Phoenix Fights

Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2016….




So I had an appointment with a shrink today.

Naturally I was a little trepidatious given that this man does not know me, and I’m used to being under the comfortable, familiar clutches of Aunty C (my counsellor of 12 years) who knows me inside out, but to be honest, I wasn’t too scared.

My GP, Dr B ( said she was sending me to see him about changing my meds because I’m so ‘flat’, so I expected a rudimentary National Health ‘tick the box’ paper to  complete, a bit of generalising and a new prescription to replace my beloved Sertraline, not something I was keen on, but I owed it to her to go along and consider it.

At least she had given up on my having any more CBT sessions.

But as it turns out, I got a whole lot more for my taxes than I had anticipated.

I arrived at the surgery and sat down amongst a variety of vulnerable, twitchy, erratically behaving oddly dressed individuals and my heart went out to them.  And as one man chatted with himself beratingly, a girl stared at her feet fixedly, and a lady came over to me, smiling shyly at me as she lifted her jumper to flash me a generous smooth skinned belly, I though to myself ‘I really have nothing to complain about.  My problems are infinitesimal when compared to some of these poor, lost souls’ and I smiled, nodding approvingly at her as my name was called and I got up and headed for Treatment Room 2.

My drug dealer’s name was something along the lines of Liberace Archibald Splink, which made me smile as it brought to mind some batty, flamboyant, aristocratic gent, a cross perhaps of Tom Baker’s ‘Doctor Who’, Lord Bath and Uncle Monty from ‘Withnail & I’, so when I was confronted with a rather serious looking silver fox of a chap in a pinstripe suit it took me by surprise.

He smiled politely, shook my hand, asked me to sit and asked why I was there and what I wanted from him.

I shifted rather uncomfortably and told him what I thought he knew, that I had been sent to him to review my meds.

He nodded vigorously and jotted something down, then asked if I minded if he asked me a few questions.

I nodded my assent.

Cue an hour of being expertly and forensically grilled about all the hideous, painful, shaming things that happened in my life that got me to where I am today.

Twice I choked back tears, and twice he offered me tissues.  I took one, and dabbed my eyes furiously, holding everything in with grim determination, refusing to fall apart in this manky office, feeling ridiculously caught out and ambushed.

Turns out I was the fox and he was the hunter.

God I’m stupid; as if a hugely qualified psychiatrist/therapist would be doling out medicines for a GP.  Had I bothered to do some research I might have been better prepared.

He then gave me the thing that Aunty C has always disapproved of, and that I’ve always feared.

His diagnosis.

Emotionally unstable personality disorder.

He told me to look it up, let it ‘sink in’ then he’d organise some therapy for me in the new year.

I staggered out of that surgery dazed, chock full of unshed tears, (probably looking a little more at home in that waiting room than I did an hour previous), and fled home, where I lit the fire and crouched there, bathing in the warmth of the flames, the name going round and round in my head like a hamster on a wheel.

I then googled it.

Bit of a euphemism it turns out.  It’s the politically correct term for Borderline Personality Disorder.

And as I read about it on Wikipedia, I realised that it fitted.

It all fitted, all 9 diagnostic criteria associated with the disorder.

Fucking hell.

My favourite part however is how TV and the film industry have portrayed it, via characters such as:

The mad stalker woman in ‘Play Misty for Me’

Kaysen in ‘Girl, Interrupted’

The bonkers flatmate in ‘Single White Female’

Alex in ‘Fatal Attraction’

Tony Soprano’s evil mother, Livia

Darth fucking Vadar.

Jesus Christ.  No wonder men were afraid of me.

Right now, I feel like an overfilled jar of boiling hot jam that might burst at any given moment.

And I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I am so ashamed.

I know I won’t be telling anyone about this.  Some things are too damning to share, even with your loved ones.

And I was judging my psycho friend!  Oh she would laugh her ass off at this one….

I don’t know how I’m going to get rid of this feeling.

So very, very shocked.

Looks like I have my work cut out for 2014.



  1. Feel for you. Have some thoughts, but not for the blog. if you’re interested. No worries if you aren’t.

    It’s not the end of the world. Unconditional love for you at this end.

  2. Bullshit to that stupid psych. This diagnosis is doled out to anyone they feel isn’t progressing as they want them to. I’ll be fighting your corner, Sista. Get yourself a second opinion and call him out on his bullshit if it has upset you this much. big love x

    • I think it upset me because I recognise a lot of it, albeit some of the behaviours (e.g. overt anger) are now mainly in the past. I don’t think he thinks I’m beyond help, he recognised that I operated ‘normally’ before this and thinks I can do again. I just need some help to make me get out there again. But don’t worry, if anything looks or smells like bullshit, I’ll take him down EIPD stylee 😉 x

      • Think about it though. You can’t have a non-fixable personality disorder but not have it before and then have it and then be cured again. You’re Sista. You’re not his lab rat. I’m going to keep writing about this stupid misconceived diagnosis until someone pro takes notice, and I’ll join you in taking this dude down if he upsets you again 😉 x

  3. I hate being diagnosed. I made a choice when my drug pusher diagnosed me with Bipolar II. So I Googled it. All I knew was that Bipolar was Bipolar and extremely hard to manage. I decided to talk about it, to anyone who is curious. I feel like I have as much to contribute as the next person–it’s just a little harder at times. If they want to avoid me for fear of me being contagious–who’s crazier?

  4. Now wait a minute…you had one session with a pdoc and he’s already given you a diagnosis? That’s insanity.

  5. Why does that sound familiar…
    Oh sis, now I like you even more. It will sink in. But you can deal with it. I know you can.

    • Ha, you’re the first person to make me laugh since that frigging appointment! not the best news I’ve had in 2013 but I guess if it’s accurate then at least I’ll get help. Looking like group therapy might be on the cards, so more blogging material! yay…I think?! x

  6. Pingback: I AM THE ONE WHO KNOCKS #BPD #EUPD | Phoenix Fights

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