My diagnosis here is rolled up in the horrific label “Borderline Personality Disorder,” because I self-harm.
Every therapist I’ve ever had outside of hospitals insisted I do not fit the criteria. Yes, I self harm, but the rest of the traits are not present.
Last summer, I was inpatient in a “Dr. Phil approved” facility in California–a whole different world than here–and they also refused to give me that label.
The hospitals here in Utah slap that label on anyone and everyone who self-harms. (As I mentioned in a previous blog, my self-harm began at my stepfather’s insistence. I was made to do it, until it became an ingrained way to cope.)
But Borderline is the fad here at USH.
Because I’m labeled borderline, many of the staff accuse me regularly of doing—pretty much anything—for attention. I get absolutely no respect.
Borderlines are the bottom of the garbage pail, in their philosophy. By the way they act, I gather that they believe attention-seeking behaviors to be far more criminal than rape or murder.
There’s a patient here who punches anyone who gets within a few feet from him. His behavior is far more acceptable than “borderline” attention seeking.
One particularly evil doctor, Dr. Bundy (all names are changed) told me…
“Borderlines need to be ignored.”
Actually, ignoring someone–anyone–is an act of emotional abuse. And if someone was so abused and neglected that they become attention seeking…how is that really going to help?
But in reality, I don’t do much attention seeking. I’m sitting here suffering my starvation quietly. I hide a lot of things. I don’t like being the center of attention–it reminds me too much of things in my past. Even my friends are clueless about most of what goes on inside of me. I don’t trust people…especially the staff here. I’d rather just be left to myself…
Except when I absolutely need something.
Anytime we patients want to brush our teeth, shave, take a PRN medication, or pretty much anything…we have to ask a staff to get things for us.
A “borderline” like me asking for things is labeled “attention seeking.”
They let me know daily that requests–my needs–are unwelcomed, unwanted.
So, if I want to brush my teeth, I have to think good and hard whether or not I want to bother the staff and be belittled or put down for it. Sometimes, I just skip the tooth brushing.
If we ask “too many questions,” they put us on what they call “5 til the even hour” restrictions.
That means I can only ask for any kind of assistance in the five minutes before the even hour. Only then.
And this means I spend most of day watching the clock to time it just right in order to get my PRNs, or anything else I may need.
Angst. Distraction. Feeling like my needs are not important…like I have no voice, and no choice…no control over anything at all.
Except what I eat or don’t eat.
And I can…with full confidence…today say that my eating disorder has been fully resurrected. (More about that later.)
I’m starving myself, but no one does anything to help me…
Because “borderlines need to be ignored.”
In California, they did not ignore me at all. I had full access to a fridge full of food all day long. I could eat whenever or whatever I wanted. The meals were delicious, and I got a grip on my eating disorder for the first time.
In Cali, I had someone to talk to anytime I wanted to talk. I could go outside, sleep, make phone calls…on my smart phone…at my leisure. I had freedom and support.
The facility didn’t even have restraints or security.
And when I left there, I was self harm free…I felt better than I ever had. I was full of hope for the future, ready to take on anything…
Then I moved back to Utah…and they flushed all that recovery right down the proverbial toilet with cruelty and indifference.
I wish I’d stayed in Cali.
-via the ghostwriter