I am just a normal mother trying to get on with my life.

My story is maybe not very exciting but I am just an ordinary woman trying to bring up a family and fight the depression I never really seem to get over properly.

I am 34 years old, married to a lovely man, I have 2 children and have a nice house, car, part-time job, most things a lot of people would love to have, but have been depressed on and off for years.

I think a lot of my problems started when I was young, everything I did was never good enough in my dad’s eyes, he left home when I was twelve, although we had contact with him and he has been a complete arsehole, I don’t have much contact with him. I had to grow up really quickly when he left, mum was often ill and in hospital and didn’t cope very well with the divorce, she also had loads of money problems.

I left school at 16 and didn’t really know what I wanted to do, so I joined a training scheme and concentrated on office studies. I had a couple of boyfriends, then met my husband in 1989, we got engaged later that year and bought a house the following year, then married in 1991. I had times when I was maybe depressed but thought it was just part of life. In 1994, I was made redundant from my job, which in some ways changed my life, later that year I was pregnant with my daughter, she was born in the July after a very difficult pregnancy. I had to have an emergency caesarean section, we were both lucky they nearly lost both of us, this wasn’t a good start to parenthood, within days of coming home from hospital I was diagnosed with post-natal depression, put onto Prozac and got on with life or so I thought. I suffered a lot of pains which were never diagnosed as anything, I was made to feel I was just making it all up, but believe me they were real. Then in 1996 I fell pregnant again six weeks after a miscarriage, this time the pregnancy was easier until I was told at a routine scan one of his kidneys was larger than the other. Being told this put me straight into a depression again, I was already anxious about having to have another cesarean. After his birth I recovered well until a few weeks after, when the post-natal depression hit me again, I went straight to the doctors and was put on the Prozac again, and soon seemed to recover. It wasn’t until after Daniel was born that I felt as though I hadn’t bonded properly with Laura when she was born, I didn’t have the same feelings for her as I did him. It is a horrible thing to say I love her dearly but there is something missing between us, and I guess there always will be.

The last few years I have just plodded on with life trying to bring up the kids the best I can, I have always felt that motherhood just doesn’t come naturally to me and don’t think I should have had kids but its to late now. I have suffered different periods of depression over the years, which I realize now but have never been able to go to the doctors and admit it to him, although my husband has tried loads of times, it wasn’t until October 2002, when my husband had an operation on his knee which went wrong, my mother was ill, granddad had lung cancer. I was suffering really badly with endometriosis, which had been diagnosed the year before, (it turned out this was probably the same as I had after Laura was born, but was never diagnosed properly.) I was being treated for the endometriosis and at the time couldn’t cope with everything going on my life, I just collapsed in a big heap in the GPs room. He was very understanding and wanted me to go on antidepressants, which I wasn’t very happy about but agreed eventually. I started on Cipramil, and by Xmas that year I was feeling much better, I carried on taking it throughout last year, I had my ups and downs as we all do and was just starting to reduce the dose when Mum was taken into hospital with a stroke, this left her in a very confused state. My sister and I were very worried about her, and were told by the consultant she would not live to be an old woman, she is only 57 years old but with all her health problems she was much older. Later on that day, there was a phone call from my best friends husband to say that she had committed suicide.

My whole world just seemed to fall apart that day. Jane and I were best friends from the age of about 2 years, everything we did we did together, we were never apart, I was her bridesmaid, she was mine, I am god mother to her two girls, she was to my kids. She had suffered from depression over the years and tried to kill herself just before we got married, but would never let anyone help her, she wouldn’t go to doctors and she was frightened of being sectioned again. Over the last year or so we had slowly got further and further apart, and I hadn’t spoken to her for a while, so I didn’t know how she was so this was a total surprise. The times I had been around to see her I knew she was at home but she would never answer the phone or door, so I naturally thought she didn’t want to see me, so I stopped bothering. Apparently everyone she was close to she gradually pushed away from her. She always said to me that if anything happened to her I was to keep an eye on her two girls, and I will. My husband made me go to the doctors the Monday afterwards as I was in such a state, she upped my Cipramil which I was still taking. I don’t know how I got through her funeral and the next few weeks, but until after Xmas I wasn’t too bad, yes, I spent lots of time crying and thinking about her, why did she do it? She was such a good friend and I will never forget her. I am sure that when she died she took part of me with her. There have been many time I have thought of joining her but I cannot do to my kids and family what she did to hers, its just not fair.

