No title

I don’t have a title for this one. It’s just me putting some thoughts onto some virtual paper.

My boyfriend and I broke up. I broke up with him. The pain and stress I go through was just too much to handle anymore and it was the only way I knew to get rid of it. To my knowledge, he didn’t do anything wrong but the triggers I’ve had and my paranoia, it’s hard for me to not paint him as evil.

It’s hard to be around him. When we are just being like friends I can mostly handle it but when there is a glimpse of something more it freaks me out all over again.

I’m not sure what I’m thinking and feeling about it because mentally and emotionally I just need a break. So I try not to think about it and focus on the fact that it’s over and I don’t have to worry anymore. 

Am I making a dumb decision? Possibly. Will I one day regret it? Who knows. Maybe, maybe not. Will I be ok? Yes. I think so. Relief is my goal. It’s unfortunate but that’s my reality.


Over it

I really just can’t do this anymore. I am just done. I’m tired of worrying and thinking and feeling sick and anxious and being unable to eat. I just want to live my god damn life.

So fucking over it.

My personality

So I am sitting here thinking about personalities. I was reading something online about how we are all born with this core personality that follows us through our lives. Even as babies, we are all very different and have our own unique personalities which show themselves more and more within just months after birth.

Unfortunately for myself, somewhere along the line, my personality got damaged. Or rather, it’s been covered up by so many layers of bullshit that I no longer recognize myself, and the personality I had is so far hidden I hardly know where to begin to get it back and bring it back out.

I remember my mom telling me how outgoing and goofy I was as a young child. I was always talking to people, and in fact, would dangerously talk to or go with absolutely anyone, stranger or not, because that’s just how I was. I was always imitating funny things or doing funny voices just to get laughs or be plain silly. I was the girl roaming the camp for monkey gold, looking for seashells on the beach, finding cool rocks, playing in the creek and mud to take home frogs, on the prowl for caterpillars and taking home any stray animal or insect I could find. Getting lost in the neighborhood because I just had to follow that butterfly. And everything just had to go home with me. Even that dead bird that I just couldn’t leave on the side of the road.

Then I remember her telling me how I changed when I started school. She remembers the teacher telling her how quiet and reserved I was and my mom was so confused because that didn’t match my personality at all. My teacher just must have gotten me confused with someone else. But no. She hadn’t. It was me. Or was it?

So what happened? What happened when I started school? Was there a traumatic event that I just don’t remember? Why was there such a sudden and dramatic change to my personality? Honestly, as many layers that are hiding that personality, I still relate to it. I still remember. I was so carefree, free spirited, my own person and I was totally ok with that. Until I started school.

I remember the terror that set in. It was constant. The fear of not being accepted. Suddenly everything I was, was wrong. No one else seemed like me. Kids were so mean and I didn’t want to be the target. I was too afraid to continue being who I was out of fear that it just wasn’t acceptable. I remember those feelings because I still feel them to this day, but they’re even worse now. I was the quiet kid doing everything alone and only speaking up when I would see someone else getting picked on. No one stood up for me but I always stood up for the other loners. Hate on me all you want but I’ll be damned if you’re going to hurt other people. I knew what they were feeling and couldn’t watch someone else be hurt. But me? I was always left to fend for myself and I was stubborn and held it all in. I was strong and I would be fine. Except I wasn’t. 

I also remember a lot of conflict with my sister. I would get so angry with her and always felt like she got special treatment. I always felt like the black sheep and can pin point a few times in my childhood that the treatment was legitimately unfair. I always felt like, “What about me?” But I clung to her. She often had to tell me to give her space because I would physically stay too close to her like when we went to the pool. I just couldn’t face all of those people on my own and I never felt like my parents were there for me. Sadly I never felt that she was either. My mom and her were always very close, my dad was scary and had his own issues, and then there was me. So from very early on I have had to try and figure out how to survive on my own without needing anyone.

Why was I so afraid? Why did I feel so different so early in life? People just never seemed to appreciate things the way that I did. No one cared how cool that pine cone or rock looks, how pretty that butterfly was, or how sad that bird’s family must have been for losing it. They were all too busy worrying about designer clothes and shoes and having the latest and greatest of everything and having the best status in the class. Popularity. I didn’t care about that yet it just made me feel so absolutely different that I just felt so alone. Why didn’t I care about those things? Apparently I should. What is wrong with me?

Looking back, it doesn’t matter if I was different. I think I sounded like a pretty cool kid before I started school and became so terrified of the world. Is that still me? Is that who I’m supposed to be?

Why did it have to lead where it did? How did life go from butterflies and caterpillars to the torment I lived through in various situations out of my control as I got older, and to where I am now?

