I am unhappy with myself right now. I can’t explain what came over me the other night besides that it felt as if another person stepped inside my head and filled it with rage. I remember fighting with my parents, but the exact trigger has escaped me, if I ever really contemplated it at all. Death threats were screamed and accusations hurled. I told them they were the reason I have borderline personality disorder, that raising me in a bar fucked me up.
My mother’s response? “A lot of people are alcoholics now a days, it’s not a big deal”. I don’t remember much after that either besides more blood curdling screams escaping my lips. I barricaded myself in my room, as if they would try to come up and check on me. Spoiler alert, they didn’t. And then it happened. I relapsed. In the past three years I have cut myself maybe ten times. I can’t account for the other ways I harm myself, as those are much more common place. I bite and scratch and tare and bruise, but I hardly ever cut. That night I cut myself six times on my thigh and jabbed a pin so hard into my wrist bone that it got stuck, twice. It’s still sore. I couldn’t really move it for an entire day.
The physical pain is nothing compared to the guilt and shame I feel. Shame that I suffer from such a strong inability to control my emotions. Guilt that I don’t try harder to hang on to my sanity as I watch it slip away. I just let go and let the rage boil my blood til it’s all I can see. Til I have no filter, til I’m spilling out every painful word I can muster up in my convoluted mind.
I wish I wasn’t me.
Have you ever fought back tears so wrought with anger and resentment that they physically hurt your eyes? Do you sometimes feel like the pain inside you could burn down an entire city if you just let go for a moment?
I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. That’s the best way I can describe it because when you have borderline personality disorder and you wake up on the wrong side of the bed that side is indisputable, literal hell. Everything is skewed from the moment I open my eyes. I don’t see the world with anything but anger and hatred. Nothing looks right, it’s all a cleverly devised plot to make me rip the skin from my skull. The tiniest thing can set me into a whirlwind of revulsion. No, I’m actually lying when I say that, nothing happened at all.
My boyfriend said to me this morning that if I couldn’t stop being so cranky he’d have to take me home. Some of you might see that as rude, but to me I think it’s downright sweet. In actuality what he should have said is, “You’re being an absolutely crazy bitch for no reason so get yourself together or go home”. He’s right too, and I know he is. I know my contempt and my frustration are unwarranted and yet that doesn’t make them feel any less real. A wise friend on here asked me the other day if I knew what she meant when she said she could not keep up with herself. Well here I am, unable to reel myself in. I think it’s worse when you’re cognizant of the irrationality of your thoughts and your emotions. When the anger seething through your brain is unfounded and you know that. It only reinforces the certainty that you are in no way in control of your self or your emotions.
I can’t help how I feel and I fear I never truly be able to. The feeling sickens me to no end.
weak·ness noun \-nəs\
: a quality or feature that prevents someone or something from being effective or useful.
I’m not fucking weak.