I’ve always loved a gentle, innocent ride on a carousel.
Sailing around on the back of a beautiful horse, waving at my parents each time I came around, a smile of pure joy on my face. Sure, some people find it monotonous. But for me, the carousel is my dream. Slow, guileless, I know what’s coming ahead, I know my faithful steed will keep me on a safe, steady path, I know how high and how low I will go, and I know that even at its fastest, even at it’s lowest, I’ll quickly bob back up and carry on. My stomach isn’t unsettled, my hands only gently grip the reins. I’m not afraid. Life is good.
But unfortunately, my life is not a carousel, because I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).
With BPD, my life is a towering, rickety, old, wooden rollercoaster. Breathtaking highs that let me see the true beauty of life, and violent, stomach-churning lows that plunge me into the depths of despair; a black hole from which I feel I’ll never escape.
The highs of BPD are a mix of exhilaration and fear. As the car soars upwards, I beg it to keep going, up, up, up, I can almost touch the stars, I’m alive, I’m free… but at the back of my mind, I know the higher I go, the worse the fall is going to be. I reach the peak of the track and suddenly I’m hurtling towards the ground. The old, wooden beams seem to shake uncontrollably, threatening to snap and send me crashing into oblivion. I feel sick, someone please make this stop, I can’t do this anymore.
The track levels out and I feel some momentary relief. I’m cruising along towards the end of the ride, and I can’t wait to get off. Yet as the car pulls into the station, my restraints jam. I’m stuck. I’m pulling at the bar, using all my strength, god, I need to get off this ride. But it’s too late. This ride has me trapped and a new cycle is starting. I feel like I’m screaming but no sound is coming out. Why can’t anyone see I want to get off? Do they think I actually want to be on here? Do they think I like it?
Please no, not again… I long for my sweet carousel.