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Martina's Story

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Hey everyone,

I decided to post my story to you all, so that you would be able to understand me better. ***takes deep breath*** this may be lengthy....

Alrighty... To understand me, you first have to understand my parent’s backgrounds... First, My mom-- She grew up in a very abusive household. She have about 4 or 5 stepfathers, and they all were abusive. They beat her and her mother, brothers, and sisters. One of them shot her pet dog and her pet chickens in front of her face as a young child. One of her brother’s allegedly raped his sister, and another one attempted to hang his other brother. My Mom is depressed, though she says she isn't. She is very sick and in major pain. She takes between 25-40 pills a day, depending on what her doctors prescribe her. About 12 of those pills are pain pills. She has a mystery illness that no doctor can identify.

Now, my Dad... My Dad is a Vietnam Vet. He had post traumatic stress disorder and bipolar disorder, as a result of Vietnam. He was in and out of the mental hospital throughout most of my childhood. Living with a Veteran with mental problems is not easy, as you can imagine. I can recall one time when I had to prevent him from jumping out of the car, because someone cut him off. I remember him beating my mother, I remember him hitting my sister with a hard plastic dolls head on Christmas day. I have very few memories of my dad during this time, but these are the most predominant.

One of my earliest memories has to do with my grandmother. The last man she married had beaten her up so badly, she was almost dead. I remember the broken windows, the blood all over the shards of glass and the white walls. It is a vision that is forever etched in my memory.

As a child, at the tender age of seven, I was already suicidal. I would take the butcher knives out of the kitchen drawer and hold them to my wrist. I have been severely depressed since this age. As I grew, I had a lot of problems controlling my emotions. There were plenty of tears shed throughout my childhood for trivial reasons, but I could not control it. When a teenager my anger problems began. I remember one time slamming my boyfriends (at the time) locker in his face because I was angry at something he said; I cannot recall what.

At 19 I was sexually assaulted. I will say it was by a "friend" of mine, who tried to rape me, and being unsuccessful, chose to do it another way that I will not discuss here.

Now I am 27. I've had seizures since I was two years old. A few times in my adult life, my father and I got into arguments, which once resulted in him choking me, and another time resulted in him striking my head against some concrete. He denies the choking, and says the other time was completely under his control, that he knew he wasn't going to kill me. I find this much worse. For that means he was trying to take control of me, and bring me down.

That is my story. I have borderline personality disorder, chronic depression, and social anxiety disorder. I'm convinced that at one time I myself had some sort of post traumatic stress. I used to have flashbacks of the events above. That’s my story.

Last Updated ( Wednesday, 19 August 2009 18:15 )

Ragdoll's Story

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I was born July 20th 1975 to parents who were too young to have kids. They were selfish and had no idea about raising a child. My mother didn’t even want to get married but her father told her on her wedding day she better not back out of it, she had no choice now.

My father was an avid sports man playing soccer and cricket for the state, and he also dived for the state of Victoria. He played AFL and was asked to join the State league as it was at the time but he enjoyed his alcohol too much and didn’t want to give it all up for something that was of high distinction. he was and still is a train driver. My mum well did nothing except follow him around and be submissive to him and this continued for their marriage.

I was born on the day they were told. Perfect delivery, perfect timing, and the perfect baby. Things i believe were fine, but as i got older things started to happen. My grandfather, maternal grandfather used to come over all the time. He used to have chocolate frogs in the shirt pocket. and he would say if you want it you have to sit on my knee and come and get it. but that is not all I’d get. He used to like to play around while i was on his knee. I WAS ONLY 3, when this started. going to kindergarten at age 4, they knew something was wrong because I wouldn’t let any men near me and id always want to sit on my own when it came to milk and fruit time. if anyone came to sit at my table up id get and move so i was on my own. i was and am a loner nothing has changed.

