The battlefield that I walk into every morning is the intersection of borderline personality disorder (BPD) and depression. Borderline and depression have a way of casting a perpetual gray over even the most vibrant moments of life. Imagine a fog that settles in your mind, distorting your thoughts and sapping the color from your experiences. Borderline PD adds an unpredictable flair to the mix. Being borderline and depressed is like being stuck in a vast ocean of emptiness. It's hard remembering what feeling content was like before the gray set in.

People with borderline personality disorder often have issues with feelings of rejection. In fact, the feeling of rejection is the thing that gets under my skin the most. With borderline personality disorder (BPD), even the tiniest microexpression can make me feel like I'm going off the deep end. Now, there's this one time that sticks out like a sore thumb when it comes to feeling rejected -- the classic "no text back" scenario.

I've made it my mission to understand splitting and borderline personality disorder, given the profound shame that often follows when I split on my loved ones. If you have borderline personality disorder (BPD), you might know that splitting is a defense mechanism where we perceive people, including those we deeply care about, as either entirely good or entirely bad.

It's important to manage boundaries in borderline personality disorder. I'm someone living with borderline personality disorder (BPD), and I've got a tendency to enmesh with my loved ones. Enmeshment in relationships refers to a dysfunctional pattern of relating where boundaries between individuals are unclear, and personal identities become blurred or fused together. In enmeshed relationships, individuals may have difficulty distinguishing their own thoughts, feelings, and needs from those of their partner or family member. In my case, my BPD causes me to fear rejection the closer I get to someone. The temptation to blend in and go with the flow just to secure acceptance is real. But here's where managing boundaries in BPD swoops in to save the day.

In the past, my trauma therapist has had to give me a reality check about over-identifying with borderline personality disorder (BPD). To be honest, I needed that wake-up call. Not every unpleasant thought or emotional dip is automatically a BPD symptom. It's made me realize the pitfalls of getting too wrapped up in identifying with my mental health issues.

Emotional resilience when a relationship ends is important if challenging. As someone with borderline personality disorder (BPD), the ending of relationships feels no short of an existential nightmare. The grief isn't just about losing someone; it's about losing the version of me that I molded to fit within that love story. Post-breakup, I feel like I'm looking at my reflection in a funhouse mirror. What stares back is distorted, confusing, and sometimes downright unrecognizable.

Borderline personality disorder (BPD) affects me in many ways. If you really know me -- we're talking roommates and family -- you'd catch onto the petulance, those bursts of childlike fury that bubble up out of nowhere. On the outside, borderline personality disorder has me spinning with emotions, intense reactions, and a sprinkle of unpredictability. However, what seems to be a mood affliction is actually a batch of survival tactics that collectively comprise the framework of my personality. Read on to learn how BPD really affects me.

The borderline personality disorder (BPD) favorite person dynamic is a double-edged sword, offering deep connection but also leading to emotional volatility and a struggle for independence. For me, having a favorite person means elevating someone to a pedestal, be it a best friend, lover, or family member. It's an all-consuming experience that can leave me feeling both exhilarated and overly vulnerable.

I've got this oddly specific fear of abandonment at night. It's bizarre, but when my partner dozes off before me, I feel like a lost child, abandoned at the mall. I'm aware it's not rational; my partner is right there, snug beside me, and I'm a grown adult who's tackled the mall solo countless times. But that lingering fear of desertion from my past creeps in as if it were determined to sabotage the present.

I've encountered an unexpected companion in borderline personality disorder (BPD) recovery. That companion is grief. It's like saying goodbye to that fun (and toxic) best friend who used to call the shots in my life. Embracing the unknown and forging my own trail is a bit intimidating, especially when BPD's been riding shotgun for way too long. Grief in BPD recovery is making itself known.