Maybe if I could understand that, I could try to get that person back. I still honestly feel like that personality differs from most. I don’t care about social status. I don’t live for anyone but my kids. I don’t care about the things that most others care about. Maybe being different is just my thing. Maybe it’s ok to be her. And if that means being alone, than so be it. I just have never cared about having the most friends or being “in”. I just don’t want to be bothered. I’d still rather chase butterflies and see where they’re going.

If I were more like me again, I think I would be a better mom. A better girlfriend. A better everything. Maybe that’s what I need to do. Find her.

The Haunting

She sits right there on her bench

Listening to its voice

It talks so much and she tries not to listen

But she doesn’t have a choice

What’s it like to be like them? She asks

You will never know.

You’re not like them, you’re different.

So she nodded and walked back home

Again there on that bench she sits

Trying to drown it out

Why do you never shut up? She asks

Why do you always scream and shout?

I live to cause you pain.

I survive by drinking your tears,

And feasting on your soul, you see,

Your body, your mind, your fears.

You can’t live without me.

Until the day you die I’ll be,

Sitting right here behind you,

Laughing at you while you bleed.

I will follow you wherever you go.

For you there is no escape.

You think you will be free of me,

But when you die, I’ll still be awake.

Drowning in Pain

The demon grew inside her

She couldn’t take the pain

She fell to her knees

She begged, “God please”

And cried just like the rain

She wanted to write the pain

Deep into her skin

She wanted to bleed

And the demon took heed

And walked her to the cliff

Not in control of her body

Victim to the intruder

It claimed her soul

It took a hold

And made her want to end things forever

She screamed from the inside out

But her cries for help were unheard

She ripped at her skin

And pushed it back in

Because there was just nowhere to turn

So on that cliff she stood

Looking to the ground

Right there she falls

To end it all

Her screams no longer a sound

And so there alone she lays

Not yet to be found

In her own blood

Amidst the flood

Of the pain that made her drown

To You

I guess I just want to say that I know I am not easy to be with. At all. I’m difficult, I’m more than a handful, I’m mean, and I’m just not well. I can’t imagine how unhappy you must be and probably even how hurt you are, and most likely just dissatisfied all around. That scares the shit out of me, and yet I can’t seem to fix myself.

I go to therapy, I take my meds, I try to do things like my binder and I just feel like I’m getting nowhere. You’re right. When I am “ok”, I can’t be bothered with anything in fear of being triggered. When I’m not ok, well, I’m just not ok and all hell is breaking loose. I can’t control myself. I hope one day I can, but I will be honest in saying that I am really losing hope, or maybe I’ve already lost it.

Since I can remember, at very young ages even, I’ve been dealing with these issues. They’ve only grown into a bigger monster the older I get. I’ve often read that as I get older, the symptoms may get better, but it seems to be quite the opposite. I’m getting worse and I feel like I have absolutely no control over it.

While it isn’t showing itself as a good thing in terms of how I feel about you, I do know that this is all being triggered by how good I DO feel about you. It is terrifying. I love you and inside me I know that you are a good guy, but it goes against everything I know and believe in, or don’t believe in. It goes against all past experiences and pretty much everything I’ve ever known in my entire life. I never really believed in love. I knew I could feel emotions like that, but I don’t understand that other people could or do feel things like that. Especially for me. It doesn’t make sense to me that someone could possibly feel for me what I feel for them. If people felt as intensely as I do, why am I the only one acting out? I know I am different.

The very first writing on my blog is explaining why I chose the name ‘Beautifully Borderline’. I read it often and I try to believe even my own words, but I know that the ‘white’ side of things rarely comes out. Even when it does, I second guess myself constantly. Is this just another symptom? Is this fake? Is this just another episode but on the opposite end of the spectrum? Is ‘it’ fooling me? It must be because it’s always wreaking havoc in my life and I can’t trust anything, because I can’t even trust myself. I rely on the world for cues about how I should be, but nothing seems to feel right because I just don’t ever feel right. I’m uncomfortable in my own skin because I don’t know who this person is. I feel like I am constantly trying to figure myself out, to get to know myself, but I’m constantly changing and so I can’t seem to figure me out. Who I am one minute, or one day, may be totally different than who I am the next minute or day. I jump from thing to thing in search of ‘the answer’ to all of my problems. Fixes. Remedies. The next shiny new object to keep my attention for a little while hoping that maybe, just maybe this time this will work out for me and I’ll have found at least one of my missing pieces, but none of them seem to fit. Nothing seems to make me better.

I don’t feel equipped to love you. How can I do something I don’t understand? It’s not fair to you and maybe this is my self-sabotage but I sometimes just hope you will leave me and get it over with. I hate myself more and more for how mean and hurtful I am to you. It’s like sitting back and watching someone ruin my life, except that someone is me. It’s this thing in me. This thing I can’t get rid of or control. I’m constantly on the edge of my seat waiting for the hurt that I’m so sure you will cause because that’s just how it goes. Eventually you will get tired. You will get tired of being my punching bag. You will get tired of not feeling what you need to feel and just having your needs unmet all of the time. No one can do this forever and I’m not stupid. You can’t make something rotten, fresh again. And that’s me. I feel rotten.