They sent me to a place called Travencore to be assessed for problems at the Royal Children's Hospital in Melbourne but they said there was nothing wrong with me. I WAS NORMAL!! But the abuse continued from him and then my dad started. He started to hit me and hit me hard, with clenched fists, belts and wooden spoons that he used so hard on my body that they broke. i was only by this stage 5.

my brother had been born and when i was 5 he was 3. no one was allowed to hurt him. NO-ONE. They had to answer to me. Even if meant that i had
the shit beaten out of me I didn’t care I didn’t want my brother getting hurt.

by the age of 6 my parents had broken up many times by now due to my fathers infidelities and alcohol abuse, not because of the abuse dished out to me and the abuse from my grandfather continued but it wasn’t as frequent.

At the age of 8 we moved to a town called Ararat, this was hell, I ended up somehow with a friend of mine becoming victim in a paedophile ring. Being passed around between two guys. One who lived up the road from me and one a friend of my dads who he worked with. The one up the road used to harass the hell out of me peering through my window every night ....tap....tap....tap, turning off the water and electricity scaring the hell out of us all, watching every thing i did, following me everywhere. the other guy at our home, entering my home giving me piggy back rides so he could touch me in places that he wasn’t supposed to and laughing it off like a big joke in front of everyone and threatening me not to tell anyone. Watching me with his creepy eyes everywhere I went. When we would go to there place then get me into a dark room and close the door and pull up my skirt or take down my pants and do nasty things. It never ended. We would go to their block of land for a bbq and he chased me around with a chain saw that was going. My parents thought it was a huge joke. I WAS 9 YEARS OLD. He used to watch me go to the toilet on the property as it was a porter loo with a sheet around a tree for supposed privacy. i was never left alone by him. EVER.

Then my mum left not my dad. I hated her for this. Not only could they not protect me, she had to leave and right when I got my period at 9. I HATED HER FOR THIS. When she came back there was no way I was living with her so I was sent to Melbourne to live with family. I was very angry at 9 and was tormented and took it out on everyone. I threw things and smashed things, screamed, yelled, cried everything. Was taken to another shrink but sat there with my fingers in my ears as everyone lied to me and told me we were going somewhere else special. I returned home but still refused to stay with HER. So I was put in government care. The anger got worse and i trashed my room. I was moved to Ballarat. on the way the two men tormented me telling me the place was like a jail and it had bars on the windows and I would be locked up at night. They were emotionally abusing me. Terrifying a 10 year old girl who had been through hell already. I turned 11 while I was in this place and was raped by two guys while in there. I couldn’t tell anyone because it would have been my fault. no girls in guys rooms and vice versa. I would have been blamed for it. One night my anger got so bad it took 8 men to hold me down to calm down. That’s how bad my anger used to get at that age: 11. By this stage I was now a ward of the state. My parents had no control over me. I was in government hands. But the abuse continued.

Eventually I moved back home at 12, I had no friends i never did, because of my father, because of my mother, because I was always being moved around. There was no stability. I was picked on because I was tall for my age and didn’t fit in. I was the clown of the class and tried to make ppl laugh by making me look silly. I wanted ppls approval so used myself to look silly.

After I moved home, the abuse from my father started again, and this time it was worse, he beat the living shit out of me. I was always unconscious after a beating. The good thing was now though at 14 I had my rowing as my anger outlet and I used it wisely, I rowed twice per day 20km I rowed to get it out and it worked as it got me to national level and out of the house away from him and her every night and every weekend. But I did still cop a beating the last one was when it was 16, he nearly killed me. But he didn’t.

My own self harm started when I was 11, I tried to slit my wrists when I was living with some friends, my parents separated yet again. But i didn’t do it.

I had hurt my back in a serious car smash in 1991 and became addicted to velum and started doing on the pain meds for fun. I had forgotten about all the childhood abuse until I got a phone call from a police man asking me about the paedophile ring in 1993 while I was studying my final year of high school. he ruined that year, as my depression kicked in with a vengeance. Pressuring me to make a statement do this and do that. Do the police ever relies what they are doing to the victims?? I don’t think so.

