“I would have walked over hot coals to be able to do something to improve things.”
I got my BPD diagnosis around three years ago (2023). I’d dealt with symptoms of depression since I was really young- these probably started around the time my parents got divorced when I was 10 or 11 years old. Going through several relationships in my late teens and early 20s, things really began to ramp up a lot more and around that whole decade or so, I was in anger management and in different forms of therapy over the years, as well as prescribed to various medications.
It felt very reactive- if I was showing signs of anger, I’d do anger management to get help with regards to that, or if I was being confrontational, they would look at treating that, if I was depressive, they’d prescribe me antidepressants. When I started showing signs of ADHD or anxiety, psychologists would go down that route. It felt like a lot of fire-fighting- they tried to hit it from all different angles. In fact it was only recently that I had someone look at it properly and examine how all of these things have persevered across the course of my lifetime, which resulted in them coming to the conclusion it was Borderline Personality Disorder.
Whilst all of the individual factors above were true to my experience, and I’d suffered from them in many different phases for pretty much my entire life, living with them for so long and not being able to fix them, and not being able to find long-term solutions, was severely impacting on my life. It was compounding issue after issue after issue. These problems- no matter what they were- really started to affect me as a person, changing my whole outlook on life, how I viewed myself and manifesting into something completely different.
When I got the BPD diagnosis, I was actually very happy about it, which I know not a lot of people are because they don’t like having a label or because of the stigma, and that’s fine if that’s how they feel about it. For me though it was a positive, but I found that there was quite a lot of confusion when I was telling people I had this diagnosis, because they assumed I was talking about Multiple Personality Disorder (Dissociative Identity Disorder- DID), which is a very different thing.
As far as BPD goes, I was in such a dark place in my life that when I was told I had it, I just felt relieved. Reading about BPD, what the symptoms were, why it occurs- it started to make complete sense to me. At that time, I was reading so many different books on the topic and I was highlighting about 70-80% of the pages thinking, “Oh my God, this is everything that I’ve been going through for the past ten years or so.” It was comforting to find answers to questions I had been posing for a very long time. It answered why I think the way I do, why I write the music that I write, why I feel the way I feel about the people that I love. It just painted a very vivid picture.
I related so much more with BPD than I had done with anything suggestion to me previously. It wasn’t just, “Oh, you’re depressed.” Well, I knew I was feeling depressed, but all of these other symptoms- where is it all coming from? And it was really helpful for me to be able to put a label on things. I know that I might not fall into the criteria completely, but having them helped me to break out of a lot of the issues that I was having because I recognised them for what they were, and it still helps me to this day to be able to understand where it all comes from.
I came to DBT after I reached a point where every coping mechanism I had wasn’t working anymore. Health medication was turning on me, I was taking Lexapro for close the three years and that wasn’t helping. Things were becoming bad and I remember thinking, I’ve been here before, I know how this is going to go. I surrendered to the fact that I had ended up in a really bad place. After that, I called up a number of different psychologists and psychiatrists, my primary care physician… I just knew I needed to get an evaluation to get to the root of the problem. Through that process, which resulted in my BPD diagnosis, they offered me a whole bunch of different options, one of which was a course of DBT if I could find someone local to me to deliver it. I did find someone and was eager to engage, because by this point I would have walked over hot coals to be able to do something to improve things. That’s the level of desperation I was at at the time.
Initially there was a six month waiting list for the DBT, but after about three months she called me to say a spot had become open and asked if I wanted to start classes. I ended up joining and I did it for around three and a half months, give or take, and I came to the conclusion it wasn’t right for me. The therapist followed a very specific method of DBT whereby if I wanted to partake in group DBT sessions, it was compulsory to also attend individual DBT sessions, so by this point I was in therapy for five days a week.
