Erin ‘Incoherent’ Cookman. Photo Credit: Photographer: Habiyb @beloved1___
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Bea Tusiani of Emotions Matter interviewed BPDFest21 featured speaker Erin “Incoherent” Cookman to learn more about her BPD recovery journey.
Q: If you look up the word “incoherent” it’s defined as confused, mixed-up or all over the place. What made you identify yourself in this way?
My whole life, I’ve confused people. I’m not punk enough. Not girly enough. Not quiet enough. Not queer enough. I’m too intimidating. I wrote about it in ‘25’: ‘I’ve never really felt like I belonged; I don’t feel like people listen, or ever really wanna talk...’
Being born a woman put me on a billboard instead of a body. I sometimes wonder if people are listening to me or just consuming my image. Patriarchal societal structures and the ethos of the punk community have tried to tell me what I cannot do. I have always pushed back against my limiters. I create space for inclusion and change. I champion for justice locally and globally. To me, this is the work we came here to do. Really change things. That’s the only work that makes sense. The world doesn’t function harmoniously. In today’s world, our morals are wound up in money and status.
I chose the name Erin Incoherent to portray the juxtaposition of making sense in a world that’s ‘confused, mixed up and all over the place’. When insanity is the norm, what do the sane sound like?
Q: Many of your song's lyrics (such as The Fog, The Storm, Of Roaches and Roommates) are filled with pain and throbbing beats revealing stinging truths that reflect your lived experiences. How did that come about?
My music isn’t a band aid- it’s a therapy session. It’s a place where people who feel fucked up can be seen and expressed. I’ve always written songs from an autobiographical standpoint. Music helps me interpret my life. I can process the cutthroat truth of the matter, as demonstrated in the above-mentioned songs. The Fog/The Storm (which follow one another on the album ‘Deja Vu’) are the story of the drug binge/breakup of my last relationship.
Of Roaches and Roommates (also ‘Deja Vu’) is the story of my roommate overdosing in Philadelphia. I did a music video for ‘Of Roaches & Roommates’ (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Iz9Kum7GPM) with the ambition to include as many people as possible in the conversation of harm reduction.
I asked family, friends, and fans to send me pictures of loved ones they had lost to overdose. I interviewed people who’d done heroin, people who work in harm reduction, and people who’d lost someone to overdose.
The result is one of the most powerful and emotionally moving projects I’ve ever been a part of. A soul-felt ‘thank you’ to all who collaborated in the making of Of Roaches & Roommates.
To me, those songs are beautiful BECAUSE they are so intensely personal. You can’t get away from the pain, you can only resonate with it. And that resonance is a powerful tool for communal healing.
We came together in this music.
Music is healing.
Healing is growth.
Q: What exactly were the kinds of symptoms and behaviors you were struggling with and at what point in your life did they occur?
I’m not joking when I tell you that I have been managing my symptoms my entire life. Meaning, there was never a period of ‘before I had B.P.D’, there was only ‘before I got a legitimate diagnosis.’ Before the diagnosis, I knew there was something dysfunctional about how I interacted in interpersonal relationships. About how ‘big’ my feelings were/are.
Growing up, I would have severe bouts of rage, depression, frustration, and suicidality. Innocuous things would trigger emotional spells that would last for days. I would take out my frustrations on whoever was close to me. I would ignore a random friend for days. I would accuse people of hating me. I would completely detach and sever ties with people I loved. I would leave social gatherings without warning. I had no idea this was ‘splitting’ until much later on. I had no stress management skills and the turbulence of my home life further contributed to my emotional intolerance.
The first time I tried self-mutilation was in elementary school. In 4th grade, I pulled out all of my eyelashes. By 6th grade, I was cutting myself. In junior high, my arms and ankles were covered in cuts. I was cutting and also beginning to heat objects and burn them into my skin. I would wear fishnet sleeves and pants every day. At a certain point, my parents did discover my self-harm and I went to therapy for 6 weeks. I was only ever diagnosed with depression. I was prescribed medication but after a disassociation spell and a slew of other side effects, I flushed them after less than two weeks.
After high school, I began drinking, which made my impulsivity with self-harm more reckless. I began using bigger and sharper knives. It was around this time I was reading an article online and saw the person in the article had been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. I clicked on the highlighted text and began reading about my diagnosis for the very first time. I made an appointment to get evaluated by a physician later that same week.
Q: What was your reaction when you learned you were actually suffering from a diagnosable mental illness called Borderline Personality Disorder?
I cried and cried and cried. I remember saying ‘I just wish my brain could be normal.’ when I got the news. There was a deepness of feeling sorry for myself. There was anger and shame and resentment. There was some relief but it was definitely not sitting at a big place at the table. I just felt a lot of shame for being who I was.