I finished year 12, and got the courage to make a statement. I did all this in secret not telling any of my family. i then moved to Melbourne again for university studies and my problems with bpd really hit home hard. Every dsm trait began to show up in my character but it was not until 1996 that i was diagnosed. in 2000 i was raped again because i trusted someone I shouldn’t have. i trust to many ppl and that now has to stop because I always get hurt and now if you have read my life story I’m sure you can understand why. Yes you may have had worse but it is all relative and we all deal with our experiences differently. To me I hate my life from what i allowed all those ppl to do to me, whether I was a child or not and had no power to say stop or walk away, I don’t care something could have and should have been done to stop it. It has destroyed any chance of me having any relationships in my life now. I don’t trust anyone i think everyone has a motive to hurt me in some way and that is why I question everything and everyone that asks me something it is nothing about you it is me and I only hope that one day ppl will understand that about me. i hope that all of you who read this will now understand that about me. IT IS NOT ABOUT YOU IT IS ME.

I do so much appreciate this site and I do so hope to high whatever that I haven’t upset, hurt, scared, triggered or turned anyone against me. it always does, but I don’t want to be judged by things that were done to me, I haven’t done any of this to myself. it was those crazy mother f---r’s that did it to me. And now I have to live with their burdens and the ppl around me have to live with my burden as long as they have anything to do with me. if you want my burden than talk to me if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore I fully understand just post it below so I know. I appreciate honesty.

Last Updated ( Wednesday, 19 August 2009 18:15 )

S B's Story

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Ok life story here we go...

Ok you have you ever been told that some people are just born bad seeds? Well I thought I must have been one of those "lucky" ones... I know now, that it is not that we are born "bad seeds", but more the less, unfortunately raised by those who just may have not known what they were doing. Who would have known that one's life and thoughts could be so dramatically different from another? I remember asking myself when I was young, "why am I so different? Why did I get dealt the bad cards? Why is it, that nobody understands me?" I still ask those same questions and I have been me for 23 years. As I move slowly towards treatment I am starting to unfold this human I can finally call me. My life has consisted of many hardships and triumphs, but still some days I cannot explain the unimaginable void that plagues me.

Let me describe myself a little. I am diagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). I am a 23 year old female. I have 2 children. I am in college (law). Right now as I am typing this I feel alright with life, but who knows if that will be the same in lets say 10 minutes. I wanted to tell a story, explain the disease in simple terms, but I just don't know how. My life growing up started with me being born to a single, unwed 16 yr old. She wasn't going to keep me. They had it all worked out for me to placed for adoption, the day I was born my grandmother was told by the hospital staff, that my placement was black-market and that she would have to do the "exchange" off of hospital grounds. She was furious, to make a long story short, my mother decided to keep me, because at the time my grandmother was an alcoholic and she did not want her to raise me. So I don't remember a lot from early childhood. I know that I was moved around a lot from sitter to sitter so that my mom could go to school and work etc. I was sexually abused many times growing up buy multiple people, the worst was my great grandfather, I told my mom what was going on, but at the time I think she didn't want to admit it and told me to forget and forgive. So knowing that I would have to go back there time after time, it happened and I said nothing just letting it go on as my mother had advised me was the correct thing to do. I don't remember much or choose not to, but the one thing I remember is always getting anything I wanted from the store as a way to not tell anyone about this little "secret" So I think in life that has impacted my image of men. This I believe has been my problem throughout life, I have either let people get too close and take advantage of me or I would show no affection at all.

