Image                           Image




If i tell anyone what my mental health diagnosis is (Borderline Personality Disorder), they immediately think that i have a green tail and purple ears! It’s actually a diagnosis that wreaks havoc in my life all around me (and my family too).


The number one cause of BPD is having been sexually (or other) abused as a child. I was from the age of 4 – 13. I hated my Dad all my life, so, so much all my life and yet when he was dying and i’d always predicted my only response would be one of “good….i hope it’s painful and you rot in hell!”, i found myself sitting at his bedside, holding his hand…..those hands that had abused me so badly for the whole of my childhood! WTF! Before he died, from cancer of the brain and lungs, i found myself whispering “i forgive you, dad” and even kissed him on the forehead as i left! Yuk!! His fingers were yellow from having smoked a skanky pipe all his life, and his fingernails filthy from his work as a carpenter: But his face was now pale and he struggled for breath even with a pressure-pumping oxygen mask strapped tightly to his face. He’d lost weight since last i saw him, had white hair. I watched the machine next to him; his sats had dropped dangerously low at only 65%. He kept trying to pull the mask off as he couldn’t talk with it on; i wish i could have heard what his dying words were….I wondered if they might include a ‘sorry’ but i am never to know. He was a staunch atheist so didn’t believe heaven or hell existed. I’d always damned him to hell, but somehow, the human being in me found compassion for this evil man. His funeral was two weeks later. The hall was packed out with all the many friends he had lied to and held sordid secrets from for so long. I placed a rose on his coffin and as this disappeared behind the curtains, i felt myself scream inside and then followed floods of tears. You see, really, i’d always wanted a daddy but he was the monster who came to my room uninvited very frequently, at night, and he killed my childhood the very first time he raped me at the age of four, helpless and defenceless as i was. And still now, i miss having a daddy but then i don’t know what it means to have a daddy, only that i’d always wanted one who didn’t hurt me so much. I wrote this poem called ‘I Always Wanted a Daddy’: 


I always wanted a daddy

To love and cherish me

But what I got was you

Which was such a tragedy


You know what you did

I’m sure you remember well

You put me through a nightmare

And a childhood which was hell


And how can I be angry now

That you’ve not got long to go?

And how can I forgive you

When you dealt me such a blow?


I wish someone else had been there

To take the place of you

Those stolen childhood years

When nobody else knew


I always wanted a daddy

And now you’re going to go

And I ought to be dancing a jig

Yet that just isn’t so


My heart is full of sorrow

And God only knows why

A steam train’s running through my head

Because you’re going to die


And I’ve wished you dead every day

For so very, very long

And now it’s happening

That feels so very wrong


I don’t intend to contact you

To say my fond farewell

You’ll end your years in luxury

When it should be a prison cell


But you never even loved me

Now I, so full of hate

Am still pining for a daddy

But now it’s all too late.


Anyhow, enough of the emotional tosh and back to how BPD has affected my life. It has always ruined my relationships and friendships till i now have none left. it affects my perception of everything. I live in a different world to you. I am trapped inside this bubble and am in a permanent state of crisis and near breakdown). I self-harm; i cut my arms to release me from my internal agony, and taken more overdoses than i care to mention. Even though i am not successful in meeting my Maker, i end up in intensive care attached to a drip and bed bound for one long boring week. My family gave up on me years ago, apart from a sister and my Mum (who, nevertheless still does not believe that i was abused by her darling husband!).


Having BPD puts me in a world of my own that very few understand. And even if they understand, they ‘can’t come with me’ – it’s a journey i have to travel a long and lonely way by myself. And although i live in an emotional battlefield, and i see everything skew-wiff, don’t trust anybody, love too quickly and lose too badly; i am still anorexic and have had addictions to drink and drugs and a peculiar way of living for as long as i can remember. I never remember being any other way though i’ve so often wished i were another person(ality).


For those of you who know where i’m coming from, i thank you for reading this; and for those who don’t, thank you nevertheless and i can promise you a really haven’t got a long green tail and purple ears!

Author: Ellie Thompson

Writing my memoirs, musings, a little fiction and a lot of poetry as a way of exploring and making the most of my life ... ... Having had a break from writing my blog for more than three years, I decided to return to write my memoirs, some day-to-day observations, views and feelings. My passion is non-fiction poetry. I have a disability and use an electric powerchair called Alfie and let nothing get in the way of living life to the full. I believe that you can never do a kindness too soon and should give credit where credit is due. A smile or a kind word could make the difference between a good or bad day for a person - we never know what's going on for another soul. Those little things, perhaps, practised daily like a mantra, could mean so much to someone else. Thank you for visiting my blog and reading a little more about me. Please, make yourself at home here. You are very welcome. Ellie x 😊

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: