Where are we now?

It's been eighteen months since Julie's doctor first used the term borderline personality disorder (BPD) to describe what was happening to her.  Six months, and some hospital admissions later, she was assessed by specialists in BPD; they agreed with him.  She went on a waiting list for treatment; we were told to expect a wait of three to five months.

Julie has now been on that waiting list for twelve months.  From time to time the BPD service send us a short letter telling us that they are overwhelmed by demand and to expect a wait of a further six months.  These letters are generic and vague: it's impossible to work out from them whether that extra six months is to be added to their original estimate, or runs from the point when the letter was written, or is not meant to be taken as a literal number at all.  When we contacted them by phone a few months ago (and wow, that took some doing!) we were told that Julie was at the top of the list. Presumably she is still at the top of the list.  Not much of a view up here, chaps.

It is not all as bad as it sounds.  Even before the true extent of this endless waiting list became obvious, I was worrying about a whole year spent in limbo, with a restless Julie, unable to work or study full time, feeling trapped and depressed.  This does happen from time to time, and it was a major problem at the beginning of autumn as the nights drew in and friends went to university.  But it has been far from the disaster I feared might happen.  There are crises - there are always crises - but as long as she doesn't become an inpatient at the mental hospital we can eat crises like these for breakfast.

In fact, given that these periodic crises seem bound to continue for the foreseeable future, having almost unlimited time and no external pressure, has its benefits.  Although sometimes bored, Julie does now have the time to experiment with ways of improving her situation. She has been able to find work in a shop for one or two days of each week, for example.  It's been a revelation to all of us how much she loves this job, dealing with customers and taking on responsibility.  It's a small commitment, but a commitment that can make all the difference between succumbing to a crisis, and being able to hold herself together. 

Finding work she enjoys is building resilience and changing the way she thinks about her future.  Pretty much all she had experienced of life until last year involved studying, and success was measured only by exam results: the straitjacket of this school routine was ripped apart by her regular crises and could not contain them.  But this little job at the shop, for which she will get up at the crack of dawn, is different from studying.  It values her not by her ability to churn out exam results, but by her own personality: her openness, her kindness, her energy and organization.  Wanting to go to work gives her something that she can hold on to tightly when she feels herself going over the edge yet again.

She has finally made up her mind to continue to live with us for the moment, giving her a stable home base, and we've all made changes to try to give her as much independence as possible. One day, she dreams of returning to study, leaving home to go to university like her friends.  This hope is important: it is a fixed point on the horizon to aim towards.