About a month ago I hit a real low point in my life and went back to GP, I was changed onto Efexor xl , the first 2 weeks didn’t seem to make much difference so the dose was increased. I am only now starting to feel a little better, I know its going to be a long recovery but I cant let myself get the way Jane did.

This may not seem that I have depression very badly but to me it has affected my life in such a big way. There must be other people out there who feel like me that there story is not as important as other people’s but as I have said I am just an ordinary mum trying to survive.

Karen

Not really sure why i am doing this probably because i am in the middle of hell right now.

I’ll just do the edited highlights.

i was born a month premature and nearly died, many times I go back to thinking how wonderful it would have been had that happened. I have 2 sisters one older and one younger and basically I was a replacement baby for my sister who died at birth in the same way I would have. My mother hates and has emotionally abused me all of my life whilst openly loving my siblings. it started when i was 4 at least that's when my memories begin, I was an intelligent child and my mother was threatened by me so telling my how stupid and unlovable i was pretty much a daily occurrences. I was the one who got smacked not my sisters my older sister is the perfect daughter and still is and my younger sister was a mistake that my mother tried to rectify and has been feeling guilty ever since and so my little sister could do no wrong. me however well I was always getting it wrong, I am dysphasic although it wasn’t heard of when I was a child and as such am very clumsy, this became another stick for my mother to beat me with. I could tell countless stories of abuse both emotional and physical but I don’t have the energy for that right now but it happened almost very day of my childhood.

my dad was pretty much non existent when I was a child but as an adult we grew close, he understood my depression because he himself suffered in silence, we talked for the first time a couple of weeks before he died, he had a massive heart attack no warning just went to sleep and never woke up. It’s been 10 years and I still haven’t come to terms with it and I don’t think I will.

i got diagnosed about 18 months ago but I had been in and out of the mental health system from being 16. i crashed at work physically, work was the only place where I knew who I was and was confident because I was exceptional at what I did, when I stepped into the office I became a different person, nothing phased me I had pressure coming out of my ears and thrived on it until after 9 years I burned out. I haven’t been back at work since, not for want of trying, they are bullying me to resign and an industrial tribunal is looming.

There is one person in my life who loves me for me, we met on another website about 17 months ago and although we had a rough time of it about a year ago, we came through it stronger. She is the one person who keeps me alive because I can’t bear the thought of not speaking or seeing her ever again. I worry my bpd will eventually drive her away and that scares me more than anything. We have a wonderful mutual friendship where we are there for each other, i am still learning how to be sometimes but she is patient. As a result i have been welcomed into her wonderful family, her kids are amazing and her husband has given me some amazingly thoughtful gifts, he has taught me so much and never makes me feel stupid for asking and that is just amazing to me.

I have a gorgeous 4 year old nephew who is the light of my life and soon i am to be an aunty again as my older sister is 27 weeks pregnant after 4 or 5 miscarriages.

My quest is for peace and I pray that that will come soon.

Wow, I just read everyone else's stories, and I guess I can tell my own in full now. I have never ever told all to anyone, and I never thought I would. I don't know how this will turn out - I don't even remember a lot of things consistently. Some things come back to me and disappear again.

I was born in 52. I was a weak and sickly child, with the umbilical cord wrapped twice around my neck and deep cuts in my throat when finally born. I got whooping cough when I was 6 months old and stopped breathing one night. My dad yanked me out of the crib and held me by my legs and swung me around and I actually came back from that. I continued to catch every disease under the sun until I was 2 years old, then I physically rebounded and became a strong child.

This was all very disconcerting to my parents. I was an unwanted child - my brother was ten years older, and there were 4 children after him who died. So when I came along unexpectedly and was sick all the time, it was very hard on my parents. Perhaps they were afraid to bond with me.

When I was three my brother started to come into my room at night and showed me his penis and made me stick it in my mouth. I thought he was peeing in my mouth. He warned me that if I would ever tell he would punish me very hard and showed me how. He really hurt me. But he said, if I always did as told and never said a word, then he would protect me from all the bad boys out there.

Sometime later he would take me to one of his friends house and five boys were there. He told me it was ok, even though they were bad they would only touch me nicely when he was there to protect me. Then they paid him and I had to let them look me over and touch me everywhere and.....everything except penetration.

This went on for years, and the boys also tried to get me when my brother wasn't around but I would always run away....Guess I was well trained to protect his financial gain.

One of the reasons I react like I do to religion - he used to have me pray to him. It was one of his sick little games - hae came up with a lot of them over time but this one happened a lot.

It all stopped when I was 6. Then he wanted nothing to do with me and shushed me away, hit me and demeaned me whenever I tried to talk to him. He had been the center of my life up til then, and while he was often very mean and emotionally abusive, he had never physically hurt me before except that first time.

