I get surgery tomorrow morning. I hope something happens and I don’t wake up.
Living with BPD is pure fucking hell.
If it weren’t for my kids and my dog, well if I weren’t already dead, I would be committing suicide instead of writing this fucking post.
I am so tired of not being able to handle anything. I just want to never feel again. Emptiness sucks but empty is better than all of this. This is overwhelming. Too instense. Intolerable.
I am in so much pain emotionally I feel like I will explode or just fucking break. I can’t function. I just need everyone and everything out of my life except for a select few who have proven to be good for me. That’s maybe about 5 people. This is my life. Lonely and unable to do absolutely anything about it because it all just hurts too damn much.
I am so confused. I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now or what I need. And that in itself is such a terrible place to be. I feel like there is just no hope for me.
I am feeling suicidal again. I just want to watch myself bleed. I wish I could watch myself die. I feel like I would get peace out of that. Like I could see myself ending the misery and torment. My last moments of this fucking mental hell and slipping off into freedom.
I don’t want to do anything and yet I need to do something. I just don’t know what. I feel very anxiously scattered all over the place. It’s no wonder I don’t have friends. I am so consumed by this bullshit. It doesn’t let me live. I feel like it holds me captive. Like an abusive boyfriend. I’ve been there and even that is better than this BPD hell. I would happily take that over this if it meant no more BPD. At least you can get out of a bad relationship. This is like a life sentence.
I wish there was help for me. I wish I could go into some sort of treatment facility and really get better. I just want to cry. Some of my thoughts I just can’t even tell anyone. People would be upset and worried. This just never seems to end.
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
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.
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.
I’m not going to lie, I often fantasize or think about suicide. Sometimes it hurts to think about but sometimes it feels good. Like the end is a moment away if I want it to be. That’s never my intention though when I cut. I have another suicide method that I’d resort to. Cutting wouldn’t do it.
Mostly though, self harm is a release. Relief even. I’ve been wanting to do it but know I have people to answer to and that stops me but irritates me at the same time. I should be able to do what I want.
Why do I want to do it? It feels good. It releases all of the built up adrenaline and emotions and everything inside me that is bursting at the seems to get out. It all needs a way out and that seems to be the safest way. A cut on my skin and a little blood doesn’t even begin to hurt those around me like my BPD symptoms do. At least that’s what I believe.
Sure, there are some negative results. Sometimes I dissociate, but that usually happens anyway after a traumatic BPD episode. And yes, they are traumatic. But if dissociation is inevitable, then why not?
I’m tired. I guess there is also a level of distraction and feeling like I deserve the pain. Or to turn the emotional pain that seems to control me, into a physical pain one can see, that I control.
Food for thought.
Seriously, fuck everyone. I am so fucking pissed right now.
I wish I had the ability to hurt people the way they make me hurt.
Why the fuck am I here. For absolutely nothing. Life is such a fucking waste. No one could even remotely begin to understand what it’s like being me.
I don’t even know what the fuck to do with myself right now and before anyone else tells me to go read or take a bath please know that if it were that easy I’d be the happiest person in the god damn world because I do happen to shower every day and I read quite often. I also color and WORK and we don’t happen to have bathtubs and bubbles in here. If it were so simple then there wouldn’t be mental illness. I’m going to go tell some cancer patients to take a bath and see how much better they feel. Hell, let’s just all jump in our tubs and cure the world.
Leave me the hell alone. Doesn’t seem to be that hard for some people.