“People around me often find it hard to understand.” 

I found the place for a piece of my jigsaw and felt a sense of achievement as I pushed it into the picture.

It was then the door swung open. I turned to see them advancing in like an army in battle. I flicked into flight mode and sped across the room. 

As they reached to hold me, I batted them off, fighting in rage. I was adamant they were not having power over me, over my body, why should they have control over how I looked? I felt violated as they came in closer and took me to the floor, pinning me down, powerless, beneath them all. My arms and legs were held to the floor, my head caged in between two palms, and their faces looked down at me as if I were some sort of experiment. 

I thrashed my body, trying to break free, but with no success. I moved my head side to side as they forced the tube towards my nose. I cried and begged in desperation for them to stop, for them to allow me freedom from the worthless feeling of being fed under restraint. They had all control over me.

The tube was rammed in my nostril and funnelled down my throat with minimal KY Jelly, so it scratched as it went down. Tears rolled down my face as they tested the aspirate. My stomach churned. 

Then- suddenly- the cold sensation travelled through my throat. It was going in. My heart pounded. I felt like I would explode with hurt and sadness and anger at these cruel people pumping in calories to my body I felt I no longer owned. 

Once the feed had done, the leader of the pack, the nurse, rapidly pulled out the tube, leaving a rancid taste of bile in my mouth. The tube flicked the flush of water in my face. A nod was given by one of the five staff that were restraining me and in unison, they let go and stood up. 

There I was, alone on the floor, lain in shame and disgust. I felt filthy and used. Someone held their hand out supposedly to help me up, but how could they be trying to make peace with what they’d just done to me, what they’d made me endure and how they’d made me feel? 

This became the daily norm for a year or so. Then, to add to the trauma, if they deemed my end of the fight to be too much for the six of them to handle, they’d pull down my trousers and inject a sedative into my bum. I hated my life.

Fast forward to now, having spent seven years in care, being traumatised in different ways (such as the incident above), being on 1:1 and 2:1 observation for years, sectioned and trapped in rigid routines has also impacted how I experience life on ‘the outside’. I feel things to the extreme and I am vulnerable to uncertainty and feeling out of control. I am needy and I can be overwhelming when I find someone who shows me some acceptance. 

Trauma from earlier years derived from moving home, from the countryside life I loved, to a town where I struggled to figure out who I was or how to fit in. It was challenging being such an emotional child, feeling I couldn’t talk…

I have tried to take my own life multiple times, have suicidal ideation often and I have struggled with self-harm for years. This alienates me, and people around me often find it hard to understand. 

I have an eating disorder (anorexia with bulimic tendencies), an anxiety disorder and chronic depression, but my most recent diagnosis has given me a sense of validation; an answer to my struggles as they are today, an explanation of why I present how I do. My diagnosis? Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder (EUPD) or as it was previously known, Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). 

This, I am told, is treatable but not necessarily curable. My traumas have caused the EUPD that I have, but that is not me solely. My life is very turbulent and my emotions are chaotic and this is because of the EUPD. I cannot change what happened to me in the past and many are unable to relate to my experiences but as I move forward, with my diagnosis, I have some clarity and, with support, I can look at strategies designed to support my condition. 

I am realistic that I cannot change my personality and I am aware of the stigma around my condition, but if I let in the help, I can strive to stay alive when my brain tries to convince me I shouldn’t.