Many days since last I wrote here. Tomorrow I fly... away away away. These last few days I have been meeting my friends often (although I have been sullen and silent), sleeping till 3 pm, watching... Today I fought with all my things and I almost gave up the whole trip just because I did not have the strenght to lift the chest where I thought was my coat (coat which I wanted to take to Boston with me, but which I do not have anymore... of course, Murphy's law).
In these last few days I have been reading too. A book about BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder, TLP in Spanish), that is, a book about myself. It is good to finally know what it is that ails you. Why you behave the way you do. I am not strange. I am crazy. I do not suffer from depression or anxiety or anorexia. I have BPD... and it includes those disorders and many more. It gives answers to so many things at last.
Then of course there's the dark side of the moon. They say that you can nver be cured of this disorder and that you have to take medication during your whole life. They say it is partly genetic, so not only it is possible that my mother had it, so chances are that my children will have it - for once, I was sure that I wanted a family of my own, I wanted a husband (with or without marriage) and I wanted children (not one, but many), I was not afraid of being like her, of being a bad mother... now it doesn't even depend on how I behave, it's in my blood. I am truly damaged.
I guess therapy has done something to me. At least now I find just one tiny bit easier to talk... and it has brought me understanding of this illness, of which I am grateful. And I do think that medication works. Of course I am better now that six months ago. But it's not good enough. It's not even good.