I was a troubled child always getting kicked out of school. I had behavioral issues in almost every aspect of my life and no authority figure to put me in my place. Anytime I was told what to do, I looked at that person and did what I wanted. My mom had broken my trust from as long as I remember, and I'm pretty sure it began the day I was born. I see now that many of my actions were a way to seek attention. No one could control me. I was violent, going into violent rages for no apparent reason and as a small child I could remember thinking terrible things when I would get angry. I had many friends, but only kept a few close. I could remember that I always wanted to be in control; I manipulated people and had no regard for anyone's feelings including my own. My mom then moved me to a smaller town in 6th grade, I hated her for that (which most kids would) I could remember the day we were packing and I started to unpack all of the boxes she came and yelled at me and kicked me over and over until, she wanted me to say I would repack them, in my eyes I would take the abuse anytime over doing what someone wanted me to do. So I eventually managed to get up and find my way to my bike, I rode to my friends house and said I would never go home, but I did of course. So we moved and life got worse, I did anything I could to be a bad kid, I grew up everyday hearing the person I was to call "mom" say she hated me, everybody hates me, why did I have to be born and why did my grandma ruin everything at the hospital. She would have me baby-sit my sister everyday morning and night, because she could not afford daycare. She would not come home from work most nights until 9 or 10pm. I had no life I had no summer vacations, I had nothing. But in a way I sort of felt responsible for my sister and wanted her never to face what I did. As much as I hated babysitting everyday, I did not abuse my sister or treat her badly. When my mom would send us to my grandma and grandpas I watched and protected her like a hawk hoping she would not be abused. By the time I was 12 I had been involved with the law for running away, drinking, drugs, assaults, arson and many, many other things. I was in treatment by 13 I went to about 6 or 7 different facilities. Just before I turned 14 I came back home, I thought things would be good between my mom and I, although she still hated me, because by now she had lost her house and almost everything she owned "because of my behaviors and selfishness". I had no friends by the time I came back, everyone was so different and all hated me because of the things I had done to them when I would get angry.

I started at the regular high school and things seemed to be going alright for me, I found a new boyfriend and focused my life around him. A few months later he broke up with me, I went back into depression attempted to kill myself, got back into drugs and alcohol and back into my patterns. I left that school and went back into the alternative school. I was extremely promiscuous and always felt like if they didn't treat me the right way, or give me something; it was like I felt they owed me things for sleeping with them. (A behavior I now contribute to the sexual abuse). I was pregnant at 14 and a mother at 16. I was kicked out of my house and because my probation officer told my mom it was illegal to kick me out, moved back in. We did nothing but fight, over and over. My baby was born and we moved out when I was 16. When I was 4 months pregnant I started dating J. He was my everything or so I thought. It all started as small put downs to lower my self esteem, he worked on me for a while and pretty soon had a pretty strong hold on my self image. I hated myself and he would tell me over and over if I ever left him that I would be sure to end up alone or dead. It didn't matter I loved this man. He was constantly in and out of jail. Early on he was never physically abusive but it slowly grew and grew. By the time I was 18 I was pregnant with my son D, J and I had broken up and gotten back together probably 100 times by now and his abuse was more violent now. The police would make visits and I would lie to them because I feared what might happen if I didn't. He was stabbed in Jan 2000. I had hoped he would die; they were giving him his last rights when I arrived, but like always he survived. The abuse was worse and worse. D was born and the abuse seemed to subside. J ended up going to jail for about a year.

During that time, I was happy and then I turned to drugs. I did ecstasy for about 7 month's straight everyday, all day. I had people convinced it was therapeutic for me and that it was a good thing. If you have ever taken ecstasy you're probably asking how she lived on that. Simple it provided me with happiness and although there were many negative side effects nothing was better than feeling happy. I quit and never have been the same. When J got out we got back together and the abuse got worse and worse. I couldn't hide it from people now, because he didn't care where he left the marks now. During this time I had seeked counseling for anger mgmt because I figured it was my fault went and saw a therapist at a clinic where I spent many of my juvenile years after a few sessions and tests, I was told that he couldn't treat me and that I would need to see someone who specializes more in personality disorders. I was told BPD and just never really understood what he was trying to say I had, but as far as I new, it was someone I had put trust into and they were giving up on me too. So I just never did anything with the diagnoses after that. I eventually ended up in the hospital and J and I haven't been together since. I recently started investigating BPD and what it was. After reading up on it and hearing examples from other people, I was shocked. OMG there are people out there who see things the way I do. Exaggerated, paranoid, impossible images and thoughts, everyday of my life I woke up and hated myself wondering when it would finally be my turn to die. Never understanding why I just couldn't make friends, taking everything so personally and not doing normal life activities. The paranoia I felt was like an uncontrollable monster keeping me back from finding me, knowing me.

