
I'm sorry if this is not the right place for this question or if it doesn't belong here. i see the posts here in my feed everyday and it's nice to relate to them,, even if it's terrible.  i recently started good therapy with a really good person, had BPD2 mentioned for the first time and in that same week my girlfriend said something a long the same lines (I just thought I felt one of two ways, dying or losing my mind (but with upward momentum!), like it was normal). I'm super fucking anxious literally all of the time and I have tried many poor methods to calm down. my body language is ridgid and I don't breathe because I'm holding it. uh lastly I was diagnosed with adhd which is frustrating because I'm 31.  

I don't think I exhibited external 'fidgity annoying kid' signs that they were looking for in the 90s, and just sort of sucked my way through life, leaving a trail of wallets and debit cards and everything behind me. I don't look disorganized, I contain my disaster areas and even tidy them, but I don't know where anything goes or how to sort them (I'm thinking specifically of my workshop but it's everything). My mind is disorganized. I'm impulsive but again in ways that don't draw attention to myself. I've done some really terrible stuff to myself, some really stupid felony worthy crimes, obviously it all just adds to my list of embarrassment and guilt. and I've settled on stick and poke tattoos as acceptable version of self harm.

i didn't start any therapy until last year, and it was okay but empty. my kind uncle reached out and was like we all really care about you, but you are like an oak tree whose roots are rotting away. Try CBT please. I needed to hear this, like right then, because I was neglecting and starving myself to death and very close to hanging it up.  I come from one of the families where emotions aren't allowed and everyone puts on a good dishonest face. so like as covid started I had weekly phone case with a psych who I didn't trust and it stalled a few times.

if you're still with me, I tried another doctor who put me on a really high dose of zoloft after one visit and if anything it made me want to live less. all of the feelings are better than none of the feelings for me. i just weaned off last week and while it suppressed some things, I felt more dead inside than ever and my manic stages I would seek out drugs or anything to not come back down. 

i almost gave up but somehow found a mental health clinic five miles from my house and I clicked with my doctor immediately. the sessions are in person and I don't like that I cry and can't control by body language. she has really pushed me to like, find what happened in my life that may have led me this way. when I told her I was raped by my babysitter from the ages of 5 - 7, she was like 'wow, we were missing something but this connects the pieces. I'm seeing a prescriber in April and I have to hope the the weekly, in person sessions should give them a really big advantage in what works and what doesn't. i feel like this new therapy had opened a new part of my mind, where I think things through, like 'why do I think I'm shitty person', and the goal is to factually show that I'm not. I'm not there, my sense of self seems to slip away with each mask I discard the older I get and I wonder if any sense of self were just dishonest labels I placed on myself. I can recognize others see much good in and it makes me feel good, albiet skeptical, but they don't reflect how I see myself.

I'm having a baby in like a month with my endlessly patient girlfriend, and I'm so terrified I'm going to not be a stable enough person to raise her to be the kind, curious girl I want her to be. i don't want her to feel like I did growing up, in any way. I've rebuilt the upstairs of my old house and my looks great. i sit in her room and just pray to the trees or whoever to help me not fuck this one thing, the biggest thing, up.

I'm sorry if this makes no sense, you can delete it or whatever. I'm looking for tips, experiences, thoughts, anything. my family has always been worried about me, but in a way that they were afraid I would kill myself. they themselves didn't have the skills to help me and love them for just sticking through it with me. I'm so tired of everyone worrying about me but they are not wrong to do so.

fuck. sorry, that's a lot