I hate this disorder. I hate having it. I hate that the description fits me like a well made glove. I hate the stigma attached to it. I hate the way ppl assume I'm a horrible person because of it.

Therapy and meds have brought me a long ways towards recovery, but not close enough, and definitely not fast enough. Starting to be able to develop patience and recognize impulsivity b4 it strikes. I'm working on establishing both goals and boundaries for myself. I have learned a new hobby. I feel proud of my strength to defy my illness, but so often I am discouraged by the mere fact that I will always fight this for the rest of my life. That thought alone stops me from making progress on a regular basis. As if my brain says, 'if you can't ever really repair it, why try? It's inevitable that you will always fight and usually fail." I hate my brain, the chemicals in it, and my past, creating the perfect recipe for this disasterous disorder.