I went to school and studied and excelled. I went from 1st grade to 3rd grade to highschool. I didn't bind with the kids - no point anyway. I had problems at home - my parents fought a lot. However, whenever other people showed up we were the picture perfect family, the 4 of us. I have the photo albums to prove it - the sweetest smiling family you ever saw.

Mom was nice to me, but grew to be more and more of a tomboy - I think now in an attempt to be one of the boys and not a girl they would have interests in. Mom wanted me to be her little doll and I hated frilly things. We fought at department stores. She was so embarrassed - a cute little girl throwing tantrums because she did NOT want clothes...this went on for years.

Dad decided my brother was a useless and bad boy and took me under his wings. He taught me business and often would take me out of school for a week at a time to take me travelling to conventions. I would have my own briefcase and attend meetings with him and feel very important. To this day I love conventions and go to them and end up a speaker usually.

But I was troubled most of the time, not relating to other kids. And I ran away from home all the time. At first I would walk towards the countryside until I found some deserted building (lots of storage buildings out there) and I would stay there and head home when hungry. Then I learned to stockpile food and stay for as long as a week.

Later, as a teenager, I would stay away even longer, and there are a number of stories of men taking advantage of me. I would let them - sex was to me a way to keep the beasts at bay.

My parents got worried and sent me to boarding school. With nuns. Girls only. Guess what the girls did after lights were out? Crawl in each other's beds. After one week there, with all the praying sessions and girls in my bed, I ran away. I was now in my mid teens and I stayed away for about a year, then went home for a year, then left for good.

This was the time of hippies and there were a lot of us running around Europe. I fit right in. Sex, drugs and rock'n roll. I was used and abused much in those years but was too drugged to care. Actually, much of the time I had fun. I supported myself buying things in the east block and selling them in the west and vice versa.

At one point, now approaching 20, I decided to settle down and married my first husband and moved to the US. He ended up dying from a brain tumour 3 years later. Another desertion, but things were not going so well with us anyway. I stayed in California, concentrated on business and had lots of boyfriends, usually consecutive, but sometimes at the same time. I realized then I was addicted to sex. I also did well in business and ran my own business and soon bought a duplex. In the rear apartment lived a gay man - perfect for me. We became great friends and are close to this day. I go to visit him often. These were wild years with no personal attachments save the gay friend. Contact with my parents was spotty at best. Always the traveller, I went to visit them once in a while.

Well, I wrote aout the rest of the story elsewhere on this site, and I'll add it over here in a bit so the story is complete.

I sure have had a long journey, but compared to some of you it's probably not so bad.

Over the years I established more contact again with my confused parents. But not enough. I didn't realize my brother had returned to abuse my elderly parents the way he had abused me - well, in a different way.

He drove both of them to suicide, slowly and very calculatedly. He had NPD at its very worst. He just wanted the inheritance. He later focussed on me again - he wanted my part too.

I didn't remember what had happened to me until I called mom one day 10 years ago and he answered the phone - and was verbally extremely abusive without any type of reason. It all came back to me - every scary detail. At first I wanted to block it, and banished the thoughts, but the dreams were there and I could not stop them from happening. They were there every night, and there was no deep sleep, just these recurring movies playing in my head. It dang near drove me nuts (lol, like I wasn't already! )

But then I started realizing how it all fit - how my behaviors were logical, had been logical all along... how they were not necessary anymore .... but realizing that didn't allow me to stop them. Much work was needed to do that. And to this day I contradict myself all the time. When you follow my posts you will see it - I am not consistent. I think I may have an alter. I am not sure.

Allowing all the memories to flood my consciousness eventually allowed me to make more sense of myself. And that allowed me to start to replace the worst behaviors with new ones. That part has worked very well for me.

So what's the moral of the story? I think gaining distance for a time, detaching, and then looking again is what helped me there.

So when he drove dad to suicide 7 years ago I knew there was some odd thing going on - from my dad's last call to me - but I couldn't put my finger on it. By the time I figured out what was going on - 3 years ago - it was too late to save my mom. I did fly there and sat by her side while she passed. We had 5 days to talk - well, 4. She refused her kidney dialysis. She was old and frail and had been mentally severely abused and also physically but not as horribly. He plain drove her crazy, undermined her entire set of reference.

So I had to face him. And face him I did. I had so much anger towards him - all my rage bubbled up. When he showed up one day in the hospital he could feel it - oh, he was a huge man and he wordlessly turned on his heels and ran when he saw how I looked at him. Little girls and old women he could torture - the monstrous coward!

