I sometimes think that because I was a teenager in the seventies, I got away with my BPD stuff without getting into too much trouble from the outside . . . . In my twenties, in grad school? Oh, a bit worse. As I entered the working world and rose into positions with more and more responsibility and more and more stress? Well, definitely worse. Then, in my mid-forties, two very young children (and just getting to get more than a couple of hours of sleep a night without having to get up for kids), peri-menopause and a couple of other things, BAM!, REALLY, REALLY bad. HUGE disaster and I went down in fairly spectacular flames. Now? I try hard, despite the old saying, to hide my light under a bushel--as in, I live a very small life after three bouts of DBT over a seven year period. Disaster control has come mostly in the form of "staying out of other people's way" so that I don't have to deal with how emotional and cognitively confused it turns out that I actually am in interactions with other people. I largely manage my potential anger/rage/destructive behavior by avoiding social interactions. While this means that I am a MUCH more responsible and considerate person to be around, when I am with people, I am also much more depressed, for much longer periods. So, do the symptoms fade as we age? In my experience, sort of. None of them are gone. Many of them are much more subdued. Depression is much, much more of a problem. For me, "Acceptance" is an incredibly important philosophy and skill to cultivate. And, oooo-eeeeeeeeeeee, did I ever battle it, tooth and nail. I wanted to FIX things. But, it hasn't worked out that way. It probably doesn't work that way for anyone, even those who are mentally healthy. But of all the medications I take, acceptance is the biggest pill I have to swallow. It sticks in my throat every day. Just like the other pills, though, if I don't take them, I don't stay well, and I have no buffer against the illness at all.

This is not to say that in all these years there have not been wonderful, wonderful moments that I would die for, just as readily as I there are times that I would die if it wouldn't be such a hassle. An example: My youngest daughter came in the door, home from school, and announced, "It's National Star Wars Day!" Me: "Really??" Her: "Yeah! MAY the FOURTH be with you!!!" Ahhhh. Now that? That I can remember every day--not just the stupid joke, which I love, but the glee in her voice at "catching" me, and the joy that she takes in our relationship.

I never dreamed my life would be anything like this. We're out here in some void, but the good thing about growing older with this illness is that when the bottom drops away and even gravity seems to fail me, there are these blindingly bright stars, I guess of love. Sometimes, just of beauty. Just accidents in the world, or maybe blessings. I can't answer that.