I thought I was relatively comfortable saying I have Borderline Personality Disorder. But the truth is… I don’t yet think I am. I feel if I admit to it I will just be giving myself permission to continue to let the symptoms own me, so to speak. I’m afraid that if I admit it, I’ll be admitting to weakness. I feel ashamed. Would I feel ashamed if I had the flu? No, so why should this be any different? Voices from the past (and present) repeating over and over again that it’s all in the mind. Yes, it literally is. But that’s not how they mean it. It’s not just society. It’s that one person I wish could understand. The one person I wish would show compassion instead of making hurtful (and untrue) comments.
Why do I keep trying to reach out to someone who doesn’t know how to show emotion? Someone who thinks throwing money at me makes it all better. Someone who just keeps hurting me over and over again in ways he can’t even imagine. Someone who I never wanted to hear from while living far away, and didn’t want to answer calls from, yet feeling abandoned and desperate when he wouldn’t phone me every few days. Picking up the phone to call him, and “jokingly” asking him whether he forgot about me.
Hating him so intensely, while other moments, loving and wanting him so desperately. The desire to feel a connection to him. For him to be the father I always needed and wanted him to be. Attempting to get his attention, while at the same time uncomfortable with the thought that I might get it. Wanting him to really see me. Longing to escape him, yet feeling that even when I do, I’ll be unable to let go completely. That only death will annihilate it.
Trying to hide the marks on my skin from him, in my late teens and early adult years, yet desperately wanting him to notice them. Realizing one day that he had noticed, but never saying anything. Having his sister tell me to roll up my sleeves, while he stands there, saying nothing, not even looking at me. Refusing her harsh request, but being unable to stop her from grabbing my arm and forcing me to reveal what’s there. Her yelling at me “you stop this shit today!”. Looking over at him, hatred flooding my body, daring him to look at me. But he doesn’t. He just keeps looking at the floor. The coward. The bastard. Wanting to yell “I hate you”, but keeping it locked away instead. And still… I keep it locked away.
I feel like there’s something fundamentally wrong with me. I feel like no one understands. Not even my therapist. Not my closest friend. Unless we have somehow miraculously been transported into another persons body and mind, we will not understand what someone is really going through.
One minute I’m floating on a beautiful cloud, as high as I can get, surveying the amazing, rich landscape below and filled with gratitude, and the next the cloud just disappears out from under me and I find myself plummeting back down into the lowest depths of the earth.
I’m tired. Of this constant up and down, over and under. It’s exhausting. I long to just sleep for a few weeks, to get some rest. Or to fall asleep… Forever.
I’m so tired. I sometimes wish someone could just come and carry all this for me. Just for a little while. But no one can.
I want to yell “fuck it all”, “fuck you world” from the highest rooftop. Keeping these screams inside feels like a poison coursing through my body. The frustration and pain is so strong that it has a physical effect, and I can’t stop the shaking.
Another mark. They say it’s inappropriate. But if I express my emotions by giving them a voice, they say that’s also inappropriate.
“Just be positive”, “It’s not that bad”, “You can choose how you feel”.
So please tell me… What do I do when neither of those options are seen as “appropriate”? My mind is a black hole and maybe the answer is there, but there’s no light to illuminate it in this moment I find myself in.
I just saw my therapist on Thursday, and already I’m desperate to just reach out to her. To hear her soothing and gentle voice. But what if it’s not that voice? What if it’s the firm one? The one that frightens me when I’m in such a vulnerable place. No, I can’t call her, even though it takes every ounce of strength to resist… A strength that just leaves me drained and depleted.
It’s this hopeless, penetrating sadness again. I came across this video, and couldn’t stop the flood from taking over and unleashing the storm. It was as though someone was slicing through my whole body with a sharp knife, and the blood was pouring out in the form of tears. It hurt so bad. Because it touched me on the deepest level.