He persecuted me for two years after that - took me to court 7 times. He called every day in the middle of the night and filled my answering machine with talk. I had to get a second phone and just let him rant on the original machine.

I stood up to him, learned all about his disorder and finally stripped him in court. Stripped him so everyone could see exactly just what a pathetic shell of a man he really was. I was so strong - I don't know where it came from. Rage I am sure.

When I got back from the last confrontation I went into a bad state for several months - total inertia. I could do nothing at all. I had spent myself stripping him from all his covers.

I recovered. He did not. He killed himself a few months later at a Spanish resort. Not without placing one last devastating phone call to me, reliving my early abuse, making fun of it...making fun of that scared little girl...

That's my story. Its terrible, I know. I regret not having been closer to my parents - they were victims same as me.

The incredible self destructing family. I have 17 photo albums of smiling parents and children.... that's all there is left.

The earliest memory I have is my dad leaving. Then he came back. Then he left again. There was a lot of violence in my family. My dad used to hit my mum, almost killed her once and me and my two older sisters watched him. He knew we saw him kick my mum and punch her. Apparently, he used to hit my sister's too, but I don't remember seeing that. My eldest sister said that I never got hit, but I have a distant memory of my dad taking his belt off and whipping me with it (but I don't know for definite if this ever happened).

When I was about 12 and my dad was living with one of the many women he had had affairs with, he decided to disown all of us because the Child Support Agency had asked for more money for me. He didn't speak to us for about a year, then one day he saw one of my sister's and told her that we could now call him. I phoned him up and told him how much pain he had caused me, that I had been crying every night, in so much pain because I wanted my dad but he didn't want me. And he laughed. And he said that all the things I could remember hadn't really happened, that I had imagined them.

I can't remember how old I was but once, my dad was looking after me on a Saturday, as usual but when he came to drop me off back home, my mum wasn't in. It turned out that she had decided to go out for the day and was stuck in traffic on the way home. So my dad waited with me and when my mum returned, he said nothing and left. The next morning, there was a knock at the door. It was my dad and I was excited to see him as I thought he was missing me. But when I opened the door, he pushed me out of the way and my hamster that I had in my hand flew across the room and couldn't breathe properly. My dad went into the kitchen where my mum was and pushed her to the floor. He kicked her over and over again in the stomach. I was crying and tried to make him stop but I couldn't. I can't remember any more about that day. My dad would just change. My sister says you can see it in his eyes. Home was very unsafe. Everyone was always trying to hide information about what had happened from me.

My mum used to go out a lot when I was little and she used to leave me on my own quite often. I used to see ghosts when she was out and used to panic that she would never come home, so I would put the kettle on and have to jump over the carpet a certain amount of times so I could convince myself she would be ok and would not leave me.

My mum was upset most of the time, so I would have to comfort her and look after her as my sister's had left home. I was always making cards for her and writing letters to her to try to make her feel better.

Once, I fell over and needed to go to the hospital for an x-ray and a tetanus injection. I had to have the injection in my bum and when any of the nurses came near me, I freaked out and ended up kicking them away. They were concerned about my behaviour and sent a social worker round to my house. I heard my mum and my sister talking to the social worker about me, but no-one got me any help. I so needed help as I was hurting so much, my school work was suffering, I was crying all the time and I was constantly making up illnesses, everyday there was something else wrong with me. But nobody helped me. No-one could see what was happening to me. I was always trying to break my leg, I don't know why. At school, I was always trying to cut myself with the end of a pair of compasses.

We had two dogs but I used to hurt them. How horrible is that? How evil am I for doing that? I used to stop my friends from leaving my room. By the age of 14, I'd already started having sexual relationships, very carelessly.

When I got to college, I still couldn't stop crying so I went to see the college counsellor, but that seemed to make everything worse.

When I was at Uni, I buried myself in my work, not allowing myself to socialize, working 12 hours a day every day and I wasn't going to be satisfied until I got a first-class degree. Even when I got a first I wasn't happy. I wanted to be the best, to do everything perfectly. I saw the counsellor at Uni too, but I couldn't really talk to her as I was too angry.

When Uni finished, I had nothing to hide behind anymore and that's when everything fell apart. I began working in a fancy dress shop but was so horrible to people, this is when I started to notice my moods swinging and first went to my doctor about these problems. I saw more counsellors but none of them could handle my emotions and passed me on to other people.

