Broken wings Can Fly-

You asked the question,
Here’s my reply-
I cant tell you why those men-
Broke you that night;
can’t tell you why your mother,
Drunk herself mad;
can’t take back the childhood,
That destroyed your life;
can’t shut out the voices,
That’s screaming aloud;
Can’t make you believe in-
The body you have;
Can’t force off the blade from-
Your hands every night.

Can’t tell you to get over it-
That’s not right;
But together we’ll get through it-
That’s my pact;
Together we’ll sit through,
The dark till it’s bright;
I’ll bind up the wrists till-
You needn’t do that;
We’ll seek help together-
And wade through setbacks;
Together we’ll make it and
Don’t ask me why?
I love you my girl and
Believe in the lines-
Even broken wings
Can still learn to fly.

Originally written 24/August/2014

Mental Health Friday #11

People with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) are often thought of as manipulative, self harming attention seekers. Their lives are a mess … they aren’t able to function like normal human beings. Nobody would ever give them a job …

But, in reality, we really aren’t like that.

I was diagnosed with BPD last year. On 4th July 2014 I received a copy of a letter sent to my GP.

“Amelia is a 20 year old university student who lives at home with her parents.

Diagnosis: Borderline Personality Disorder with mood instability, self harm, atypical eating disorder, low self esteem, dysfunctional interpersonal relationships, and feelings of emptiness. Her mood is dysthymic and varies frequently.”

A week later I received another letter discharging me from the care of the Mental Health Services. Apparently there was nothing they could do for me.

The bottom fell out of my world. How could a psychiatrist label my personality as disordered?! How could they ditch me a week later? I have spent the last year trying to understand this big, scary, stigmatised disorder.

BPD is completely different for everyone. There are nine symptoms, and to be diagnosed you must fit at least 5 … so there are lots and lots of different combinations! Every day I understand it a little more, and for me it is a disorder of extremes.

I completely love my diagnosis and completely hate it in equal measures. Half of my life is so dark that I can barely drag myself out of bed. The other half is bigger, brighter, and more beautiful than you can imagine.

I can flip between the two in a heartbeat. Everything is black or white. I love you or I hate you.

I self harm. I have attempted suicide. I dissociate. I panic. I am impulsive. I can get angry. I am terrified of being abandoned. I don’t really know who I am. I have periods of feeling nothing at all. Everything is very very intense.

But I am human.

Having BPD doesn’t stop me doing stuff that ‘normal’ people do. Most people who meet me would have no idea that I have ever seen a psychiatrist, let alone been stamped with a diagnosis.

Believe it or not, I have a job. And I am a manager! Last week I went to a fancy works-do, and although I was struggling on the inside, nobody pointed or laughed or realised that I was any different to anyone else. Next week I am meeting with the CEO of the business. Again, it will be hard for me, but I will get the job done just as well as anyone else. I can be the ultimate professional.

My GP was so shocked that I have a serious mental health condition and a full time job that she jumped up and declared that I must be cured! She was so over-joyed that she immediately cancelled all of my mental health referrals (the sight would have been quite amusing if I hadn’t been so furious!).

Having BPD does not make me weak, incapable, stupid, dangerous, or a liability.

So many medical professionals have seen my diagnosis and treated me like an injured puppy. A crazy injured puppy. They have looked at me with pity in their eyes.

I hate that. I am a human being. I am not crazy.

One of the most empowering and helpful things for me recently has been starting my blog. Suddenly a whole new world has been opened up to me. I am getting to chat to other people with BPD and am privileged enough to read their stories. I am able to speak out about my day-to -day issues in a community where I’m not being judged. Finally, I am beginning to understand that I’m not alone!

I desperately want the stigma that comes with BPD to be broken down. I want it to be accepted that people can have a serious mental illness, and really struggle with it, but that doesn’t make them any less of a person. We aren’t all crazy dangerous monsters.

Today’s contributor is Amelia who blogs at Borderlineamelia.wordpress.com . She blogs about surviving the diagnosis of Borderline personality disorder one day at a time.

