Update

I recently decided to look up books relating to border personality disorder on goodreads. You know, just to get a feel of what was out there. I found a lot of stuff and not all of it encouraging. While there are many books about BPD I found many to be from people who are trying to villainfy it.

One book in particular called it a chaotic hell.

For this very reason I think I want to write my own book.

I am a mother with BPD. I am not perfect and make plenty of mistakes but my daughter is happy. She is full of smile and is the most loving person ever. Sure she gets into trouble as all four years olds do but I do not believe that her life is hell. Choatis yes but not hell.

Still, this does not mean that she will not grow up to hate me.

I can be unintentially cruel at times.

I can be ignorant.

I can spend hours alone in my room crying, yelling at her to get out when she tries to peek into my room.

I can be happy, too.

Endless days of us singing and laughing.

Times when my daughter has to remind me that it is passed her bedtime as I try to convince her to stay up for just “one more game”.

She is four but she has seen so much, to much, of this world.

I want to write a book that shows what BPD is for me. I want to write so that one day my daughter may come to understand even if she does grow up to hate me.

Many of the books are from people who left toxic relationships (friend,spouse,or family) and then turned around to talk a out the hell they went through. Others are from the words of people who were left by someone who died due to BPD and its systems. Very few are from those who suffer from it on a regular basis.

This excludes the medical ones of course.

I always said I would write a book after I have gotten 200 followers. I am getting so very close to that number.

I can only hope that I follow through this time.

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A Beautiful Pain

I am full of lies and contradictions.

I wonder if this will start to affect my body as I age.

Will I make it past 25?

Will I start to lose the ability to see?

I can already see my vision getting blurry.

I know that my hearts makes frequent stops.

But I am addicted to this beautiful pain.

I love how it hurts, the feeling of going insane.

Continue reading

Once I kissed

I don’t like kissing

It’s to intimate

To close

To

Gross

Everything about

Leaves me in hives

Eyes closed

Mouth opened wide

Nope

Sorry

I would rather die

But

Apart of me

A small part of me

Wishes it wasn’t that way

Kisses

Are not a curse

Used to hurt

To force

Love and commit

Meant to secure

To reward

Blushing brides and valued whores

Kissing isn’t meant

To be painful

A reminder of bad times

A punishment for false crimes

I don’t like kissing

To intimate

To close

To

Gross

To much of

A false show of commit

Meant to reward

At least

That is what they tell good little girls

Shh the babies are sleeping

I am not a good person but I am just that, a person. I have my flaws like everyone else. I have moments that make others believe I am insane. I am not a good parent but I try to be the best I can be. I am not the perfect daughter but I strive to make my mom proud of me.

It hurts to admit my faults to others. When society tries it’s hardest to make us reach for greatness, for perfection.

I want to do good. I want to better than this. I want the big house, the nice car, the wonderful attentive family, and to be mentally stable. I am not though. With my current state of mind, I will probably never be. And I hate it, I hate having to tell people how fucked up I am.

Hate it when they give me that haunted look of pity. It drives me insane!

Now people can tell me to keep my life to myself but I am not one to pretend. I am not the type to have people believe it is ok when it is not.

Now, that isn’t to say I am a complete downer. I have my moments just like everyone else.

It is just that I use no filter in my life. I try to be honest about it and that sometimes gets me judged.

That is I do not go around telling complete strangers my business. Just those I think will care.

Ok yes, this is me telling complete strangers but considering I rarely ever get any comments on my post it feels almost like I am talking to myself.

I can say what I feel and only occasionally will someone message me with kinds words or advice. I need the help but talking to myself will work just as well.

I cry a lot when I am alone.

Usually when my daughter is sleeping. I try to stay quiet so that I will not wake her but sometimes I fail. So I have tried alternatives to crying. Other ways in which I can get these horrible emotions out of my body. Writing helps but it only goes so far.

Still,  I am trying. I cry so silently now that she doesn’t wake up at all. Sometimes I go check on her when I am sad. My tears often blurring my vision so I am forced to sit there and calm down.

I know that I am a terrible person. I know that I make all kinds of mistakes.

I am not a good mother

daughter

sister

friends

I am shit with every title I have

but I do try.

In the making

Faithless in the making

I pray for help from above

I want him to stop hurting me

But I fear I am in love

Wedding bells in my future

White dresses painted red

I can tell he loves me

But maybe it is all in my head

I can hear her scream

From just down the hall

I can hear his laughter

Right before she falls

But I know that he loves me

And wants me forever more

It isn’t my fault that

My daughters such a whore

A/N

People always talk about how a parent should always know if a child is being abused. That as a parent, we have this built-in clock that lets us know if something is amiss. This isn’t true at all. But for those who do know, and ignore, and blame the child…I hate them. I despise them with a passion. How they sit and pretend that everything is ok when it is not. How they make the child out to be the criminal. They are disgusting people and deserve all sorts of pain…..

Yet

In some cases I believe the one who listens and does nothing is often hiding something. They must be sick in the head to let something like that happen.

Yet

Can they be helped?

I wrote this because I wanted to show the world how twisted the brain could be. Here is a mother listening as her child is being hurt and all she can think of is being in love.

Yet

From the words I have written you can tell there is an innocence there that makes it seem like she is not all the way there. Something must have happened to her.

Yet

There is no excuse for this. There is no excuse for allowing your child to be abused. But I fully believe that people need to try to understand the motive behind a crime.

I often think of why my grandmother sat and listened to what happened. I don’t recall her turning up the TV so she must have heard it all. I remember her warning me about it hours earlier. But me being 8 years old, I figured she was lying. grandpa’s aren’t suppose to hurt. They most they should do is tsk at kids. They aren’t suppose to do those things to kids….to anyone. Yet it happened and she sat and listened. I often wonder if she blamed me for his attraction. Did she hate me? Is that why she lied to the police when I finally told. Is that why she still tries to call me and tell me that he misses me and wants to see his granddaughter?

I want to know what she was thinking. I want to get a clear understanding of what was going through her head. Maybe I can properly hate her if I knew. Possibly even forgive.

Yet

There is a part of me that believes I am better off not knowing.

Drinking Daiseys

I wonder if she can see the shadows

If they keep her up at night

I often think it is from my own doing

That I am the reason she feels such anger

It must be my fault

That she can’t seem to shut her eyes

Without whimpering out loud

Sometimes I think she can hear the whispers

Voices telling her it is ok to die

Creepy little people who just love to lie

It must be my fault

I can’t protect her from the pain

I wonder if she tastes ashes

Whenever she greets the sun

Does it drive her insane to stand outside

Feeling all of those eyes

Hearing those screams

Tasting things that will probably never be

I wonder if it is my fault

That she is drowning on her own