Abstract
A diagnosis of “Borderline Personality Disorder” has led to a false identity being imposed upon me. This is my personal story of secrets, control, power, abuse, trauma, chaos, confusion, “psychosis” and madness. During the last 25 years in secondary mental health services, I have had little opportunity to have my story heard or the support to make sense of what happened and is still happening to me. It is only in the last year, that I have begun to take some control back by re-storying myself and making some sense of everything that has happened to me. It’s difficult. The voices I hear confuse and frighten me, conflicting messages from the medicalised mental health system I can’t escape from, the welfare benefits system that seems to rely on diagnosis and articles and debates regarding whether the labels I have been forced to wear for so long are valid and helpful. This is a story with no happy ending. Yet, somewhere deep within me I’m learning to have hope that one day I will know who I actually am, that I will get some support to do this, and that I actually deserve to live and not just survive.