…that my brain is, basically, #&/%@*–!!!?#@.
Every 5 or 6 years, regardless of what my permanently broken BPD brain is doing, I get depressed. There doesn’t have to be a trigger, I’ve come to realise over the past weeks; it just happens. It’s like a cell turning cancerous: you don’t ask the person why it turned cancerous at that point in time. It just happens.
Accepting my diagnosis of BPD was difficult, but it was the key to my “recovery” (you never fully recover because your brain is always broken, but you learn to handle it). Not blaming myself was good; not fighting the fact it was there.
I have to do the same now with my “recurrent depressive disorder”. It’s not BPD; it’s a BOGOF (born with one mental disorder, get one free). I don’t want it but I don’t have any say in the matter.
So: every 5 to 6 years, my brain chemistry will go do-lally and stop me from enjoying a perfectly enjoyable life. It will make me have psychotic thoughts of burning myself or taking an overdose. It will tire me out and prevent me getting on with life the way I want to (apologies to everyone waiting on more stories from Ragnar and his Horde).
It’s not that I’m choosing to be depressed (who chooses this?); it’s simply the fact my brain is #*%@@+/&?!!