My skin, my bones, are just a window to what’s inside. Except BPD has broken in and covered the windows to hide what’s really on the inside. It puts up smiles. It puts up curtains. It paints on the outside an image that fakes happiness, stability, and strength.
On the inside, I am held hostage. Screaming, kicking, looking for a door in the dark. Trying to break through the windows, the fake smiles, the imaginary sense of happiness.
Inside, BPD is smothering me. Choking me. Quieting my sounds so no one can hear me…so no one can save me.
I struggle. I fight. I scratch at the walls. I pound my fists…except I’m tired.
When you met me, you met ME. Now that you love me, you’ll meet my BPD…and that’s all you’ll get. I don’t know where I go.