After almost a decade’s worth of self-destruction – both mentally and behaviourally – I like to think that perhaps it is time for me to try a different approach. Starting this blog is undoubtably benefiting me; not only in adopting a healthier attitude towards my BPD and relationship to it, but also in helping me acknowledge and self-validate around the small progressions I choose to write about. Writing publicly, and in a way I never have done before, is proving to be a great start in enabling me to channel my emotional energy constructively and creatively, as opposed to destructively and ineffectively.
Some days I get home from work exhausted, and all I want to do is zone out in front of some shitty TV with a bag-full of popcorn to accompany me. Another part of me challenges this greedy (*ping* – judgement!) desire and my inner-critique chastises me for wanting to “veg out” and self-indulge. My ‘black-and-white thinking’ alarm bells go off and I know that this is where my DBT comes in. I aim for the most counter-intuitive and unfamiliar option of Walking The Middle Path. I come to a compromise. I relax and give myself the down-time I need, whilst also ensuring I have a productive and proactive final few hours to my day – so that I can put my head on my pillow, smile to myself and say “I got through today effectively”.
Having a project I can succeed in always makes me feel better about myself, as I value having both passions and a purpose so highly. This is where my blog comes in.
So I get home. I spend time with my sisters before they go to bed. I get comfortable, change into my PJs and give myself permission to relax. I (try to) self-soothe in ways that don’t feel overly indulgent. I spend time with the dogs. I fill in my Diary Card for the day. And then I write. I splurge whatever “babble” comes to my mind and I let go of some of the internal burden I may have been carrying around with me. Even if my writing is seemingly unrelated to that internal burden (or lack thereof depending on how mentally fit I am within a moment), it releases something inside of me all the same.
Writing is my saviour. I write and I let myself go. I write and I open myself to a new realm – one of an unexplored self. I write and my experiences becomes etched onto a page, instead of carved into my arms with a blade. There is nothing more I can ask for besides a way to healthily express whatever is going on for me, and to be heard and validated through these means. As long as I keep writing, I remain one step ahead of the game. As long as I keep hearing and validating myself, I have high chances of maintaining my recovery.