Sasha lee
Borderline Personality Disorder
South Africa

There was a time in my life when it felt like I wasn’t behind the wheel anymore as if I were just a passenger in my own story. And by the time I regained control, the crash had already happened.

Growing up, something inside me felt constantly unsettled. My emotions never seemed to just be, they roared, consumed, and overwhelmed. What I later came to understand as Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) had quietly taken root, and as I got older, it began to demand more and more space in my life.

University was supposed to be a time of discovery and growth, but for me, it was a time when the cracks widened. Financial pressures loomed over every decision, sometimes I didn’t know if I could afford food, rent, or transport to campus. That stress, paired with the invisible weight of BPD, became unbearable. I spiraled. My moods swung like a pendulum, plummeting into suicidal depressions, then surging into outbursts of uncontrollable aggression. I felt like I was either drowning or on fire, with no middle ground, no safety, and no one to truly understand.

It wasn’t just me who suffered. My relationships, family, friends, partners took the blows too. I pushed people away while desperately wanting them close. I hurt those I loved because I couldn’t bear the pain inside me. The guilt that followed only deepened my isolation. I lived in a thick fog of loneliness and despair, convinced I was fundamentally broken.

Then one day, in the depth of one of my darkest moments, I made a phone call that would change my life. I called a suicide hotline. I don’t remember much of what I said, but I remember how the operator made me feel: heard. For the first time in a long time, someone was listening, not judging, not trying to fix me, but simply hearing my pain.

That moment was a spark. It didn’t solve everything, but it gave me something I hadn’t felt in a long time, hope. Maybe I wasn’t as alone as I thought.

I began searching, really searching for answers. I dived deep into learning about borderline personality disorder. Not just definitions or symptoms, but me. How my BPD worked, how stress triggered me, how childhood experiences and trauma shaped my responses. I started building a map of my mind. That map didn’t erase the mountains, but it helped me stop walking in circles.

One of the most important decisions I made was to move. My environment had become a constant trigger, too much noise, not enough safety, no space to breathe. Changing my surroundings helped me meet my most basic needs again: rest, nutrition, stability. Without that toxic background noise, I could finally hear myself think. I could begin to heal.

Bit by bit, I started redesigning my life. Therapy became a key part of that process, of course but so did learning to speak up. To say: “I live with BPD.” To say: “I matter.” To say: “I am worthy of love, rest, and peace.”

When I stopped hiding my diagnosis, something incredible happened: the shame began to lose its grip on me. I realized that my story could actually help others who felt like I once did trapped, exhausted, hopeless.

And from that place of truth, something even more unexpected happened. I found the strength to return to my academic dreams. I finished my PhD. Not because the pain had disappeared, but because I had finally built enough tools and support to carry it more gently.

Today, I don’t claim to be “cured”. BPD doesn’t just vanish. But I have a relationship with it now. I understand its patterns, I prepare for the storms, and I forgive myself when I get caught in the rain.
What saved me wasn’t a miracle. It was a moment of human connection. A voice on the other end of a phone line that said, “I hear you.” That gave me the courage to listen to myself.

So if you’re in the dark right now, wondering if anyone can see you, please know this: someone can. And the moment you feel heard might just be the beginning of your way back home to yourself.

This is my story. And I’m still writing it with compassion, with purpose, and finally, with my hands back on the wheel.