Monster Inside Me

I would never win an Emmy award for best performance in life. Maybe if I had a different brain, a different attitude, a different heart. Maybe if I didn’t think so much, feel so much, or expect so much. Maybe if I crawled back into the womb, I could find a perfect set of genes. Maybe then I could be what God and everyone else expects of me.

BPD: Borderline Personality Disorder. Where did this monster come from? Was it there with me in the womb? To torment me? To lie to me? To suck every drop of blood from my veins?

Thin-skinned. Wears her heart on her sleeve. Cries at the drop of a hat. These are the labels that I wore, but the message stamped in my brain was “She’s not normal; she’s too fragile; she’s too broken.”

No one in my family was “normal.” My mother was a victim of severe child abuse, compliments of her roller coaster emotions and sudden fits of rage. My dad was a WWII veteran. Traumatized by a never-ending, hellish nightmare, he crawled inside himself, hung up a no trespassing sign, and slammed the door shut.

SLAM! No strong, loving arms to run to. No tender words of comfort. No bandage for my bleeding soul.

Maybe that’s when the monster was born, snarling and growling and bearing its teeth. Maybe that’s when it began gnawing on my brain, ravaging my emotions, and setting my heart on fire. Maybe that’s when it taught me to fear, to believe that the sky is falling and no one can save me from disaster.

BPD is an emotional train wreck. Some days, when I’m pushed to the brink of insanity, I should be put in a straitjacket and locked behind iron bars. Life pushes everyone to the jagged edge at times, but for those of us with BPD, that jagged edge is a super-powered chainsaw operated by a maniac.

BPD hurts. And no one, not even those closest to me, understands the emotional turmoil, the mental chaos, or the bloody battles I fight. And today is one of those days of everything slapping me in the face and setting the raging monster free.

I know its ugly face, its mood swings, its anger and rage, its explosive destruction. I know the piercing pain of the double-edged sword, the confusion in people’s eyes, the look of disapproval on their faces. I know the hammer of guilt and shame, crushing my spirit to smithereens. But I don’t know how to fix it.

So my life has been a series of repeated episodes of anxiety, anger, rage, depression, and hopelessness, trying to live up to my idealistic beliefs and perfectionism. Trying to be the perfect Christian, the perfect everything to everyone, and failing over and over again.

And when a perfectionist’s world comes crashing down, they kick and scream against themselves, against the world, and against God. And that’s where I’ve been for months, boiling in a cauldron of the devil’s stew, crying out to God.

But God is asleep. He doesn’t hear my cries. He doesn’t see the storm. He doesn’t even know that I’m shipwrecked and drowning in the raging sea of hopelessness and despair.

Then, one hellish morning, I cried out to God, “Where are you?” Then, through a flood of tears, I saw His face, I felt His love, and my heart fell apart in His arms. And ever so gently, He revealed to me the truth: the vicious monster ripping my soul to shreds and blinding my eyes is me. The sinful flesh, sitting on God’s throne, recklessly orchestrating my life.

Sin. The root cause of every disease, every conflict, every mental disorder, and everything destructive and rotten to the core hides beneath the fig leaf of denial. And compounding the epidemic, clinical labels are manufactured and slapped on us as if we were jars of pickles lined neatly on a shelf.

Mental disorders are an epidemic today. And they’re real, painful, and crippling. They require expensive medication and long, drawn-out psychiatric sessions. But they never promise a cure. Because beneath it all lies the broken, sinful flesh that only God can fix.

There is a living, breathing monster in all of us, whether or not we have a mental disorder. Because it’s a sin disorder that began with Adam and Eve. And just as they tried hiding their guilt and shame from God, we hide behind the flimsy fig leaves of denial, obsessions, and disorders, stuffing the monster with “junk food” until its fat, ugly self completely takes over our lives.

In my struggle with overwhelming circumstances, the monster became bigger than the God I serve. The pain was unbearable. Unanswered prayers were discouraging, and my heart became a punching bag for my own bloody fists.

The battle of the flesh. The brutal battlefield of spiritual warfare. A war we will never win with our own strength. God is the Commander-in-Chief, the King of kings, and the bleeding, dying, risen Savior of the world. He fought hell’s fury and won.

Changing who we are, our attitudes, our destructive habits, and bad choices is like ripping out our own hearts and expecting to grow new ones. Impossible! But nothing is impossible for God.

Psalm 51:10
Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from your presence or take your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me.

Author: Sandi Staton

My body has slowed down, but my busy brain never stops thinking, creating, writing, taking pictures of clouds and trees, and everything in between. I battle anxiety and depression that doesn't get better with age. That's why I write, why I spend time alone, why I walk, why I take pictures, why I never stop. View all posts by Sandi Staton