This time last week I was still flying high from the joyous celebrations of my book’s official launch. I’m glad to say that although I have come down (a little), I have not come crashing down – rather; I am still gliding back to reality and normality (my version of it) gently and calmly.
At the launch in Oxford Waterstones I was joined by friends, family, professionals and publishers – all of whom have, in some way, played a part in me being where – and who – I am today. It was as much a celebration of these relationships as it was the publication of my book. These are the people who have believed in me when I could not believe in myself, who had hope for me when I was (in every sense) hopeless, who have taken me for who I am – no questions asked, and who have loved me when I was at my worst and surely was unlovable. They have been my strength when I have been weakness personified, my light when I was suffocating in the dark, my reason when there was no other reason to keep fighting. And these were the people I wanted to celebrate alongside and to thank for their part in my journey.
The morning after the launch I woke early, still buzzing and reeling with excitement, and still there was the niggling threat of gloom hovering over me and trying to find a way to dampen my spirits: the party was over; the unlikely gathering of an eclectic mix of wonderful people had been dispersed and I would never again experience the unique sense of pride, confidence and joy that I had at the book launch.
So often for me an extreme high is followed by an unrelenting low. It is as though a good day gives me a taste for something that I never quite fully experience, and merely tasting it leaves me dissatisfied and hungry for something that seems close enough, but actually entirely out of reach. A day where I feel ‘special’ is invariably followed by a day where I am back to being a nobody – about as unspecial as they come, and I feel foolish for believing any different.
The book launch was in some ways no different than any other high, with the risk of of crashing back down to earth a real possibility. Usually the memory of the night would have disappeared already like sand through my fingers, in typical borderline fashion (if it’s not happening now it might as well have never happened, kind of thing). But on this occasion, the unique sense of pride, confidence and joy is precisely what is keeping the gloom and despondency at bay, and the memory is, so far, alive and well.
For me it is a huge accomplishment that I am able to look back on such a great night without feeling like I have somehow been cheated of the fullness of what it was meant to be. It was, for me, a complete experience and against all odds I have managed to maintain a balanced perspective from then till now.
For me it is proof that colour can exist within the black and white thinking that is so inherent in BPD. It is something in between the all-or-nothing that my world generally consists of. It is a first for me that I have drifted softly down to earth after such a big high, and I have not crashed.
One small step; one giant leap for a borderliner!