Since then, I have been in and out of hospital, diagnosed with BPD last year. I am now in psychotherapy and attend a day hospital twice a week. I am married now after having many doubts about my sexuality. I met my husband in hospital as he has also been a patient there. We were married 3 months later. Six months after getting married, I got pregnant after contraception failed. We both decided the 'best' thing was for me to have an abortion as there was no way that either of us were well enough to have children. I was also told by my gp that if I were to go ahead with the pregnancy, he would have to get social services involved and I would probably have to have my child fostered. I think about the 'baby' all the time and still find the experience extremely traumatic.

There is so much more to tell, but I'd be here all day and I'm sure that if you've read this far you'll be very bored by now. I just felt like writing this here.

Thanks for reading.

Well my earliest memory is of my sister taking me into a pub looking for our parents, I was 3 she was 5. It was dark outside and there were lots of drunken people, I still hate the smell of beer now. Alcohol ruled the house we lived in, it bought fear and violence with it. My parents had one of the most violent relationships I can remember. Every night was the same, we were put to bed and they would go out, then we would be woken up by the screams, either where my father was beating my mother or the other way around. Xmas was a terrible time, many xmas, s I would get up excited only to find my father gone and my mother unable to get out of bed as her body was broken from the night before. We moved around a fair bit to which gave me less security, at 5yrs old we were put into care as my mother had tried to kill herself and was admitted to an institution for the mentally insane. I wish I could say that the children's home was an unhappy time but it wasn't. It was quiet; there were people who cared about you. I felt loved and I enjoyed it so much that when the time came to leave and my father came for me I refused to go. I had to be forced to go with my father home.

My parents beat on each other but never us, which looking back was a blessing. My mother over her life has been admitted to many institutions, some for very long periods of time, I can not tell you how many times she has tried to kill her self, even to this day at the age of 65yrs she last attempted it 3yrs ago. She is on so many types of meds that I can't remember which is for what; life was like that until I left home. Growing up like it had its effect. I was a very depressing looking child (or so they say), I loved wearing black and I would leave little notes around the house saying r.i.p with my name on them. I remember 1 year I was woken up by my father's screams, I think I was 13yrs and as I jumped out of bed and made my way down I could see lots of people, they were ambulance people and they were trying to cut my fathers shirt off, he was screaming he was dieing. I could hear my mother crying and saying to the police that she stabbed him 8 or 9 times in the back, the rest of the night is a blur but I had to go and live with an aunt with my sister, my father was in hospital and my mother locked away for attempted murder, my father refused to press charges but the police prosecuted her and she was put away for months then remanded, I don't know for how long as I blocked that part out, again I was forced to go to a different school, away from my parents and friends. Then when I was allowed home, life slipped back to how it was, drink, rows, violence.

I remember my mother on many vacations yelling "I wont stab you, I will slice you from top to bottom". When I was 15yrs my sister left so I felt more alone than ever, but still the fights and the overdosing carried on. At 17 I met a man 10yrs older that I saw as a saviour and I left home. That's when I had my 1st panic attack. I was in the middle of town shopping and I thought I was going to die. They continued till this day, although not often, at 18 I found myself pregnant and in despair, I hadn't been a child so I did not want to be a mother, I tormented myself for weeks about a termination but thank god I didn't have one, but at 8mth my partner disappeared, I had a call 1wk later to say he was miles away and that he will come back when he was ready, that was just the start.

Anyway I went on to have a daughter, and when she was 9mths I found I was pregnant again, I was beside myself, I had a small child and a partner who liked running away for weeks at a time with out telling me, I decided that I couldn't cope. I went out and brought Epsom salts to bring on a miscarriage, but at the last minute I couldn't do it. I told my family and they were all against the pregnancy but I decided I would cope. Then at 3.5mths I had a miscarriage, I was filled with grief and guilt, I saw it as gods way of punishing me for not wanting the baby, I was put on meds. Then me and my partner got married and moved house, then I had my second daughter when my first was 2, maybe to compensate for the baby I lost I don't know, then we moved house again and when my youngest was 3 I received a letter saying my husband was having an affair, the affair had started before we married, the affair was also with another man, my world had caved in and I was sedated for a few days and put on more meds.

