I am feeling, right now, the only feeling that feels worse than living with my BPD – having to watch a dear, dear friend go through it herself. We thought she was on the ‘up’; currently on a Section 3 (6 month section) but on leave from hospital, living with her boyfriend, enjoying her dogs, and being ‘well’. Today she was re-admitted to hospital. I won’t go into it too much as it isn’t my story to tell, but I stupidly went on her blog, which she doesn’t realise I have access to (and actually only came across by chance). I wanted to make sure I knew what was really going on, and how I could help her. I will regret it for a long time.
She had posted a picture of herself shooting up, with a needle in her arm, full of blood. Of course, it doesn’t shock me. It just makes me want to jump in the car, drive up there and hold her tight. I don’t know how to help her. If I could take all the positivity I am able to feel, place it in a box and give it to her to keep, I would. It hurts to see her do this to herself, and further re-enforces the fact that I must get better; not just for myself, but to make sure that my friends never, ever feel the way I do right now, and so that I can be well enough to help other people.
I am sick with worry. She has taken so many attempts on her life that I am sure the next one will be her last, even if it isn’t intentional. There is only so much a body can take. When I have my own house I can invite her to come to stay and take care of her myself, even if it’s just for a few days, but it’s just not possible at the moment, living with my parents. They are sensitive to ‘mental health’ issues and particularly drug use and I can’t afford to rock the boat.
I just hope that someday she will see the light, like I am starting to. I love her so much.