Tag Archives: borderline personality disorder

I don’t want to be this way anymore.

I don’t want to be here again. That scared little girl, diving and clinging to any little shred of affection tossed my way. I don’t want to go back to grotesquely unrealistic romanticism of how this should go. Planning our life together before he even decides to give me a second look, overly charming and hiding my desperation. The desperation to feel close to someone. To dote on and put my energy into the happiness of someone else so I can block out the complete failure of my own. The insistence to put up with any misgivings to feel any spark of acknowledgment. Of acceptance. Of validation, superficial though it may be.
I don’t want to be completely crushed when the real world never lives up to my illogical idea of love.
I don’t want to feel the collapse of my strength back into that pit I so lovingly call my self. Hungry and greedy for any excuse to be called “no good”, starving for a chance bombard my psyche with every reason I will never be pretty enough, smart enough, worth a damn at all.
I don’t want to be this way anymore.

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I will not fall off the deep end.

I will not let this break up define me.

I am not worthless, weak or unlovable because he cheated.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had to pop a Xanax during the day. Almost exclusively it’s a conduit to a good night sleep when my mind is running a race I can’t keep up with. Now I’d like to sleep all day and night.

The thing is, for once in my life I had felt safe. Now everything is sinister and nothing seems familiar. 

 

 

I’ll be trying to write more. Hell, I’ve got nothing else to do. 

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June 27, 2014 · 11:05 am

Alien

It’s a shame I can’t be more consistent with my blogging, but I try not to be too hard on myself. My moods have been all over the place lately. Most recently, yesterday, I was paranoid, suicidal and dissociating to an extreme. Derealization and depersonalization became a constant. At one point my vision became blurred and I felt content to sink faster into nothingness, let my body go vacant. Wait for someone more capable to come and take over.

Have you ever felt unwelcome in the body you’ve always been told is yours and yours alone? The anxiety builds and my skin crawls, like I’m an intruder in this place and it’s real inhabit is ready to return. It’s an uncomfortable feeling to know you should be breaking through this shell, content to be weightless among a dense sky, brilliant and fleeting. But something went wrong, you can’t seem to break free. This heavy flesh weighs you down and you fear it will become your tomb. Each day your brilliance shines a little less, each day you pick hopelessly at this pelt, pinching, biting, scratching. Knowing it’s not what you were meant for. Knowing you are alien to this body and it wants you out of it just as much as you do. 

Until one day you just stop shining all together. 

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crashing

I can feel the wave of intense emotion crashing just behind my skin and I know that soon it will overtake me. Soon I will be choking on the salty water, flooding my airways with suffocating depression.

I know this comes, I know it’s a part of the process. I can only fly so high for so long, but it’s like every time I forget the immensity of it all. I recall thoughts only days ago, “perhaps I’m not so sick”. Then it curls it’s sickening familiar fingers around my chest. I will become lost in this, I forget completely what happiness and hopefulness consists of.

I plead with the shot caller inside my head. Please, one more day? I’ll make it up to you. I’ll stay in bed twice as long this time, I promise. I know this pain is what you feed off of. I’ll give you it all tomorrow, I swear. Trust me.

I’m not listening to myself. My saline behind my eyes burn and the urge to medicate to unconsciousness burns brighter than I remembered it could. I’m losing the battle with my own mind.

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Guilty

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.

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borderline feelings

 

I am bursting with excessive passion and nothing excites me

Pinpointing every emotion bleeding from my temporal lobes while fighting through the fog of dullness

There is no energy left in my body as I am crawling up the walls with anxious uncertainty

I feel nothing while I am feeling everything

Captivate as I evade, center of attention in the corner 

Heart exposed and full while the door is locked from the inside

indebted to those who love me with conviction that I am scorned

I am the true walking contradiction that has been contemplated for decades

 

