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Bpd Stuff - Blog Posts
I'd like to stop being anxious now. My head is exploding.
Low and low, I sink
lo and behold, I crumble.
*goes through a hard time*
Me: I must be pretending
*feels incredibly lonely and wants to talk to someone*
Me: ew I'm too needy and weak
*experiences shitloads of emotional pain*
Me: stfu you're not a baby, gulp it down alone like an adult
Trying to not to be afraid of this energy. One of the days when I feel sorry for myself. Sigh.
Too many insights. Too many realizations. Long way to go. Sit tight. š«
but being numb/feeling empty is a whole another level of worse.
sometimes the emotions get so intense that i'd rather be numb.
someone please see iām struggling and be gentle to me!!! wipe the blood from my skin, hold me, kiss me, comfort me until i feel like something, until i feel like iām worth existing
THEY REPLACED ME
theyreplacedmetheyreplacedmetheyreplacedmetheyreplacedmetheyreplacedmetheyreplacedmetheyreplacedmetheyreplacedmetheyreplacedmetheyreplacedme
they said i was their favourite
they said they loved me
they said that IM their number one
WHY DID THEY REPLACE ME
DID I JST MEAN NOTHING TO THEM
DID THEY JST LIE THIS WHOLE TIME
IF THEY WERE TELLING THE TRUTH, HOW DID THEY REPLACE ME SO EASILY
am i rlly that replaceable?
to that one person
no revenge bcz one day ull realize i only had the purest intentions towards u, i never hurt u, all i did was love u, n i hope ull realize it n that itll haunt u for the rest of ur life
you might not like me anymore but ill always love you. ill never meet someone who is as amazing and pretty as you, and, in turn, youll never meet someone whos even a little bit similar to me, and i hope that fucking haunts you.
bout ready for a btec home lobotomy
(plz botch it up more plz botch it up more)
i swear death would be more fun than whatever the fuck is going on with me
ļ½”ļ¾ļ¾ļ½„ļ½”ļ½„ļ¾ļ¾ļ½”
ļ¾lobotomise me please
ćļ¾ļ½„ļ½”ļ½„ļ¾
itās hard to get me to say āi love youā but once iām comfortable i say it far too much
youāll get sick of it soon enough
Finally finding out whatās wrong with me: š
Finding out itās incurable: š¤”
You know whatās hard to swallow?
When you thought you had it all figured out. Not life, per se, but yourself - ever changing or not.
When you thought you had figured out the root of your problems, and praised yourself for being so darn self aware.
And then, something flips, the moment you give in to vice that you thought you had uncovered the secrets of. Why you drink, why you smoke, why you canāt seem to stop.
You thought youād figured it out - why it pulled you in, and then, nothing makes sense anymore.
The moment of realising that you donāt know your demons, you donāt know why your eyes seem to always gaze back at the glass of wine next to you, and then the bottle. Why it seems to call out to you, louder than anything else in the room - a scream in an endless sea of whispers.
You give in, because the absolute soul crushing feeling of once again being wrong about yourself is worse than faking the reasons, but you know youāll make up another. And youāll believe it.
And the cycle will repeat.
Random vent, but I hate the way BPD is romanticised in the media.
Babe, it is not something to romanticise, it isnāt a trendy hard-shelled girl in a horror movie, or a sarcastic depressed teen in a coming of age series.
It is anger. It is a rage that fills your body to the point where you canāt hear yourself over your heart beating at the pace of a Metallica drum solo.
It is trying to keep it together over and over, and falling apart over something as simple as your shirt getting caught on a door handle.
It is hitting yourself in the head out of anger. It is ripping up clothes, it is punching the nearest thing to you, it is tears falling down your cheeks while you scream out of rage.
It is numb. It is sitting in the same position for hours because thereās no point in getting up. It is boredom and tunnel vision. It is being trapped behind a screen in your mind, watching your life fly past, nothing feeling real.
It is abusing substances to feel something other than nothing. Something other than anger. A fleeting moment of euphoria and ego boost.
It is pushing everyone away, and going silent. It is pulling everyone back in with love bombs the second you feel like theyāre going to leave you.
It is compulsive lies, even over little things. It is defending yourself even when you know youāre in the wrong. It is crying during a fight to turn the situation around, turning yourself into the victim, making endless excuses.
It is knowing all of these horrible things are a part of your personality. Knowing that what you hate the most about yourself, is stuck with you.
Itās not romantic, itās not cinematic, itās not poetic. I wish it was, but itās not.
If someone had to ask, āwhatās the worst part of living with bpd?ā
I think Iād say, trying to explain to someone what itās like to not know who you are. Trying to explain swimming to someone whoās never seen water. Trying to explain purple to someone whoās blind.
It always results in a response along the lines of āBut I know youā.
Which forces the conversation to an end, with a sigh. Realising that no one will ever truly understand what you are trying to tell them.
Realising that, the person they know, is based on themselves. Or the current movie character obsession of the week.
Trying to explain to someone that, if you were left alone, without any form of influence - real, or fictional - you would be stuck in place.
me after my mind tries to convince me that everything that goes against my morals is something that i actually believe in so suddenly im sent into this spiral where i feel like a disgusting insect because i keep thinking of horrifying things and maybe i dont have any morals and i actually believe in the wrong stuff. but no its my brain trying to make me feel guilty and make me feel like my entire existence is wrong and im just a big fat liar and i have never been the right person my entire life