Riding the Slinky-Coaster: Living and Creating with BPD’s Emotional Contradictions
Sylvia Plath
“It is as if my life were magically run by two electric currents: joyous positive and despairing negative—whichever is running at the moment dominates my life, floods it.”
Living with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) often feels like being strapped into a rollercoaster you never agreed to ride—and there’s no getting off. When I was first diagnosed, the moment felt both clarifying and unsettling. It explained the intensity and unpredictability of my emotions but left me wondering how I was supposed to navigate daily life with this new awareness.
A rollercoaster is an easy metaphor, but for me, it’s less like a standard track and more like a slinky on wheels—erratic, unstable, constantly folding in on itself. Picture the front of the slinky diving down, dragging the back end up into a sudden high—or the reverse, climbing rapidly only to yank the tail into a sharp drop. My emotions shift like that—fast, intense, and often without warning. I can cycle through four or five major emotional states in a single day, reacting to what’s happening around me, but not always in ways that make sense—to others or even to myself.
The most jarring part? The contradictions. I can feel impulsively depressed, dragged down by despair, while another part of me is inexplicably energized or euphoric. It’s confusing to experience extremes that seem completely incompatible—like oil and water trying to dance. And once the ride starts, there’s no stopping it. A sharp comment, an ambiguous look, or the faintest hint of rejection can trigger it. Suddenly, I’m spiraling—rage, sadness, elation, or panic—tumbling through loops until the emotional momentum burns out.
Even joy can be corrosive.
Relationships magnify the chaos. Falling out with someone or falling in love with them can feel completely consuming. It’s not just one rollercoaster but an entire network of them, each one pulling the others, adding noise, speed, and intensity.
From the outside, though? I imagine I come across as maybe a little eccentric, a bit impulsive—but hopefully not as chaotic as it feels inside. I’d like to believe I seem responsible, even when my internal world is spiraling. It’s a balancing act—switching between the “maverick artist” who rebels against anything resembling conformity and the person who gets through the day, ticking every box to keep the world from falling apart. But underneath that surface performance, everything’s black or white—no grey areas, except maybe for the emptiness.
And the emptiness? That’s the hardest part. It’s the long queue before the next ride, the void that creeps in when the chaos dies down. Strangely, I sometimes borrow other people’s emotional rollercoasters just to escape it—diving into their drama to keep my own numbness at bay. Yet, after too many rides, I start craving stillness again, even when it feels unbearable. It’s a paradox I live with daily—a hunger for intensity and a desperate need for calm.
People often talk about mental health awareness, but honestly, BPD is messy. It’s hard to explain what it’s like to feel everything and nothing all at once. There’s comfort in connecting with others who get it—just like Alcoholics Anonymous works for alcoholics. They understand what it’s like to exist on the edge of emotion, to be too much and too empty at the same time. With others, it’s harder. Explaining takes effort, and effort risks being misunderstood.
For me, creativity is the lifeboat. My art swings between the raw and unfiltered (usually what I consider my best work) and the polished, people-pleasing pieces designed for broader appeal. I sometimes wonder if balance between the two is even possible or if I’m just playing both sides of the coin separately for ease… which of course becomes unease.
My dream? To merge those two parts—the chaos and the calm—into something cohesive, something whole. But integration isn’t easy. That middle ground between dips and inclines burns bright with intensity, while the emptiness lingers in its shadow, pulling me back toward a void. Choosing one over the other—or daring to step into them—feels like a lifetime’s work.
Until then, I’ll keep riding the slinky-coaster—embracing the contradictions, the highs, the crashes, and the quiet void moments in between where even sometimes I lose my ability to taste food. .
Two snapshots of this emotional intensity? Look no further than the SMOKINCAT project, where art and the internal rollercoasters collide.
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