I really think there is a lot of good that comes from the practices in DBT. But I also think that some of the practices don’t reflect how real-world communications happen. If everything happened the exact way it does it the textbook, then that’s great, but to me it didn’t seem to factor in the messiness of human nature. Sometimes it just doesn’t work like that, and the teachings seemed very rigid and delivered in a very schoolteacher-like manner. I gave my therapist some pushback on that, and it wasn’t well-received, but I kept quiet after that and just persevered with the classes. The group ones I really enjoyed- talking to other people, and having that community, was the best part. It really helped me, because I didn’t have that elsewhere.
Unfortunately, my issues with the delivery of the class continued, and that resulted in me leaving DBT for good. I felt like the therapist thought it was my fault it wasn’t working out, but there didn’t seem to be any willingness to work with me on how to change the approach so I could get the most out of it. I was left with a lot of frustration and self-doubt as a result, but what it did do was stress the importance of the therapeutic relationship in creating a safe space to be able to work with somebody. It’s all well and good to follow a book, but if you’re not able to connect with the person you’re working with, you could well be missing a massive component that’s needed to achieve that breakthrough. That’s a disservice on the part of the practitioner, and it’s a horrible way to be introduced to therapy.
I’m lucky that I managed to walk away from it with some of what I needed at least, and actually I’ve now had a therapist for the last three years that has created that container, and that has literally changed my life. I’ve seen it from both sides in how that client-therapist relationship is a make-or-break thing. (To my current therapist ‘A’, if you read this… thank you for everything. You are amazing.)
Now I’m in remission, I can definitely appreciate how things how changed. Probably the biggest change is that I’m no longer hurting myself physically. I still have compulsions, especially when I’m angry, but it’s much different now. Five years ago was around the tipping point of when these things started to get bad, and I punched an elevator twice and broke my hand. I play music- it was the dumbest thing I could have done. But it just shows how disconnected my mind and body were.
Now, I have a lot more tools in the toolbox. I still have the same emotions and the same internal narrative, but I’m able to observe it, be mindful of it and choose so many other tools to manage it. My day-to-day is a lot different now because I feel like my pre-frontal cortex is working so much better. My daily interactions are better, basic communication is different, everything feels like it goes through a completely different filter that I never had access to before. I’m in a completely different headspace.
My friends and family are probably the ones who have seen the biggest change in me. People have said, “It’s so much easier to talk to you now.” I didn’t always realize how my scattered communication style came across. Over time, I’ve refined how I express my ideas—aiming to be much more concise, clear, and direct.It’s encouraging to hear, because sometimes it’s hard to appreciate the progress when it’s just you evaluating it. It’s almost like when someone has to take an SSRI. You might not feel any different in yourself, but the people around you will be able to tell it is working. I’ve been doing a lot of meditating and a lot of reading to create that neuroplasticity, and all of that is contributing to the results, which is remarkable because I don’t think I got the same response when I was just on Lexapro.
In terms of my relationships, it has made me more vulnerable because the process of recovery has allowed me to put my heart on my sleeve in a way more than it has ever been, but I’m putting it out there in a concise way so that there is no confusion around how I feel. Some people can be very receptive to that, although the flipside is that others are definitely not as receptive to that, so it’s a divisive approach.
Working on self-compassion and self-love has created things for myself I’ve never had before, like having boundaries- which I have found people really dislike. It can be a whole different can of worms, and it’s impacted on my relationships for better or for worse. It’s strengthened the relationships that are receptive to the changes that BPD treatment has brought, and it’s broken down those that aren’t, but it’s all part of the healing process. Not everyone will be on the journey with you, but overall it’s been a positive. It’s provided those building blocks for intimacy and vulnerability in my closest relationships.
I still struggle with some aspects of BPD. Affectivity is a big one- anger, frustration, depression. Really, a lot of it is still there, but it’s becoming more manageable. Identity and abandonment can also be an issue. Mood disturbance can still be a problem, but it’s very much linked to the affectivity and how I deal with that. It’s not as polarising or as extreme as it was at one point in time. I still engage in impulsivity, but as a recovering drug addict, I have to fight those urges a lot. I’ll always have that under my skin and it’ll always be a battle.
