My Course Is Set for an Uncharted Sea
Welcome to my corner of the universe. Watch your step—there are potholes and craters all around here.
I was born in northern Germany in 1988. My family is blue-collar, a little lower on the education scale, but high in both wisdom and dysfunction. They are a bunch of loving people who eat too much, party loud, mostly have their heads on straight, but in my opinion, care far too much about what others think. I only recently realized this, and while I can almost understand it, I still cringe at the thought. Everyone in my family lives in villages and small towns where everybody knows everybody. I lived there until 2016, and every time I return, the way people stare reminds me exactly why I left.
Leaving wasn’t something I planned or had the strength to do on my own—it was more of a twist of fate. After graduating grammar school, I attempted to study law in Kiel, the largest city north of Hamburg. It’s a beautiful city that I dearly miss. I was living alone in my first apartment when I met my now-husband online. Back then, I spent a lot of time online because my life was falling apart. Even though I was eager to stand on my own two feet, my childhood had left me completely incapable of coping. The moment I was by myself, I fell flat on my face—not in the way of being unable to boil water or do laundry, but in the way that heavy depression and anxiety made it impossible for me to leave the house.
I was abused by my alcoholic father from the time I was a toddler until I was old enough to lock my door at night—around 14 or so. On my 18th birthday, in a drunken stupor, he tried to do something to my younger cousins. That was the moment my mother could no longer live in denial. We began searching for a place to live. For the next four months, we still lived in that house of horrors, fearing that we’d be killed in our sleep or come home to a burned-down building. I had known for a long time that my father wasn’t just an alcoholic—he was seriously mentally ill. A loser who thought himself immensely intelligent, the only one who could do anything right, riddled with anxiety, always grumpy, and sarcastic to a fault. I wished him dead early in my childhood, but he wouldn’t do me the favor of killing himself until after I graduated from school.
By then, my mother and I were living in the basement of the house my sister and brother-in-law had bought. The cracks in my facade—and in my relationship with my happily oblivious family—were becoming impossible to ignore. About a year later, I moved to Kiel to study. I won’t deny that my family has always been there when it came to offering a place to stay, lending financial aid, providing furniture, helping with renovations, chauffeuring, bringing food, and other practical things. But if even a single person in my life as a child had opened their eyes and shown courage, it would have made all the difference.
When I met my husband and we started our long-distance relationship, he was the one who helped me get back on my feet. He was on the phone with me when I had to go outside, lending support. He was the first person I trusted enough to share my struggles with, the one who convinced me there was help available in my home city. We met in 2010, and our long-distance relationship lasted for six years—pretty amazing, right? By the time I moved to Canada, where he’s from, I had my finances figured out, a social worker to help me with paperwork and groceries, a therapist I saw every week, a dog who forced me to go on walks, a volunteering position at a library, and a best friend. Oh, and I had somewhat mended my relationship with my mother.
During that time, I was diagnosed with PTSD, depression, and an anxiety disorder. If it weren’t for my husband, I wouldn’t have survived those years. I would have, as they say nowadays, un-alived myself.
After moving to Canada, my life took a massive turn for the better. I’m employed, I get along well with my in-laws, I live in an apartment that is our own, and our dog Rudi—who immigrated with me, of course—adores his daddy. Things aren’t perfect, though, and I still struggle massively with many things. But marrying my husband and moving to Canada was the best decision I ever made. My struggles now feel different, as if they’ve leveled up alongside my life. (Yes, I like video games.) Before, I struggled with going outside, taking care of myself, and living in a constant state of terror. Now, I struggle with existential dread, emptiness, stationary oblivion, and a subconscious that still reaches out to the past, as if it only knows how to exist as a victim. I feel idle, frozen, and broken.
Recently, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. When my psychiatrist told me, I had just spent 1.5 hours spilling my guts and answering questions. I was exhausted and halfway through her conclusion, I burst into tears —not because I didn’t want it to be true, but because I had spent a year waiting for this appointment and had nothing left to give. Here it finally was, proof that I wasn’t making things up and that my struggles were real – a painful confirmation. And when I say proof, I mean for myself, because I had often wondered whether I was simply losing my mind.
At first, I couldn’t believe it, because I knew other people with this disorder, and they all seem wilder, louder, even more destructive, but my calm demeanor is just hiding something quite sinister. The more I read about BPD, the more it all made sense. My weird and destructive behaviors, my everyday battles—it all clicked. It was crushing to learn I had a personality disorder because it felt like something was inherently wrong with me. But I’ve come to terms with it. What else can I do? Be in denial, like my family? Ahem. Also, during therapy, which followed my initial psychological assessment, we have discovered that I also have ADHD. My demon has more than one head, but at least now they have names.
Now that I know what’s going on, I can take targeted steps. No more wild guesses. No more hopelessness. I’m focusing on proper medication, therapy, Dialectical Behavior Therapy, and constant self-reflection. I’m now, as of March 01, 2025, committed to working on myself. Once and for all, no more excuses, no more I can’t.
This blog is part of that journey. It helps me reflect, express myself, and practice writing. I’m also reconnecting with my best friend, working on social skills, trying to make new friends, and expressing myself through art. I’m sticking to a simple workout routine, exposing myself more on social media, and pushing past my self-imposed isolation.
At the end of the day, I believe it is all about taking what we have and growing it into something better.
Thank you for visiting my blog.
Love,
Amber