Content note: this article contains references to suicide that readers may find upsetting.

Imagine living in a world where your emotions are so intense and unpredictable that you feel like you are on a rollercoaster that never stops. Where your relationships feel constantly unstable and chaotic because you fear being abandoned or rejected by everyone you care about. Your sense of self is fragile and distorted and you often don’t know who you are or what you want.

This is what it’s like to have borderline personality disorder (BPD), also known as emotionally unstable personality disorder (EUPD). 

BPD is a complex and often misunderstood mental health condition that affects how people perceive themselves and others, leading to difficulties in their work, relationships and emotions. It is not an especially rare disorder; The National Library of Medicine estimates that about 1.6% of US adults have BPD. That means more than 5 million Americans are living with the condition, and there are millions more around the world. However, over 40% of people with BPD do not get the correct diagnosis or treatment because their symptoms are often confused with other disorders.

I was one of these people. 

I didn’t always know I had BPD. I started experiencing the symptoms when I was still in primary school. I remember feeling sad and lonely for no reason and having trouble connecting with my friends because, no matter what, I always felt like I didn’t quite belong. I remember constantly contending with the voice in my head telling me to hurt myself or biting my nails until they bled. Many nights ended with nightmares and flashbacks of traumatic events from my childhood until I was going days at a time without sleep and finding anything and everything I could to keep myself distracted.

I was barely 12, but I was already consumed with never-ending thoughts of how life was not worth living and wishing I could disappear. By the time I was 16, I’d tried to kill myself for the second time. It was then that I became obsessed with finding out what was wrong with me. 

At 17, I dropped maths and physics from my A-level subjects and started learning psychology. There wasn’t a teacher at my school for the subject, so I headed to the University of Zimbabwe to find one who could help me finally learn what exactly was wrong with me. For years, I had suffered from intense mood swings, impulsive behaviours, self-harm, suicidal thoughts and a chronic fear of abandonment. I felt like I had no identity or sense of self, and I constantly tried to fill the emptiness inside me with unhealthy coping mechanisms. I felt alone, hopeless and exhausted from the daily rollercoaster ride that I was desperate to get off. It felt like studying psychology would be the magic fix: I could finally learn what was wrong with me and I could be cured. I could finally end the nightmares and the crippling anxiety that came with surviving on a day-to-day basis.

One day, as I was studying, I came across a paragraph on BPD and it was like something clicked. I spent the next few days searching everything that I could about the disorder and it felt like I was finally understood. I cheered, celebrated and told everyone that I had found the answer. It wasn’t my fault; I just needed healing.

It would take two more years, another suicide attempt and a misdiagnosis to officially be diagnosed with BPD. This time around I was less ecstatic: although the doctors were finally confirming something I had suspected for years, I now knew that a diagnosis didn’t mean that I was healed. It didn’t mean that everything suddenly made sense and I could finally be happy. All it meant was that I had to face a new reality: something was wrong and it was something I had no control over. It was up to me to learn to accept myself, to cope with my symptoms, to deal with the stigma and, ultimately, to find hope. 

Living with BPD is difficult. Every day, I still struggle with intense mood swings, periods of depression and anxiety, suicidal thoughts, thoughts of self-harm, impulsive behaviours and a chronic fear of abandonment. These things didn’t leave just because I had a diagnosis. 

Getting a diagnosis was not the end of my journey or the grand solution I thought that it would be; instead, it was just the beginning. The BPD label came with its own set of challenges and struggles. 

While being diagnosed helped me understand myself better and access the support and resources that I needed, it also triggered feelings of shame, guilt, anger and denial. Sometimes, I felt like I was broken or flawed, and that I deserved to be punished or rejected because my mental health condition meant that I was difficult to love.

Getting a diagnosis of BPD also affected my relationships with my family, friends and partners. Some of them were supportive and understanding, and they helped me to cope and heal. But some were not. For some, mental health was a white luxury that had no room in the lives of Africans struggling with basics like water, food and electricity. This was all before adding all the stigma and misconceptions that surround BPD, especially with the thousands of loud voices online that dictate what it means to be borderline. 

Getting the diagnosis empowered me to take charge of my own recovery and find the best treatment options for me. But it also made me feel dependent on medication or therapy. It was difficult to balance the need for treatment and the need for independence, and to find the right combination of medication and therapy that worked for me.

Ultimately, getting a diagnosis inspired me to find meaning and purpose in my life and pursue my goals and passions. But it also made me feel hopeless or helpless about my future. Now that I had a word for all the bad thoughts that existed in my head, I also had to contend with a future where I may never be completely free of the pain. Sadly‌, while there could be understanding, there was no cure or quick fix. No simple or straightforward solution, just a complex process.

My diagnosis was the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me. I wouldn’t have it any other way because having BPD doesn’t define me, but it is a part of me.

I have learned to love myself, all of myself, even the parts that hurt.

If you or someone you know is struggling with their mental health, you can find support and resources on the mental health charity Mind’s website and NHS Every Mind Matters or access the NHS’ list of mental health helplines and services.

If you are struggling with your mental health, you can also ask your GP for a referral to NHS Talking Therapies, or you can self-refer.

For confidential support, you can also call the Samaritans in the UK on 116 123 or email jo@samaritans.org. In a crisis, call 999.

Frame Of Mind is Stylist’s home for all things mental health and the mind. From expert advice on the small changes you can make to improve your wellbeing to first-person essays and features on topics ranging from autism to antidepressants, we’ll be exploring mental health in all its forms. You can check out the series home page to get started.

Images: Amanda Tayte-Tait