Sunday, May 7th I attempted suicide; I considered it a half-hearted attempt as I realized that I didn't want to die, though I overdosed on 40 xanax, half a dozen vicodin tablets and about a dozen muscle relaxants. I had felt so overwhelmed by my job, my part time grad school and having doubts in my serious relationship that I just wanted to go to sleep and not have to face all of it the next day. I immediately texted my boyfriend, best friend, mother and spoke on the phone with another friend because I realized my mistake and how stupid it was to go ahead with my plan. 

I was in the ICU for two days, a day and a half of which I was intubated and asleep. After waking up and finding out I hadn't done permanent damage to my body (thankfully) I was transferred to the psych ward. There were several of us there for the same reason, but I was by far the most irresponsible. I say that because I was diagnosed with BPD at age 18 and was in therapy once or twice a month between 18 and 21. At 21 I discontinued seeing my therapist because I was in college and skype sessions with a therapist are not particularly useful and travelling home to see him once a month felt like a waste. I was okay between 21 and 26, seeing my psychiatrist every three months to check in on my medication though more recently I had been struggling. He suggested I seek out therapy where I lived so as to help heal given I was quite damaged and would be fine one day and the next day my world would come crashing down.

A couple of weekends ago my world came crashing down as my psychiatrist implied it might. I could have avoided all this by establishing a therapist in my current city (same city as college) when I was 21, 22, hell even 26. I was SO SURE I was fine. I had convinced myself that I beat BPD. I hadn't cut for about a year until last October when it started back up. Then it was getting worse as were the bouts of depression, but I had convinced myself that between a full time job and part time grad school I didn't have time for therapy, aka I didn't give a shit about my mental health. Luckily I am alive to write all this out and perhaps I'm just venting, but this whole fiasco reminded me that no matter what, I will ALWAYS have BPD and I should ALWAYS be continuing to build up my self worth and go to therapy to work on DBT strategies for when shit hits the fan.

Just to TL;DR, even if you feel okay, make sure you have a therapist in town that you are comfortable speaking with who knows you and your story. I was completely okay for 5 years until I wasn't and it nearly killed me.