conventionalkənˈvɛnʃ(ə)n(ə)l/1. Based on or in accordance with what is generally done or believed.
In my quietest, darkest and loneliest moments I wonder what would have been if I’d been a conventional person with a conventional life. To not have had my life marred by personal challenges of all kinds and to have been left with a very real identity crisis.
A little over a year ago when I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder the world kind of stopped for awhile, for me. Being a depressed person was hard work, but it was accessible. It was “cute”. People were far less likely to look at you as though you were a leper. It was also relatively treatable. And that’s not to say the BPD isn’t, it just requires far more work. Because every single day I wake up and I have to decide what kind of day I’m going to have before BPD Me decides for me.
So everything I thought I knew about myself, all my delusion of convention and vague normalcy, were gone. I felt like a freak. No identity, no place in the world. The people around me kept moving, things remained the same. But in my head everything was changing.
Fast forward to now and my identity is somewhat more stable. I’m a little more confident of my place. I sort of know what I want. I just wish I’d had the sense to muse the last year out in writing.
So here is my blog. A chronicling of the life of an (un)conventional girl. Just a twenty-something Australian trying to find her way.