I used to self-harm. For the past two years I’ve managed to beat that urge. I instead traded my self-injurious behavior for sitting in the corner of room, clinging for dear life to a teddy bear, hugging my knees up to my chest while I rocked back and forth and sobbed until the intensity of my episode subsided enough that I could get up and function without being afraid of what I might do.
In some ways it felt like a hideous trade. Why put myself through that suffering when I knew I could cause some physical pain and know for sure that it would give me the release I needed? Then as soon as I was done, it would all be over and I could move on with life. Not giving into the urge to self-harm brought my emotions to a higher intensity level because I couldn’t break them with a blade, or my fist, or whatever else I used in the moment. Rather, they heightened and heightened and tortured me until THEY decided they were done with me until later.
Last night, I gave in. I have been feeling worse lately due to some new changes in my life. The changes are good ones, but ones that are very big triggers for me. It’s extremely discouraging when you start to believe that you may be getting better, and then realize that you certainly are not. It’s even worse when the thing that triggers you is, allowing someone to love you.
So all day today I keep seeing the traces of yesterday on my wrist; red, slightly inflamed, overlapping and parallel straight lines that remind me of last night. How awful I felt. How defeated I felt. How crazy. But sometimes those minor cuts save me from something worse, and they tell a story. They tell my story. And my story is just that: mine.
I can’t take this anymore. My insides are panicking. I need relief. I can’t fucking stand living this way anymore, and feeling this way. I am screaming inside. I don’t know what to do and I have no one to go to. No one who understands. No one who wouldn’t just thinking I was crazy. No one who wouldn’t laugh because the issues sound so minuscule to them. No one who would just listen, hear me, validate, and give me a hug while I cried and went crazy in their arms until I got it all out.
God I’m so fucking tired. SO. FUCKING. TIRED. I hate you BPD. Why can’t I beat this? I fight so hard. I’m so fucked up inside right now that I feel like I’m going to throw up. Like my body doesn’t know what else to do to get rid of what’s inside.
Help. I just need help. I don’t know what will help me or how anyone can help. I just know I need it. God, help me. 😦 Stop leaving me alone. I can’t do it.
I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom, face first.
Today I feel abandoned. I feel like no one is supporting me or paying attention to me. I feel lonely and disregarded and it hurts. When I hurt, I tend to get angry. I want to pull people so close but shove them far away.
In times like this it makes me regret ever opening up to any sort of relationship with anyone. It’s so much easier to just be alone. When I’m alone I don’t have to worry about being left. When I’m alone, I don’t have to worry about someone close to me hurting me.
Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t reach out to me. Just fade out and let me be.
Mom got a boyfriend a couple of months ago. Sister got engaged. I just found out I may be alone on Easter because they are each going with their significant others. Mom just met her boyfriend’s parents about two weeks ago, and already she is ditching me on Easter to go spend it with him and his family. What about me? We’ve always spent the holidays together.
It’s great how all of a sudden I don’t matter anymore. Leave me alone for Easter. Take forever to respond to my text messages. I never leave people hanging like that. I will now. Maybe I’ll be busy and take hours to reply to your text. Maybe I’ll be too busy to acknowledge you much throughout the day. Maybe I’ll just be…busy.
I hate hurting and I hate that I go through this. A part of me knows that BPD is a huge culprit as to why I process things the way that I do, and sometimes, even with that understanding, I can’t seem to stop it from happening.
I just hate people. I just want to be alone. I’m turning my phone off.
Anyone who knows anything about BPD, has heard this phrase.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been in this exact mindset. Just about every BPD episode can be summed up by this very phrase. It doesn’t matter what triggers me, or who, it always seems to come down to one particular loved one who gets the brunt of all of it. That person is the person I love the most in the most intimate way, which is also the person who can hurt me the most if they chose to do so.
And just when I think it can’t get any worse, it does. I end up feeling awful for how I’m feeling towards that person, and it knocks me down a few more notches.
I want to hurt myself. I’m afraid to do anything. I’m afraid to walk around. I’m afraid to look around. If I leave my spot I might do something I will later regret. If I look around, I may see something within reach that I could use to relieve this pain. It’s been 2 years in February. Do I want to waste all of that? Does it even matter? I’m just sick of hurting. So sick of it.
Why can’t I live like everyone else?
He doesn’t know what it’s like for me. He doesn’t know what I go through. He doesn’t know that everywhere I turn is another trigger I’ve got to battle. Every second of every day I spend my energy just trying to be as ok as possible…I’m never ok. I’m either in a BPD episode, or I’m battling not tipping over the edge into an episode. In either case, the episode is right there. Taking over, or trying to take over.
I wonder if I should leave him. BPD has ruined my life, and I don’t want it to ruin his. It’s not fair. I know to stay away from people. I never should have let ‘us’ happen.
I hate me.