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This story by guest contributor Amar, a Syrian national who escaped a war zone in their home country and is now living in Malaysia. In this article, they talk about the impact of the war on them and how it changes a person forever.
Four years ago, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. At the time, I didn’t even understand what it meant. All I knew was that my emotions felt like tidal waves crashing down on me, leaving me gasping for air.
The diagnosis didn’t come as a solution but as a mirror, forcing me to confront the chaos within.
Shadows of the Past
War changes you. It takes away more than homes and safety—it steals parts of your soul. Since I survived the war in Syria, it left me with more than physical scars-it carved PTSD and depression into my very being.
I’ve lost count of the nights I’ve woken up from the same recurring nightmare, my heart racing, my breath catching in my chest. The memories of destruction, loss, and survival stayed with me like an unwanted shadow.
Daylight offered little relief; the world felt fragile, like it could shatter at any moment. Hyper-vigilance was my constant state, leaving me exhausted and disconnected.
The desperation often felt unbearable, a weight pressing down on my chest. Carrying all of this with me wherever I go added to my mental illness. I was trying to survive day by day instead of living.
With BPD, you are always on the edge of your emotions and it’s always extreme. In a case like this, what one needs is stability: a home, a job, a family, and friends. But when you are a war survivor and a refugee, what is stability?
No one understands BPD until they experience it
This is one of my sketches. I was going through a very tough time, having rage episodes and panic attacks like every day.
Now, I live alone in Kuala Lumpur, working as an art instructor in an art gallery. It’s a world away from where I started, but without family around, loneliness cuts deeper. There’s no one to hold me when I feel like I’m falling apart.
I had a well-meaning family, but they didn’t really understand me when I told me that I got diagnosed with BPD. Some of them went: “No, don’t say that! You are okay, just go for a walk.”
But now, there is no familiar voice to remind me of who I was before the war and the diagnoses.
You see, I was a completely different person before that. I was a literature graduate, I loved music and painting, and I had lots of friends. But that’s not who I am any more.
Now it’s just me, my thoughts, and a bunch of sketches that I draw to take my mind off things. I felt like I don’t want to go to sleep because I don’t want to wake up to another day.The loneliness never truly fades — it just becomes another part of my existence. A big part of it.
Small victories keep me going
Yet, in this solitude, I’ve also found a strange kind of resilience. I go through all this knowing that I cannot stay in Malaysia forever. One day, UNHCR will call me and repatriate me to a country of their choosing, and I can finally leave.
Therapy has helped, and so have the small victories: getting through a day without breaking down, finding joy in something as simple as watching snails, or connecting with someone who understands.
Living with BPD, PTSD, and depression and a few other issues as a refugee isn’t just about enduring. It’s about holding onto the hope that one day, I’ll look back and see not just the pain, but the incredible courage it took to keep going even though everything was hard and the way was full of goodbyes.
Because despite everything, I’m still here, still fighting, and that is its own kind of victory.
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Also read: “We Don’t Want You Here,” I’m Living In Malaysia as a Refugee, Here’s What It’s Really Like
“We Don’t Want You Here,” I’m Living In Malaysia as a Refugee, Here’s What It’s Really Like
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