In-between I had seen councillor after councillor, cpn after cpn, so this to me was the last straw, my mother was still drinking, and the rows had eased off, as my dad wasn't being her drinking partner. So I felt that some part of my family was normal, and then I decided to kill my self, it was totally pre meditated. I wrote letters to my children, telling them who to trust and turn to in need, I wrote a will and I had secured who would look after my children. But I hit a turning point, I don't know where or how or when, I put it down to someone up there impressing it on me to live. My life suddenly turned around, I was penniless but in a quaint way happy, my weight had fallen to 6 stone where I refused to eat, partly because I didn't want to but I wanted to feed my children, I didn't count, don't get me wrong my family and friends were beside there self, bringing me food parcels, but I had to be ready and eventually I was, I was still seeing shrinks still on meds, still a little unfocussed but alive. I started going out in the pubs and clubs, to be honest I went a little wild, I slept around and would rather go out than eat ect. Then I met a new man who stopped me in my tracks. He moved in and we married 7yrs later. Then at 5yrs old we found out that my daughter was diabetic and would need injecting twice a day, that gutted me more than everything else, I gave birth to her to try to save a failing marriage and to compensate for a child I lost and I had condemned her to a sick unhealthy life, but she showed me that she could cope so I had to show her I could. I still get low I mean it's bread into me, my mother is still drinking, my sister is on meds for the rest of her life, she would never manage without them...ever. Me I gave up on meds long ago. Some times I think that's a big mistake some days I don't. I have seen the dark side of depression, believe me. I have missed out a lot of my life in this story as some things are best left buried, one day they may raise there ugly heads, hopefully not soon. I didn't want my husband or my children to be dragged into my past that is why I refuse meds, I used to watch my mother take hers and 34yrs on she still takes them, to me they never helped her, or she would be like my mates mums...normal. Anyway that's part of my life and me. The moral is that depression is not exclusive to any one... it can get you at any time anywhere, but it can be controlled if not beaten. Good luck to all and their fight for freedom from it.

My name is Charlotte and my story may be a little different than others but I'm sure there are those out there who are feeling the same..I am a 43 year old woman with three children from my first marriage thirteen years.I didn't know anything was wrong except for maybe PMS but as it escalated throughout the years and started causing my mind to think crazy I then got a divorce from a wonderful man that actually took care of me.. What was wrong with that picture? I then started trying to find out who I was and with each relationship, I could never trust that someone really loved me or could be faithful. This has lead to a long road.

I was finally diagnosed with BPD after counceling through my second marriage to yet another wonderful man that couldn't cope with my mood changes. As a child, I was sexually abused by my step-grandfather and I don't know how long it continued and I suppressed it for about twenty years or so. I didn't realize a pattern in my life until I was about thirty two and my relationships kept repeating themselves with distrust and insecurity. I left my second husband after several years of marriage and personal counceling feeling unloved..

There was nothing he could do consistantly to show me.. He was so releived for me to leave but did not want to admit it. I'm in a loving relationship now and the BPD is starting over again.. Although I have been on EffexorXR for about three years now, I feel that something more needs to be done because I don't want to repeat this pattern in my life forever. My fiance' shows me love and support but at least once a week I start to whine about his love and wonder if he really loves me and wants me..I start feeling insecure about our relationship and it is putting a strain on our relationship and probably pushing him away. I can't let this happen now so I want to seek help in coping with this disorder. I feel that I have to for his sake and my peace of mind..

It's like never feeling loved unless someone is constantly showing and that is vertually impossible and too much pressure to put on anyone. I don't want anyone to have to feel this pain of insecurity all the time. It hurts me to admit that I have BPD, but at least there is a name for me..Thank God. But coping with it and trying to get better at the same time is very difficult on my relationship. But today, I am going to start doing what I need to to get better..My second husband always said I live my life through a song and I do believe he is right because I am a singer and I am really emotional about it and I find that when I sing, I feel better but at the end of the day, I am emotionally drained from it also. I

t feels like an emotional hang over.. But it does help..I have recently moved to another town with my fiance' and this in itself is a big strain, missing my family and my confidants and girlfriends and at this time I have no one here but my fiance' so he gets all of my emotions..Bless his heart.. But today, I am going to start getting better on my own and if anyone, anyone, wants to talk to me or if you have any advice, please feel free to email me and let's talk.. It does a body good to have friends to talk to in crisis even if it is just for that brief time of psychosis.. I need you and hopefully you need me..We all want to feel validated and needed so let's help one another..

Lovingly,

Charlotte

I was born December 1st 1964; my given name is Sandra Rosemary Peake. I an youngest girl, and the fourth out of 5 kids. I was born at home in Gt Sankey Warrington Lancashire, as it was then, delivered by a midwife. My parents paid a pound 7 shillings and 6pence for my delivery. Nineteen days after I was born I was was put in Clatterbridge Hospital with a heart murmur. They treated it with digitalis, which is rat poison, I joke and say that they couldn’t get rid of me then, and ya still not gonna, I am too tough. Then I started getting abscesses, had to have some surgically removed. I have a dent in my right buttock cheek!