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fallen

And so the mighty fall and I have fallen hard

Gravel between my fingers and dirt in my teeth

It takes so little to knock me down one thousand pegs to where I belong

My body thrives on self loathing, my bone marrow is genuine disdain

My heart pumps no blood, it survives on disgust alone

My skin is flimsy and easily penetrated, porous and thin 

It soaks up guilt and judgement til I am full and tight with self-deprecation 

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parade

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My parents have gone out to a movie so it’s the first time I’ve had the house to myself in I’m not sure how long. I’m celebrating with a bottle of sangria and a whole plate of roasted summer squash. I’m feeling very pretty today, not in the sense you think, I feel pretty inside. Maybe it’s the sangria slowly warming me, shedding the neurotic layer that I’m so familiar with.  My anxiety is deep rooted in me. It’s ingrained and it’s been learned. Today I feel hopeful though. Things are looking a little brighter, my ideas are a little clearer, I can go a whole day without collapsing halfway through from utter exhaustion. I feel a dull buzzing in my mind and it’s building momentum. There’s a sizzling in my veins, like electrical currents covered in dust. Someone flipped the switch and they are crackling awake slowly but surely. My agitation is growing though, my patience is dwindling. If you get in my way, I will not be polite. I feel ruthless and sparkly. This time I will conquer the world.

Some may say I’m just in an upswing, be careful what you throw yourself into, be careful where you go. It’ll end, it always does. 

I say don’t rain on my parade. 

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damaged

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I’m not usually an early morning blogger. Hell, I’m not usually early morning person, but this morning when my alarm went off at six am my brain was already yawning and rummaging in it’s cupboards for caffeine. By the time I was in the shower my brain was sitting at it’s typewriter with coffee in one and hand and impatiently tapping it’s desk with the other. My brain doesn’t trust technology, “what has it done for me? I do all the work” it says with an arrogant smile. So, I rushed along my morning routine so I could catch up and be ready to type up all the words my brain was dying to get out. 

So now we both sit with coffee in hand. You’re welcome by the way, brain. I was hoping to drop the caffeine, but I guess you had other ideas. I feel a ping in my skull. Okay, Okay. You’re right. Shut up and write

First and foremost I want to thank all of you who reached out to me last night after my distress soaked post last night. I was indulging in my pain and do so quite often. I soothed my soul last night with a benzo, cartoons and snuggling my stuffed pinkie pie. I essentially revert back to a child whenever my parents tear into me, except I have access to drugs. And I know what drugs are. I guess I can’t completely blame them for getting me stuck in that phase, though their constant drinking and invalidation of my feelings about it didn’t help. I could have pulled myself up and taken control of my life instead of consistently relying on people who weren’t going to be there. I was a child though, how should I know any better? I’m still a child today, but I understand shortcomings better than most. We all have our own demons. My demons follow me every where, my demons are ingrained into my personality. My emotional vulnerability, my child like tantrums. my inability to see the world for anything more than the very good or the disastrously bad.  There’s more to my demons than that though, there’s my overflowing sense of empathy, there’s my heartache for every living thing, there’s my love for all things sweet and pretty. 

I do accept that I am damaged, but I am not destroyed. 

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Adult Child of Alcoholics

Three hours at the bar, you stumble in after slamming on the door repeatedly even though I told you it was open.

You look at me and tell me I am completely useless. Unwarranted, unprovoked. “Can’t even get off her fat ass” you cackle as you lose your footing for a moment. It doesn’t matter that I got up, that I unlocked the door like you asked, that I told you three times it was open. It doesn’t matter.

This is why I have xanax, This is why I fall asleep with a blade in my bed. This is why I stab myself with needles and punch my head til I swell up and bruise.

This is why I hate myself with every cell I posses. 

I hear you laughing now, you saw me cry and it makes you laugh. My emotional instability fuels you, it always has. You both find pleasure in my inability to cope, my sensitivity.

I am my family’s biggest joke. Look at her, face stained with saline. Look at her with her self esteem puddled around her feet.

She will never be as strong as us and for that reason, she is nothing.

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