30 years old, and still I ask myself this question: What would have happened if there had been a younger sibling? Yes, I'm mourning the loss of my younger sibling. I'm also asking myself if (s)he would have been different from the rest of the family, just like I am. Would (s)he have been there for me when I had to go through these difficult times? Because let's be plain honest: supporting me isn't one of the strong suits of my closest family members. They just don't know how. I can't blame them, for they don't know the love of the Lord... I hope that one day, I'll meet him/her. I've learnt in church that unborn or newly born children who die always go to Heaven, immediately, without being judged, because there is nothing to judge. One day, I'll meet you, little bro/sis... Love you...