Q: Did you undergo treatment right away? If so, what did that entail?
When I got diagnosed, I was in an unsafe living situation in an abusive relationship. I was an alcoholic. My boyfriend and his band mates (our other 2 roommates) were leaving for 40 days to go on tour and I got the diagnosis right before they left. The doctor prescribed Zoloft for me and I began medication in an empty house. The medication was frightening. My side effects were extreme and unbearable. 24-hour panic attacks, diarrhea, brittle fingernails, loss of appetite, insomnia, mania, depression, suicidal thoughts. That was one of the darkest months of my life. How loud the loneliness and insanity were.
I finished ‘Medusa’ during this solitude. I didn’t think I would live long enough to release it.
Q: Was there a particular support system of family, friends, therapists or colleagues that you could rely on as you moved toward recovery?
It has been a lonely road. These days, I have people I can talk to, but I was raised in an environment where asking for help bore consequences. When I was growing up, my dad shamed and scolded me for my episodes, having depression, and setting a bad example for my younger siblings. I couldn't talk to my mom about feeling suicidal or wanting to self-harm without being pressured to try medication again. As my symptoms worsened over the years, I cut out more and more friends.
Initially, I moved deeper into the darkness. In the weeks following the diagnosis, I felt a pressure to ‘be okay’ or ‘be healed’ which estranged me from many people. My performance had been slipping at work. My boyfriend and I were constantly fighting/breaking up/fighting/not talking. My feelings of worthlessness amplified and I chased them down bottle after bottle after bottle. Just over a month after I got the diagnosis, I was in the emergency room. I had cut open my arm to the tune of 27 stitches. I had spent the past week going crazy on a mixture of alcohol, heroin, Adderall, promiscuous sex, and prescribed medication. I hated myself for thinking someone should care about me. I was dying for help. For someone to care enough to heal my broken heart and mind. To take away this fucking pain once and for all.
After watching the blood and crying for a few minutes, I called my mom to tell her I had just cut myself open. A few calls later, a friend was driving me to the emergency room.
I didn’t really begin taking my recovery seriously until a little over a year later, when my relationship finally ended and dodging my own best interests suddenly didn’t seem like the best way to keep living.
Q: What has helped you most in your recovery?
Transcendental meditation, which I only began doing a year ago, has transformed my life. It has allowed me to live beyond my programmed emotional responses and created space for growth within me. Mindfulness and gratitude generate purpose and fulfillment.
In the years before I took the T.M course, things that aided in my recovery were/are: cannabis, exercise, gratitude journals, flower arranging, poetry, and creating new music.
Accountability and honesty have helped me recover as well. Remembering where I’ve been, puts things in perspective. You can only move as far as you allow yourself to see. A lot of people will keep themselves in the dark because seeing who they are in the light is embarrassing or shameful. I’m here to reiterate that you will not always be right in your life. Learning how to apologize, ask forgiveness, and change your behavior is AS important as learning how to forgive, dissolve resentments, and create healthy boundaries in your life.
Start by forgiving yourself.
Q: Music continues to be a passion and means of expression, as showcased in your 2018 Medusa album with songs such as Ulcer, Destroy, Splinter and Fallen. What feedback have you received from others who are coping with the same feelings?
Mostly, I get thanked. Whenever I meet someone with BPD, I feel like I already know them. I understand a lot of the pain and confusion that associate with overwhelming emotions and fragile friendships. Diagnosis is good for clustering similar symptoms but I also acknowledge that many people who don’t have BPD still have similar shared experiences.
This is why ‘belonging’ to any particular group isn’t necessary to understanding the human experience. People from all walks of life have found truth in my words. Every time someone shares a bit of their story with me or a word of thanks, it means a lot. It’s one of my favorite things that I do in this life. Speak the truth. Say the words. Sing the songs.
Q: What might you want to convey to others struggling with mental illness or BPD?
Remember to be gracious with yourself. This is a one-of-a-kind journey you are on. Celebrate challenge and accomplishment. Seek adventure and accept it in its many forms. All lessons will challenge you differently. Listen to your inner voice. Not the one that talks shit to you. It’s important to continue showing up for yourself. Treat self-love as a discipline. Know that your work is never done. This is comforting because it acknowledges we exist to enjoy our journey, not to ‘arrive’ at self-acceptance because we no longer have flaws. There is so much beauty in flaws. So much rarity in your human condition. Take it seriously enough to goof off. It is brave to love you for who you are. Source your strength fellow warrior, it’s time to howl at the moon <3.
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