Sometimes I get angry that I've had to wrestle with this demon (BPD). I
mean borderline isn't the "disease of the week," if you get my drift.
No one "likes" a borderline. Society doesn't. Shrinks don't. (My
therapist has said that often shrinks limit how many borderlines they
work with because they can be very draining, though he does know of a
therapist that *only* works with borderlines) You can't even feel sorry
for one. We are chaotic, aggressive, manipulative, and angry to the
world. But look inside the soul of a borderline (if you can get there)
and you'll find something very different. Fear. Desperation.
Abandonment. Incredible sensitivity. Another concern I have is not to
define myself purely in terms of this diagnosis. In fact, I worry that
all of us are in danger of defining ourselves by the diagnosis that
some shrink has given us, but we are the sum of *all* our parts. It's
too easy for it to become a self fulfilling prophecy
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