Why I told no one about my personality disorder diagnosis.

Despite living in this tell-all, social-media age where people seem comfortable tweeting their every problem, some of us understand the benefits of privacy.

Being divergent is tough, regardless of what age you are. I think it is most uncomfortable as a teenager as we desperately want to fit in. Our differences become painfully obvious, particularly if we don’t fit into a group.

I was 11 when I realised I was different. I was engaged in an inexperienced, snogging frenzy with my first official boyfriend and felt terrified. My girlfriends couldn’t have been happier for me. According to them, I was going to be with my BF forever. I had achieved the goal of boyfriend and girlfriend status. That year new hormones erupted inside us, invoking urges that encouraged girls to draw heart shapes on their notebooks and impromptu encounters behind the bike shed. I seemed to be the only one not charging into this new chapter. I felt on the sidelines, panic-stricken by the thought of being in a relationship. After several sleepless nights, I ended my first relationship with Danny, 3 days after it had started.

That intense fear crept up in every relationship I had. Not knowing how to articulate my feelings or understanding the root of it made me confuse and sometimes hurt those around me. I would end relationships just as quickly as I had started them.

As my teenage years progressed, other baffling behaviours showed. I was angry. I swapped sports with self-sabotaging. Socialising with distancing and seemed constantly on the edge. My behaviour became erratic, dramatic, and destructive until I was 24, exhausted, guilt-ridden and at rock bottom.

One night I typed into Google my feelings and discovered the word Borderline. Finally, there was an answer and not only that, there was treatment. That was 8 years ago. Last year I told someone for the first time. They greeted my confession with surprise. 5 years after having confirmation that I no longer meet the criteria. I was free from my label. Friends said I had changed. My family noticed I was calmer. Relationships became easier.

So why did I keep it a secret?

1) Shame.

Shame is the Mother F***** of all emotions. It lingers and bleeds into so many of your thoughts, convincing you that are not worth saving. Labels such as Borderline are terrifying. Even though we live in an age where mental health is gaining the attention it deserves, we have fixated the spotlight on anxiety and depression. Personality disorders are treated with scepticism and fear. Even though new research is trying to conclude whether 1/5 or 1/20 of us have one, there is still a long way to go before we met them with the same understanding as anxiety.

Shame, however, can be a powerful motivator. I didn’t want a BPD label, and I certainly didn’t want to continue sabotaging my life. So I swapped shame with education. It took a year of research into the effects of growing up without a father, being bullied and borderline until I had a proper understanding of myself. Then the shame seemed to disappear. This leads me to my next point.

2) Nobody is an expert on you, but you, but everyone will have an opinion...

And it is usually wrong. It took me 2 years of research, conducting many interviews with women on a similar spectrum to me before I concluded I would never be an expert on borderline. It is a condition so broad it has over 250 variations. I know people who have encountered BPD because their best mate dated a girl who had it, or because they have seen basic instinct. The word ‘crazy’ gets spoken with no research being conducting. Nobody needs that. The opinion of the uneducated is nothing more than an unnecessary distraction that could prolong recovery.

3) What started as a lonely decision soon became an empowering one:

I will admit, I kept my diagnosis a secret in the beginning because I felt it confirmed that I was bad. Then suddenly, during those years of intense self-discovery, it became an act of independence. It’s empowering to go through a transformation like that on your own. Friends started describing me as ‘strong’. Before, I was the epitome of a drama queen. Suddenly, I was working through something on my own and I was handling it. I think it is better, if you can, to find solid support. But I will not pretend that I don’t feel sturdier, having done this on my own.

4) You control your narrative.

Learning what you tell people about yourself is self-respect. A hard truth is that people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. And it is hard to know where your friends might fall into that statement.

To conclude, I would never want no one to go through such a transformation on their own. However, I’m happy I did. I needed to build up my strength and my independence, so I knew I could rely on myself and that I can get through tough times. When people hear of my diagnosis, they stare at me in shock as I no longer meet the criteria. I doubt I will achieve anything else that will make me prouder.

Another great consequence of taking the time, privately, to research yourself and the effects of your upbringing, is how much I have learnt about other people. I’m not a psychiatrist as mental health is such a broad and complicated subject, even the experts admit to getting it wrong. But it’s a wonderful education on the human condition. We are not that different to each other. No one is perfect and we all live with Demons.

If you take one thing from this article, understand that shame doesn’t have to be permanent. A diagnosis is a statement of your present, but it doesn’t have to be part of your future.