broken mind.

Well, here’s the broken part of the BPD. Here’s the ugliness. I try and hide it from everyone in my life. Even from you. But, here it is. Maybe it’s time I bring a little more truth into this blog. And the truth is, I don’t want to be here anymore. It hurts too much to be here. I live my life for everyone else. I hide so much of myself from the world because I don’t want them to know what truly lives inside of me. I protect my loved ones because I don’t want them to know the truth. I want to protect them from all of this ugliness. I never want them to know this. But here it is. I can go from being completely fine to being shattered in pieces in five minutes. Read all you want about BPD. Every article you can find. Nothing can explain what this feels like. This constant ache inside that nothing can ever feel. Feeling so many emotions that you feel like you’re basically going to jump out of your skin because you can’t handle it. No words on a piece of paper can ever come close to explaining what it feels like to want to die because you can no longer handle the hurt inside. I fight. Every single fucking day I fight. But for what? Just to make it through the day? Just to wake up so I can do it all over again? Do you even know what that feels like? I am an internal borderline. Some call it a “quiet borderline”. Whatever you wanna call it, I am more broken inside then I will ever be able to put into words. I live for other people. I don’t know how to live for myself. But I live for them. For their happiness. But in an instant that can change. I think they don’t care. Don’t text me back and I think you hate me. Don’t talk to me as much as you normally do, I think you no longer love me. That’s the fucking reality. But i never say it. I keep all this shit inside. Because I know it’s exactly that, shit. It’s my own mind, my own emotions betraying me. And I feel them all. Over and over and over. There’s no end to them. Never. So I want to protect the people I care about. I want to shade them from all of this darkness. They would be so much better off without me. That’s my reality. The people I love the most in this world, I want them to be free of me. Because this, this is a fucking ugly reality. And no one should have to live through it.

single.

I hate being single. My thoughts consume me at night. I am trapped within my own mind with no key to escape. I wake up every morning feeling more empty than I was the day before. It makes me feel like I’m flailing in the darkness and there is no one there to catch me. Or watch me fall. It is an intolerance for being alone. I can’t handle it. The feeling like I have no direction. Or even a path to walk along. People tell me that this is the time of self-discovery for me. When I am supposed to learn to love myself and my life. And then, and only then, will I find what will complete me. But the flaw in their grand design is that I am not like them. I do not think the way most people do. I do not feel things the way most people do. I can’t enjoy this feeling of freedom. Because it is not freedom to me. It is me being untethered. With no one to answer to but myself. It is me standing on the edge of a cliff and no one is there to stop me from jumping. It is me being able to do whatever I want, with no one to tell me not to. It is me one moment away, one decision away, from being everything I have worked so hard not to be. The impulsive and reckless monster that may not be here tomorrow. That’s not freedom. That’s a constant ache for someone to stop me. For someone to save me. From myself.

empty.

I don’t know if I have felt this empty in a very long time. For the majority of my life I feel like a character. A friend, a sister, an aunt, a daughter. For each situation that I am in I put on a mask and become that character. I feel the situation to the best of my ability and act accordingly. Not saying that I do not love my friends and family, because I do. I love them fiercely and with conviction. I love them with every ounce of my being. But when I am with them, I am a character. Tailored to their personality. I am whatever they need me to be in that moment. I am their strength. I am their protector. I am their shoulder to cry on. I am everything they need. But when I am alone, there is no mask for me to put on. Not for myself. There is no mask to wear. I am me. The broken, self-hating version of myself that I am inside. There is no fooling myself. No need to pretend that I am anything else than what I truly am. I wish I had a mask for myself. A character I could play to hide the truth from myself. But there is nothing like that. I am empty. Truly empty inside. The emotions I feel in the outside world are gone. Replaced by nothing but numbness. And that soul aching emptiness. I am alone. Truly alone. I can pretend to be different characters, but it never works. The truth always finds away to slip out from inside. I am a background character in my own life. People describe me as “amazing”, but they don’t see me for what I am. I am a monster in hiding. Pretending to fit in in a world that will never understand me. People that love me unconditionally, but they have no idea what they are loving. A monster just waiting for the chance to appear. A monster kept away by will alone. But it is a will held on by a thread. I am self-destructing and no one can see. No one sees me.