I never should have been on the search for you and I feel like a bad person for it. I don’t deserve it and all I’m doing is ruining your life. This isn’t my seeking out of a pity party, this is just the truth. You deserve what you are looking for and eventually you will go find it. I don’t blame you.

I think you’re amazing. At least I hope you are what I think you are. It’s too scary to just believe it. There is always bad even in the good and I can’t even let myself think of that without wanting to fly off into a fit of rage because it hurts me so badly. I’m tired of hurting. My mind needs perfection so it doesn’t get hurt, but that doesn’t exist. And unfortunately, I don’t know how to handle anything else. I wasn’t made for life. For living like other people do. I feel like all I do is try to survive just one more minute, one more day. I don’t enjoy anything because I’m constantly in such emotional pain.

I know you read my blog but I feel like that’s just you reading my anger and not really getting inside my head in terms of how I truly feel it relates to you. I don’t even know what my point is anymore. This went from something with good intentions, to a sounding like a breakup letter, to what now feels like a suicide note.

I know you don’t like hearing or reading about those things, but this is me. This is what I go through. This is what life is for me. This is it, and it’s no good. I feel like I am some sort of evil that is just infecting your life with poison. You don’t deserve that. If you told just one person how I am, they would tell you to get the hell away from me…if that hasn’t already happened. I think it has.

I just got a not so nice comment on my blog today. I marked it as spam and moved on but the truth is, it hurt. I guess it hurt because in a sense I believe that it’s true. I used to defend myself because I can’t help how I am. I didn’t choose this. But I am starting to believe what I am reading. I really am an awful person and I shouldn’t be around others, and I’m tired of not being able to function and for affecting others the way that I do.

I have one, or two, wishes in life. The first one is to be better, permanently, like other people. That isn’t happening and so I wish to not exist at all. Those are my options. If you felt like me, those would be your options too.

I love you and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for who and how I am. I’m sorry I’m not enough. I’m sorry because I believe that one day I won’t be here. You don’t want to hear it, I know, but I plan. I plan for the end. Sometimes it is the only hope I have. The only light shining at the end of this tormenting tunnel. The only thing that gets me through one more day, because it’s one more day closer to the end of this pain.

I’m sorry again.

Still gone

I’m still not fully here. It’s like standing by the ocean. Ocean representing life. It creeps up closer to me in the sand and I keep stepping back so it doesn’t touch my feet, but every once in a while I let it get a little closer without running away from it. But any slight feel of the coldness on my feet just feels too dangerous because I can think of all of the awful things the ocean is capable of if it pulls me in. So quickly I run further away from it. It’s just not worth the risk and I’m just fine out in the sand where there are seashells and warmth and I can see everything around me. That ocean though. Just a few small steps in and your feet can no longer be seen. The further you go the less you can see and the higher the chance of something bad happening.

I hate the ocean. Maybe this is why.

I’m not ready to get back in. I’m tired of the in and out and as of right now I’m not even interested in getting my toes wet. I’d rather stay in the sand where nothing can hurt me and I can see clearly. I might be alone but I don’t care. There are others like me out there.


So here I am. Completely detached from everything. I just want to do what I do when I feel like this and just walk. Walk and walk without any real direction and just end up wherever I end up. The only con to that is that I can walk for a long time and would most likely end up very far from home. I just want to be with everything that can’t hurt me. Trees. Air. The sounds of being outside. Just cars passing by or the wind blowing. Leaves crunching under my feet. None of those things hurt. They are like the perfect sounds to a state of silence. No triggers.

But that’s not really an option right now. And maybe it’s not safe? I’m not really in my right mind right now.

Everything is surfacey. I feel like a shell. Like one of those locust shells that are still clinging to a tree but there is nothing inside. But until you check it, it looks alive. There is nothing inside me. I just look alive and my body is clinging to existence to camouflage in with the world and fake being ok.

I feel ghostly. Like someone could stab me and it would just go right through me. Unaffected. No pain. No real injury. Maybe even no blood. Just whoosh! Right through.


Why the hell am I even taking meds? The only thing that has stopped are my hallucinations but I’m pretty sure I’m just as crazy and unstable as I was before.

I don’t get why I swallow all of these little shits everyday. For what? For insurance companies to make money off of me without doing shit for me?

My quality of life has not improved one bit. Not one single fucking bit. Nope. It’s just as hellish as it has always been.

This can’t be right. No one should live like this. I wouldn’t even wish this on my worst enemy. It’s just wrong. And the fact that it’s incurable?! Might as well just give me an incurable physical ailment so I at least know the end is near. I’ll take anything at this point that will end this. Anything. This shit is eating me away from the inside. I just want to slash myself with razors until I bleed the fuck out and fade away.