I had one of the most cathartic, productive, healing therapy sessions I’ve ever had. Sometimes I leave therapy feeling warm and fuzzy, sometimes I leave feeling challenged, sometimes I leave feeling conflicted. This evening was warm, cathartic, intense, and comforting. I’ve been working with the same therapist for a little over two years now, I feel safe with her, and tonight I was able to let myself swim around in the safety I’ve built up with her without having to fear what her response may be. I told her I’ve been injuring myself and about that. We went through the usual ” what is it doing for me” reflections, some other things. I have this fear I’ll end up like this girl I was in treatment with, we’ll call her Angela. She was my roommate for a while there, she has been in treatment centers all over the country since age 12, she’s in her mid twenties now. Her whole life is rehab and I feel so sad for her. She’ll go through brief periods of what looks like recovery only to be on the verge of being released and then make a suicide attempt, or self harm, or act out in some way that will keep her there. I feel so sad for her, I sometimes feel like she is hopeless, a “lifer” from Girl, Interrupted-and also, I am jealous at times. It’s sometimes easier to be sick, people take care of you, people pay attention to you. It’s what she knows, it’s what I know, it’s part of an identity. An identity I’m leaving pieces of behind and getting new pieces. I’m scared to be like her, to be doomed to a lifelong cycle of rehabs and stays in psych wards. I told my therapist this this evening, because Angela is someone we both know. She reassured me that I am not like Angela. She read me this poem someone wrote and it hit me in my heart. It was everything I feel but I haven’t been able to find the words for. Scared of getting better, scared of staying sick, and all the joy and mess in between. I told her how I’m ashamed to have the BPD diagnosis, how I would much rather be labeled an alcoholic, how I hate how I act sometimes on impulse, with people I love. She asked me to describe to her what it feels like for me and I did, somehow I was more honest than I’ve ever been before and it helped me. There was a moment of healing, can’t explain it. I’ve been so sad and feeling empty lately, I don’t know the words to describe it. It’s an achy, gnawing pain in my insides and I can’t shake it. Oh, and another thing she asked me was if I wanted to stop injuring right now. My answer to that is I’m not sure, not really, but I know I SHOULD. I’ve been listening to an older Christmas song by Amy Grant that comforts me, it reminds me of mom singing it in church. I’ve had it on repeat for days, it’s like a hug in a song.