The beginning

I'm in a good mood. I'm in a good questioning mood, actually.

Sometimes I wonder if my paranoia will turn into schizophrenia. That's what I obsess over. I already hear voices sometimes. I'm just waiting for it to take everything away from me. It terrifies me.

The doctors slap me with a diagnosis. First it was major depression (clinical depression). I thought that was it. That I was just really depressed. They put me on Lexapro. That helped for a little bit. I stopped taking my medicine because I thought I could handle it myself. I was probably about 15.

Wrong.

College came. I lost myself. I had a big breakdown during finals week. I went fucking psychotic. I ran around campus and screamed about Baby Jesus. I didn't sleep. I couldn't concentrate. I missed my acting final because I was freaking out too much. I didn't eat and smoked too many cigarettes. I didn't care anymore.

After winter break, I overdosed on Dramamine. I didn't care anymore. I don't remember anything about it. At all. I remember taking the pills, feeling funny, and then I woke up in the ER. The doctors had to decide whether I should be in the psychiatric ward or the heart care floor. In the end, my heart was more important, but they sent in a psychiatric team and questioned me briefly. That's when I learned about Borderline Personality Disorder. They told me that I was the perfect example. That I matched all the symptoms.

When things got back to how they used to be, I made an appointment to talk to the university counseling center. I pushed away my anxiety and opened up only to be told that I needed more than what they could offer me. They gave me a list of referrals. I haven't even looked at the paper, but I also had an appointment with one of the university's psychiatrist. I didn't know what to expect. When I had my first diagnosis, it was only from the family doctor. This was different.

She told me nothing new. She told me everything the psychiatric team told me. Borderline Personality Disorder. I still didn't know what that meant. She prescribed me Risperidone. I went back to my dorm and researched it. I had never found something that suited me so well. I had almost all of the signs and symptoms. I took my medicine. I tried to be happy.

The medicine helped me instantly. My friends told me it was like I was a different person. I was no longer angry. I no longer lashed out without warning. But my friends also told me that it changed me for the worst. Now I am dull. I'm quiet. I don't get excited anymore.

Every day is a struggle. People don't realize this. Getting up in the morning can be hard if I'm depressed, but sometimes I have a spring in my step and the day is beautiful. I can't control it. One second  I'm flying with colors, but the next I'm tumbling to the ground. I hurt myself in any way I can think of.

This is a blog about my work-in-progress life.