---

If you’d love to contribute and share your story on Mental health Friday, I’ld love to have you. Let’s join hands to talk about Mental illness and blur out the stigma associated with it. You can contact me on My email address: mykahani@yahoo.com . For more information, visit  this post.

IMAGE CREDIT: HealthyPlace.com.      

Mental Health Friday #21

I never thought I needed help, even during my darkest moments. To me, it was no one else’s business and I could take care of myself as I saw fit. The problem is, when you’re cutting up your body and someone finds out, it soon becomes everyone’s business.

I started feeling depressed and harming myself when I was 10 years old (I’m 22 now) and although I didn’t have any real identification for what I was feeling, I knew it wasn’t something that everyone dealt with. I kept it a secret until I got to high school but as my stress levels rose, so did the frequency of my cutting. It was both a freeing and a damning sensation but I couldn’t get enough of it. I had my reasons, depending on the day. Sometimes it was because I felt completely numb and other times I felt that I needed to be punished for some trivial matter which really wasn’t my fault at all. It was a release of all my anger, frustration, and pain. It gave me something tangible to focus on and to be involved with.

Eventually a friend that I trusted pressured me into admitting what was going on but I figured life would continue on as normal, at least my version of it, and it did… Until the day I got called into the counseling office. I knew immediately what had happened and my worst fear had been confirmed. The school knew about my cutting and called my parents. From that day on it became an even more difficult battle with my depression. My parents didn’t understand, my friends didn’t really understand, and eventually it became too much and I gave into the blackness inside my soul. That’s how I ended up in the hospital the first time.

Once I got out about a week later, it seemed that everyone in school had some sort of theory and the bullying I had previously experienced soon doubled based upon the idea that I was the “crazy” girl. My cutting got even worse, to the point where I tried hurting myself underneath the cafeteria table at lunch time. How desperate… How addicted do you have to be for that? I was in a dangerous place and soon enough, I was admitted to the hospital again for 2 weeks this time. Luckily, I had some friends who stuck by me and that’s what kept me sane and safe once I got back to school where the bullying tripled.

High school was extremely hard for me and I constantly felt as though I was at the bottom of a deep black hole that just kept slowly crumbling down around me, bringing me further and further into darkness. Once I got into college, things improved for a little but I soon stopped going to classes and couldn’t bring myself to care that I was failing. After multiple panic attacks and one really bad cut, I knew I needed to move back home andwork harder on my wellbeing. The feeling of utter hopelessness is something that cannot even be described. I was lucky to have found a therapist I adored and was put into group therapy with two leaders I absolutely loved. My parents took the time to learn more about my conditions and began to understand me more and work with me in more helpful ways.

Recovery hasn’t been easy. It took years for me to have more good days than bad, and I even managed to quit cutting for 2 and ½ years (I did mess up once a couple months ago during a horrible fight with my boyfriend but no one is perfect). It is a battle still. I won’t say that everything is peachy all the time, but I know now that things can be okay and that they can get better. I try to look at the little things because they are always there, you just need to find them. The darkness still hovers around me sometimes and I know that I may fight this for the rest of my life, but I know the good outweighs the bad, now. If I had ended my life when I tried to those times, there is so much I never would have experienced and I always remind myself of that. You can do it too. If I can and many others can make it through, then I know you can too. There is always a reason and there is always hope. You just need to find it.
With hope and love,
Clare

---

This week’s story was submitted by Clare of DestroyedRazors.com. She was diagnosed with Major Depression, Panic Disorder, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder while simultaneously fighting an addiction to self-harm. As her tag line says, Her blog is For fighters, survivors, addicts, loners, the hopeless, the hopeful and all those in between.

If you’d love to contribute and share your story on Mental health Friday, I’d love to have you. You can contact me on My email address: mykahani@yahoo.com. Facebook page: Words of a random. Image credit: HealthyPlace.com

Together (we’re stronger)-

Her sleeves came up,
Her wrist displayed,
She added some bracelets,
To hide the slits,

I took off mine,
With little shame,
The secrets she’s hiding,
I know the pain.

It’s been three years,
I smile with pride,
I’ll show you a new way,
To deal with life.

I hope it works,
She smiles back too,
I try to quit,
It won’t let me.

You were alone,
And now you’re not,
Together we are stronger,
And twice the force.

