BPD sucks. I feel like I am mentally handicapped; brain-damaged; defective and just screwed up with no visible injury to show for it. But inside I feel like the Monster Teddy…and on occasion, the monster comes out. Tonight it’s out. It makes me spiral even more because when I start to turn into Band-Aid Teddy again, I fall even lower because I feel so terrible for my anger and how I must have made people feel. I go from an evil enraged…dare I say it…bitch, to a self-loathing desperate terrified apologetic little girl. God, I really hate me.
God. Which leads me to something else. God. What are you doing up there, God? I don’t get it. I’m just really tired of looking around and feeling like the only one flailing to stay above the surface long enough to survive, while everyone else just seems to be floating around on life rafts that were apparently handed out for free. I guess I was absent that day.
BPD, you make me want to die. I’m tired of fighting you.