A month after my 5th birthday, my granddad died. He was the first in a long line of deaths. Eleven close family members and friends died within 10 years, including my mum and brother, from the age of 5-15.

Maternal: Grandfather 1969 Age 5.
Great Auntie Emily 1971 Age 7
Mum Age 10 July 23rd 1975
Granddad May 1976
Best friend age 13 1978
Grandma 1978
Brother April 4 1978 13 .
Grandma age 13 same year as my brother July 23rd 1978
Auntie Lizzie 1978
Uncle Jackie 1978
Auntie Olive: Jan 4th 1979.

People all around me were dying. I have such abandonment issues. You wonder why? I had a hard time dealing with this. When my brother died we were comforting our friends at the memorial service, it was very surreal. My brother had molested me several times. I was angry that he left but relieved cause I knew it wouldn’t happen again.

I didn’t do very well in school because I couldn’t concentrate. I was too busy goofing off. I started taking anti depressants when I was 13. I started overdosing on ativan soon after. I couldn’t handle my life. No one ever knew that I was ODing, or if they did, they didn’t say. I would sleep for days.

During this time I was date raped and continued a relationship with him, I didnt know any better, this is how men treated women, or so I thought

I finally left school, what a miracle that was. I went on government schemes, usually with young kids. I had a great time. For a long period of time I didn’t work, and I applied to go to the US and work as a nanny. They didn’t need me as a nanny, but they did need me to take care of their grandfather who had Alzheimer’s, so that is what I did, it was a few months after my 20th bday. I was here in less than a week because I already had my passport and visa.

It wasn’t until I was here for a while that I realised that my growing up wasn’t normal, that ppl didn’t treat ppl like that, normally. In 1988 I was sent back to England. I started working for an elderly gentleman that pinned me up to a wall and proceeded to rape me. I told his son, who talked me out of going to the authorities, saying that he would have done it to anyone. I bought it. I didn’t think much of myself. And I guess neither did they.

Whilst I was in England I was also writing to my now husband. He asked me in a letter to marry him, I came back to the US. We have been married for 13 years now, and I am deliriously happy, most of the time.

I think that I have been in therapy on and off for 20 years. 4 years ago I was hospitalised because I was suicidal. Then subsequently diagnosed with BPD and Major depression, and later on PTSD. Heck I even worked in psych. There were staff members at the hospital that had been my co-workers, that was really hard. It was like being in a twilight zone episode.

That is my life in a nutshell

Well my story - where do I start...

I was born in 1975 and had no major problems until i was 17. At 17 my father passed away and i was at boarding school.

When i was 19 i got a job that I really enjoyed. I was at this job until i was 23. The it all happened. I lost my job unfairly and couldn't handle all the rejection letters that i got in the post for other jobs. I went and seen my Doctor when things got so bad that i just didn't want to be here anymore. She put my on anti depressants. I tried Prozac first and found that this made me worse. I then went on to try Tripress and this didn't do me any good either. I tried another couple and then my gp decided that i needed specialist help and referred me to a Psychiatrist.

I was then put on to Ciprimal and this was ok for about a year and a half and then it stopped working. My psych added Epilim to the mixture to help me with my moods. This was ok, but i pilled on the weight and become really self conscious and thought that suicide was the only option.

I went to see my Psych and she put me in hospital and this was scary as I thought that the "Mental ward" at the hospital was worse than what it was. I was in hospital for about 3 weeks and came home and felt a lot better.

I was ok for about another year and then all of a sudden i felt like crap.

My psych tried me on aropax and this did ok for another couple of years. I had been in and out of the ward a few times.

At the beginning of this year i found that if i self harmed then i felt better. My psych thought that maybe i needed a change in meds again and tried me on Effexor and i hit rock bottom.

I have just come home from 8 weeks in the psych ward and this was not pleasant. They took me off the effexor and i self harmed prob 7 - 8 times a day. Then they added Seroquel to the mixture and i felt ok. About a week before i came home i asked the dr to re assess things and he did and put my meds up.

I have been home just on 3 weeks and i am still struggling. I have a community nurse that visits me once a week and a counsellor that i am trying to contact as well as seeing a psychologist. This is hard. It has only been in the last 10 weeks that i have been diagnosed with BPD. Before then they say i suffered from depression.

I am trying to learn as much as i can about BPD as i feel that i don't understand it.

So here i am today - on seroquel 175mg twice a day and an extra 50mg during the day if i need it. I have been up and down and have had more bad days than good.