And when the waves,
Come crashing now,
I’ll be your anchor,
To pull you up.

Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect!

Dream of a Dreamer

Blur out the grey lines,
Take down the veil;
I stand with the hopeless,
Till they regain faith;
Till the grey lines are blurred out,
And stigma erased;
Till depression and bi-polar,
Slowly fade away;
Some may call me a dreamer,
For demanding such change.

So I write and I bleed out words,
To help ease the pain;
That our insides are suffering but-
We can’t dare explain;
I am but one hopeless with an-
urge to make a change;
That a smile may form somewhere
As my words are read away;
That a rose may find reason,
To bloom once again;
And a wrist may get kisses
From now, everyday.

My Kinda Warrior

 

I love reading about warriors.
Not the ones with armors,
Knives as shields;
But those whose wrists
Demand a shield;
Their hands with knives
Dig through the skin;
With blood the consequence
Of it.

These warriors battle
with what’s within-
That ‘essence’ which neither
of us Can see;
A voice that’s strong and
fierce And grim;
An enemy no one but
the warriors Can feel.

Just one more time,
The voices scream;
You know you want to,
It’s your relief;
Oh how the voices
confuse and twist;
And lie their way into,
Making us bleed.

With time this voice can be
Diminished by will;
And the warriors they hide and-
bind their wrists
Drop the knives, shield the skin;
And they might bleed-
Tomorrow
But today, they choose to live.

Interview: Living with Depression and beating the odds

This week, I had the chance to interview someone whose courage and strength I admire. This person has been suffering from depression, self-harm and is a multiple suicide attempt survivor. Yet, despite this illness, she has managed to take charge of her life, thrive and is now in her third year of medical school. Being born in Saudi and suffering from a mental illness, she shows that this illness isn’t only restricted to the west, it can happen to anyone regardless of religion or race. She prefers to stay anonymous and I respect her wishes so I’m not going to mention any names. But it was a pleasure interviewing her and I do hope this interview sheds some light on self harm and depression; and shows that you can survive and live your life despite the odds.

Tell me a bit about yourself
I am 22 turning 23 next March. I was born and raised in the kingdom of Saudi Arabia (KSA). Then I moved to Malaysia when I was seventeen for university. My brother was already there a year before me. I moved in with him and my cousin. I lived in Malaysia for three years; switched between electrical engineering and architecture throughout the three years. From there, I moved here to Sudan.

Wow, didn’t like the courses anymore?
Well, I couldn’t find myself in electronics engineering and I like to draw, so I thought I’d find myself in architecture and it wouldn’t be such a drastic change. But my dad had me change back (to engineering). I couldn’t get myself to go on with the courses so eventually, I got to transfer back to architecture.

Did your dad know you switched back to architecture?
Yeah my mum told him. At first he did mind, but there was nothing he could do really. Plus, it was my choice to make.

Yeah it is. Did you know a lot about mental health growing up?
My knowledge was of course limited and of course it still is, but I’ve always been greatly interested in that topic.

How old were you when you got diagnosed?
I was seventeen years and I was diagnosed with depression.

How did you find out?
Well, I’ve been depressed since my early teens but I never really knew what was wrong with me. And when I moved to Malaysia, it only got worse. I started self-harming and became extremely suicidal. I was very hesitant about seeing a doctor cause I was scared of my family’s reaction and how I was gonna be perceived. But a very close friend that I knew through twitter, who was (also) the only one who knew what was going on, managed to convince me to see a psychiatrist.

But how did you manage to hide the self-harm scars from people?
At first, I used to cut my legs only. When I started cutting my arms, I would do it in areas that weren’t noticeable. But after a bad incident, I had to start wearing long sleeves everywhere even at home which raised many questions from my brother and my cousin. But I always had a good answer ready.

What do you think is the relationship between depression and self harm? I mean, a lot of depressed people self harm, from your experience, why do you think it’s that?
Self harm is a way of coping with depression, or at least, it was for me. People that are depressed experience many emotions like emptiness, sadness, numbness and self hate. Expressing those emotions can be very difficult. And for some people, self mutilation is the only way they know how to do so.