For me personally, I think the drug use prolonged my ability to recover and my ability to see clearly. I think a lot of people use drugs to numb themselves to the bigger problems that are happening in their lives order to allow them to cope. It exacerbates what is already there, rather than the drugs directly causing BPD or other issues. It can contribute to symptoms such as paranoia, which is well documented, but I’d been dealing with substance use for very long time prior to my diagnosis.
A few years back, my use was very minimal, but it was still a part of my life. Once things started to escalate in my personal life, I came to the realisation that self-medicating was just bringing me even more anxiety. It wasn’t silencing things the way it once was. When I decided to surrender, I decided everything had to stop- it wasn’t like I thought, “Right, for me to be able to seek treatment, I need to quit substances first,” it was more a conscious decision that if I was going to do it, and do it right, I needed to put my hands up and admit I was willing to do whatever it took because it had gotten bigger than me.
What I will say, from my own experiences and from talking to other addicts, is that it’s going to be hard to work mindfulness into your recovery if you’re not clear-headed. This applies to any substances, even pain relief- even now, I have back issues and I lost the use of my arm a few years ago. Whilst I’ve got it back, it isn’t the same as what it was before, and my doctors wanted to put me on opioids because they don’t want to operate. I don’t want that- I’m a former drug addict and the last thing I want is to be taking some kind of equivalent to heroin, but there are times when it’s so bad that I have to, and I even notice with that that it clouds my mind and makes things like meditation so much harder. I’ve had discussions with my therapist about how I would never have thought that holotropic breathing would be as powerful to me as a hallucinogen. It blew my mind to experience reality that way, and I wouldn’t be able to achieve that effect now with chemicals- my mind simply wouldn’t allow me to get to that place.
As a musician, BPD actually makes writing music extremely difficult, because there are times when I pick up a guitar and I want to throw it and break it. I have to deal with this monster in the room to be okay with writing. There were some events in my life that took me to a place where I knew that if I wanted to pursue music, I was going to have to write it in a way that came from a pure place that would allow me to connect with other people.
When I started writing music under my name- I’ve now got three albums and a couple of singles available – every time I write a piece of music, it comes from this emotional place, this emotional centre. I’ve worked for other people and on other projects and I can create music in many different ways, but when I’m writing my own music, I almost don’t want to write from any other place but there. I am tapping into that anger or that sadness, or whatever is going on in my head. If you listen to my music, specifically the new album, you can hear it in every single one of my songs.
It’s interesting because I’m aware that I do it now, but I wasn’t before. People say we’re responding from our amygdala when we’re in fight or flight mode, that you either stick around and put up a fight or you freeze and do nothing. I wrote a song called ‘Stuck’when I was 15 and I had no idea it was anything to do with BPD. I’d been battling through that place for a long time
It’s so embedded in my music that playing it can actually be re-traumatising, because I have to re-live all these things again, and that’s very intense. But I believe that’s how I connect with people, and it’s the most authentic I can possibly get. I may not be the best guitarist or the best singer, but I want to come in offering what I can, and what I can offer is myself in my most stripped-back, intimate form ever. It isn’t always received well, but when it is, it forms a very strong connection with the listener. I have found that this medium is the best way I can connect with others.
It’s strange because you would think that over the years, singing these songs would almost desensitise me- but the truth is complicated. Parts of me have hardened, while other parts still feel every word. These things are part of me. They’re in my bones and I can’t get away from them. Just like my relationship with BPD, it’s a living, evolving process—and every day, I get to choose to make things a little better.
The heart of my new album, Tell Me Something Great, centres on the Fool’s Journey—a concept that hits close to home in my relationship with BPD. For years, I believed I could think my way out of chaos, spiralling in my own head and desperately seeking ‘greatness’ from the outside world. This album documents the shift from losing control to realizing that the answers I was looking for were always waiting inside me.
WEBSITE: https://JustinYates.com
NEW ALBUM COMMERCIAL: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=atDPA8hDEf0
‘TELL ME SOMETHING GREAT’ TEASER TRACKS: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PFitwRK4YMI
PURCHASE THE NEW ALBUM HERE: https://JustinYates.BigCartel.com