I don't think I ever loved myself or even knew who I may have been. In the last year my life has spun around, I went on a road trip that changed my life, left the man who abused me for 6 years, was laid off from my job (the job I thought I would be at forever), started back at school, regained some of my dignity through it all, I finally can look into the mirror and see who is looking back, I finally for once in my life love and care about myself. I am learning to teach my children what affection is and really learning about my little wonders that I created. Everyday is an up hill struggle, trying to find the correct DBT group. I still just do not fit in and who knows maybe I never will, but at least I know that finally knowing that this disorder has a name, I feel like my life is finally just beginning.


Last Updated ( Wednesday, 19 August 2009 18:14 )

Snowball's Story

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Growing up with my parents was like living with people who didn’t like us, and didn’t particularly want us around.

From the earliest that I can remember, my mother used aggressive language and unpleasant names to us. One of her favorite phrases was “You’re big enough and ugly enough” which to me meant: you are ugly. I learned early on not to go to my mother with any hurts, because she would laugh, not to ask questions or she would yell at me for being stupid and ignorant. My parents would show admiration for other children, but anything we did or created was criticized, sometimes angrily, or ignored. We were expected to know what to do and how to behave without being taught. If we did something wrong or made a mistake, the first we would know about it was the outburst of rage or slap round the face or both. Often I would be left not knowing what I had done to make them angry. My mother had no qualms about shouting at us or telling us off in public, she would trail me from shop to shop, announcing loudly – “She’s in the doghouse!”. I could not make things better by saying sorry, that would just start throw all over again. Things just had to be left to fester, and then I would hear her yelling that I was sulking. Nothing was ever forgotten, she would tell us off many times for the same thing. Neither of them gave any affection.

I was not shy when I started school, but found myself very lonely. For years I believed I must be basically unlikable. I think now that I found it difficult because I had not had any opportunity to learn to socialize before I started primary school, because we were not terribly well cared for, and because you have to learn your early behavior from your parents; if you have been exposed mainly to unpleasant aggressive behavior, it’s going to be difficult to learn to be pleasant and friendly. Two years were particularly bad: cold severe teachers combined with impaired hearing and short-sightedness and being moved ahead a year so that I was often held up in front of the class for making mistakes or doing badly in tests. But I still preferred being at school to being at home with my mother!

Although I developed some idea of what was likely to set my parents off as I grew up, they were so unpredictable that it was never possible to avoid unexpected bursts of disgust or rage and slaps. If I tried to stand up for myself, I would find myself in more trouble, so I learnt to be passive. I had to give a great deal of help with housework, and nothing I did was good enough or done fast enough. I would be shouted at if I asked for instructions and shouted at if I did something wrong. If there were a decision to be made, it would be wrong whatever I did. If I did to something to an acceptable standard, my mother would still turn her comment into a criticism by saying something like “Miracles will never cease” My mother frequently yelled regret at being a mother, we had no right to be in the home, we were there on sufferance. My sister started getting panic or anxiety attacks when she was 13 and was given Valium. My parents’ reaction was disgust with her, that a daughter of theirs could have mental health problems. I think I survived better because I buried myself in books, or daydreams when reading was not practical.

My mother often reported proudly how she was agony aunt for the girls she taught, but made it clear she did not want me to come to her with any problems. Late teens were very difficult and frustrating. Whenever I started to express an opinion, or let my personality show, she would be sarcastic, or tell me I was wrong or stupid. I had to keep my emotions firmly checked; even appearing cheerful or unhappy led to trouble. Our family doctor found I was underweight at 15 and thought I must be dieting – the truth was that it never occurred to my mother to give us more food as we grew older.

