Thursday, 10 August 2017

The Tin Man Of Oz - How Too Much Heart Brings Disorder







The Tin Man Of Oz

This page is part of a project arising from a course at ReCoCo.

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Well here's something I'm having to deal with.  At this point it's not a medically re-diagnosed certainty.  At this point it's only a high probability.  It's not something I want.  On the contrary, I don't want it in the slightest.  I wish it not to be true.  The Wizard can wave his wand and it can be taken away from me.

But life doesn't work like that.  Dealing with this isn't about magic wands.  It's not about some miracle tablet provided by a psychiatrist.  It's not even about a dietary change or making a simple lifestyle change.  Dealing with this is going to be a lot of hard work.

So here it is.  Here's a truth about me.  The shrinks told me about this many years ago but I didn't listen.  On balance, not listening was a fair tactic because the shrinks often got it wrong.  They got this one right though.  Unfortunately.

And now, only now, am I looking at it honestly, accepting it, and asking the question, "What can I do about it?"

I wrote these words a week ago in a spare few minutes during a day with the autistic theatre company.  They began in haiku syllable form but by the end my fives and sevens were more sixes and eights.

It's not that I don't have a heart.  It's that I have what feels like too much of one.  And I've never learned to deal with that.  Innate emotional sensitivity combined with my childhood.



This is the result.  This is my confession.

Between love and hate,
Despair and terror chain me
On the borderline.

Each moment.  Tick.  Tock.
Tick.  Hold me close.  This second.
Tock.  Just walk away.

They told me the truth.
And I, misunderstanding,
Refused to listen.

Couldn't be bound by
Words. Just diagnostic labels
And accusations.

Forced to look again:
Six tests, expert testimonies.
I have BPD.

Crying on the edge.
Stuck between black neurosis and
Darker psychoses.

In voices, visions,
Infernal cyanide thoughts.
Abandonment screams.

In hard word and deed
I believe you'll stay, you'll go.
Cling.  Push you away.

There's hope.  Not CBT,
But DBT for BPD,
Tackling my anguish.

A slow, bright mountain;
A difficult salvation,
Healing to strive for.

I'll do this.  No choices.
Can't go on the way I am.
Not quite knowing me.

I have BPD.
No, that's not a death sentence.
It's a new beginning.

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