I’ve been a shit patient again, recently. My last appointments with my various caretakers and babysitters were months ago. I don’t feel like seeing my psychiatrist, because all that she can do is prescribe pills and I’ve got enough of them already. I often keep empty tablet blister packs in my drawer out of pure laziness. When I clean it out then, even the transparent trash bags for plastic waste give away that this is the household of a mentally ill person.
Same goes for my therapist, or behavioral therapy in general. On and off, I’ve been in therapy since I was 15. Back then nobody had the idea that I might suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder. BPD patients are often seen as „therapist killers“. Considering that I’m 19 and have worn out three counselors already, this might well be the case with me.
And even though my current therapist knows of my diagnosis, were heading for another discontinuation here. It’s just that I can’t get rid of the feeling that she never understood a word I said. I’m not even sure she remembers who I am on every new appointment. Hell, I probably could go see her and say that I’d become a practicing catholic who is happily married to the love of his live and has two children. All she’d have said would have been „Well done. I think were on the right path here.“
Damn it. Everybody keeps telling me that my illness is treatable. But It just doesn’t feel that way for me. Word is in medical literature that the symptoms of BPD start improving on their own once you’re in your 30s or 40s. Maybe I just have to do my best to hang on and try to last that long.