I just wanted to share my story and hope that maybe it will help someone and let them know that there are others out there that are feeling the same.

All my love,

sun-shine.

Growing up with my parents was like living with people who didn’t like us, and didn’t particularly want us around.

From the earliest that I can remember, my mother used aggressive language and unpleasant names to us. One of her favorite phrases was “You’re big enough and ugly enough” which to me meant: you are ugly. I learned early on not to go to my mother with any hurts, because she would laugh, not to ask questions or she would yell at me for being stupid and ignorant. My parents would show admiration for other children, but anything we did or created was criticized, sometimes angrily, or ignored. We were expected to know what to do and how to behave without being taught. If we did something wrong or made a mistake, the first we would know about it was the outburst of rage or slap round the face or both. Often I would be left not knowing what I had done to make them angry. My mother had no qualms about shouting at us or telling us off in public, she would trail me from shop to shop, announcing loudly – “She’s in the doghouse!”. I could not make things better by saying sorry, that would just start throw all over again. Things just had to be left to fester, and then I would hear her yelling that I was sulking. Nothing was ever forgotten, she would tell us off many times for the same thing. Neither of them gave any affection.

I was not shy when I started school, but found myself very lonely. For years I believed I must be basically unlikable. I think now that I found it difficult because I had not had any opportunity to learn to socialize before I started primary school, because we were not terribly well cared for, and because you have to learn your early behavior from your parents; if you have been exposed mainly to unpleasant aggressive behavior, it’s going to be difficult to learn to be pleasant and friendly. Two years were particularly bad: cold severe teachers combined with impaired hearing and short-sightedness and being moved ahead a year so that I was often held up in front of the class for making mistakes or doing badly in tests. But I still preferred being at school to being at home with my mother!

Although I developed some idea of what was likely to set my parents off as I grew up, they were so unpredictable that it was never possible to avoid unexpected bursts of disgust or rage and slaps. If I tried to stand up for myself, I would find myself in more trouble, so I learnt to be passive. I had to give a great deal of help with housework, and nothing I did was good enough or done fast enough. I would be shouted at if I asked for instructions and shouted at if I did something wrong. If there were a decision to be made, it would be wrong whatever I did. If I did to something to an acceptable standard, my mother would still turn her comment into a criticism by saying something like “Miracles will never cease” My mother frequently yelled regret at being a mother, we had no right to be in the home, we were there on sufferance. My sister started getting panic or anxiety attacks when she was 13 and was given Valium. My parents’ reaction was disgust with her, that a daughter of theirs could have mental health problems. I think I survived better because I buried myself in books, or daydreams when reading was not practical.

My mother often reported proudly how she was agony aunt for the girls she taught, but made it clear she did not want me to come to her with any problems. Late teens were very difficult and frustrating. Whenever I started to express an opinion, or let my personality show, she would be sarcastic, or tell me I was wrong or stupid. I had to keep my emotions firmly checked; even appearing cheerful or unhappy led to trouble. Our family doctor found I was underweight at 15 and thought I must be dieting – the truth was that it never occurred to my mother to give us more food as we grew older.

Things did not get any better when I turned 18 and was officially an adult. I kept going by believing that as soon as I left home to go to University, I would live happily ever after! Depression kicked in at the start of my second year. I didn’t want the treatment available at the time, so I was allowed to move back to a hall of Residence. I managed to get a degree and start working. I always felt useless, though, and used having a baby as an excuse to stop working. Later, when I found out about depressive thinking and low self-esteem, I realized that I had not needed to give up my career so easily.

Being at home has not meant being able to avoid making mistakes or inadvertently annoying people, and depression has returned over the last few years. I am taking cipramil and I hope that therapy while I am on anti-depressants will help me overcome all my unhelpful thought and behavior patterns. Finding out as much as I can about depression and the connection with self-esteem and childhood experiences has helped me understand my problems. It also helps to know that I am not alone in my experiences. Talking through our experiences with my sister is helpful, but I don’t feel bitter towards my parents and certainly don’t think that “confronting” them would help; it would just increase the amount of unhappiness all round to no good effect.

I am re-training and was recovering and enjoying my course until the actions of a member of staff put me back into a severe depression. At the moment I am working voluntarily in the field of work I want eventually to qualify in, and I love it so much I am getting better. I think that my self-esteem and self-confidence will always be very fragile, though. My personal future is uncertain but I have made every effort (and it does need determination to behave differently to your children than your parents behaved to you) to bring my children up to feel loved, wanted, respected, valued, and their achievements, gifts and personalities appreciated; and they are great kids.