Things did not get any better when I turned 18 and was officially an adult. I kept going by believing that as soon as I left home to go to University, I would live happily ever after! Depression kicked in at the start of my second year. I didn’t want the treatment available at the time, so I was allowed to move back to a hall of Residence. I managed to get a degree and start working. I always felt useless, though, and used having a baby as an excuse to stop working. Later, when I found out about depressive thinking and low self-esteem, I realized that I had not needed to give up my career so easily.

Being at home has not meant being able to avoid making mistakes or inadvertently annoying people, and depression has returned over the last few years. I am taking cipramil and I hope that therapy while I am on anti-depressants will help me overcome all my unhelpful thought and behavior patterns. Finding out as much as I can about depression and the connection with self-esteem and childhood experiences has helped me understand my problems. It also helps to know that I am not alone in my experiences. Talking through our experiences with my sister is helpful, but I don’t feel bitter towards my parents and certainly don’t think that “confronting” them would help; it would just increase the amount of unhappiness all round to no good effect.

I am re-training and was recovering and enjoying my course until the actions of a member of staff put me back into a severe depression. At the moment I am working voluntarily in the field of work I want eventually to qualify in, and I love it so much I am getting better. I think that my self-esteem and self-confidence will always be very fragile, though. My personal future is uncertain but I have made every effort (and it does need determination to behave differently to your children than your parents behaved to you) to bring my children up to feel loved, wanted, respected, valued, and their achievements, gifts and personalities appreciated; and they are great kids.


Last Updated ( Wednesday, 19 August 2009 18:14 )

Tarsha's Story

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Well my story - where do I start...

I was born in 1975 and had no major problems until i was 17. At 17 my father passed away and i was at boarding school.

When i was 19 i got a job that I really enjoyed. I was at this job until i was 23. The it all happened. I lost my job unfairly and couldn't handle all the rejection letters that i got in the post for other jobs. I went and seen my Doctor when things got so bad that i just didn't want to be here anymore. She put my on anti depressants. I tried Prozac first and found that this made me worse. I then went on to try Tripress and this didn't do me any good either. I tried another couple and then my gp decided that i needed specialist help and referred me to a Psychiatrist.

I was then put on to Ciprimal and this was ok for about a year and a half and then it stopped working. My psych added Epilim to the mixture to help me with my moods. This was ok, but i pilled on the weight and become really self conscious and thought that suicide was the only option.

I went to see my Psych and she put me in hospital and this was scary as I thought that the "Mental ward" at the hospital was worse than what it was. I was in hospital for about 3 weeks and came home and felt a lot better.

I was ok for about another year and then all of a sudden i felt like crap.

My psych tried me on aropax and this did ok for another couple of years. I had been in and out of the ward a few times.

At the beginning of this year i found that if i self harmed then i felt better. My psych thought that maybe i needed a change in meds again and tried me on Effexor and i hit rock bottom.

I have just come home from 8 weeks in the psych ward and this was not pleasant. They took me off the effexor and i self harmed prob 7 - 8 times a day. Then they added Seroquel to the mixture and i felt ok. About a week before i came home i asked the dr to re assess things and he did and put my meds up.

I have been home just on 3 weeks and i am still struggling. I have a community nurse that visits me once a week and a counsellor that i am trying to contact as well as seeing a psychologist. This is hard. It has only been in the last 10 weeks that i have been diagnosed with BPD. Before then they say i suffered from depression.

I am trying to learn as much as i can about BPD as i feel that i don't understand it.

So here i am today - on seroquel 175mg twice a day and an extra 50mg during the day if i need it. I have been up and down and have had more bad days than good.

I just wanted to share my story and hope that maybe it will help someone and let them know that there are others out there that are feeling the same.

All my love,


Last Updated ( Wednesday, 19 August 2009 18:13 )
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