When I was a child, I had a friend who lived in China. I am not exactly sure what made us start being friends. I just know that nearly everyday I would try my hardest to stay up so that we could talk. With me being in America and 15, this was not always an easy feat. Still I considered this young man to be my brother.
He was the kindest person I knew at the time. Even though we could only talk maybe 30 mins or so I still looked forward to our talks.
Eventually I lost contact with him. I do not know the reason or even when we stopped talking, just that we did.
I still think of him. He helped me through so much in life.
I can only hope that he knows I still love him. He was the brother I did not get to keep.
I have never been good at dealing with the death of a loved one. I have often found myself to be the only person openly crying at funerals. As everyone is floating around and celebrating, I was always the one calming talking to the body as though they could still hear me. The one everyone felt that needed to baby due to my delicate nature.
It is funny though cause I actually celebrate death. I do not pretend to be happy with a passing. Instead I let myself feel sad. I do not hade behind perfect smile and tell everyone thanks for coming. No I kneel and allow the person I have lost know I love and will always remember them. I celebrate death once I have grieved.
Not to say smiles or laughter at a funeral should not happen cause they should. I just don’t do it.
I am not very religious, but despite how some of my poems may seem, I love religion of all kinds. Including Christianity. I may not follow all the teachings but I do not find it horrible.
So I can understand how something that is something we need to sing about.
I am just quieter…..
I wish people would stop seeing my tears as a weakness. I wish they would talk to me. Let me tell them that sure I am crying, but I will be on in time.
Why do people hide death from me? Treat like a little flower who needs to be protected? Has anyone read my poems and stories??? Seriously, I will be ok. Just give me time. Let me vent, let me grieve in my own way.
Hello, I have BPD and it does define me. I refuse to lie and say it doesn’t. I have anxiety and I have depression. I have mood swings out the ass, and there are moments when burning down a building full of people I hate sounds like a really good idea.
I can’t stand loud noises unless I make them. I jump to conclusion quickly but I also like to take time to think about what is going on. I feel to much at a time. Though there are times I feel nothing at all. My anger isn’t like yours. Something so small can make me feel like John Wick after someone killed my dog. I will hunt you down and I destroy every thing you love dearly. I will not only destroy that but I will make sure everyone knows what kind of monster you all. Nothing will be held back.
My happiness isn’t like yours. The smallest thing can make me smile for hours on end. You can tell me someone called you a bitch and I will still smile like it is the best thing ever.
My sadness isn’t like yours. When I am sad I am dead inside. I feel nothing but that pain and it will spiral. Know how people joke about how girls will bring up stuff that happened years ago in an argument? Well imagine that happening all the time. When I get sad every bad thing comes to mind. Stuff I did as a kid is suddenly brought up in my head. I will beat myself up over it and hate myself anew. I will contemplate suicide in a dark room. I will pretend that I am ok but I am not. I will smile amd make jokes, but instead be making up the seating arrangements for my funeral. Who will say what and when. Who will lie and say they love me and who won’t even show up. Don’t worry I have always known how my funeral will look, only the music changes with each reimage.
My emotions are not like others. They are to high. Ever got a song stuck in your head? How the tempo seems to go faster and faster. Louder and louder till you feel a snap! That is my life. My every day unless I go numb.
That is my Borderline Personality Disorder.
It hurts to sleep sometimes.
I can’t build relationships cause I either trust to much or to little. One minute I will love a person and the next they are satans midwife. Giving birth to a new evil who will take over this world instead of killing it when they had the chance.
I have BPD and it defines me. It is who I am but I try to not let it control me. Do not forget is there though. Do not try to wish it away. It won’t magically go away so learn about it and understand who I am. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. This is me…
So working on my story thing is going ok. I haven’t really decided on a theme and am just writing random stuff. On a later date I will go through what I have and decided what to keep and what to use in a different book.
I want to do a bunch of short stories but am thinking that combining it with some poems will help as well. Short of like an anthology but instead of other people writing it will just me.
Like person who wrote ‘Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark’ mated with Shel Silverman and had a book baby.
Or that one lady who wrote those poem stories but doesn’t piss people off cause she is obsessed with everyone getting unhappy endings even though we expected them to have one. Like seriously why would you end a book on a good note only for them to come back in a different book doing the same shit they were in the last book. Like do you want them to fail at life, cause that’s how you fail at life.
No in my stories happy endings are not to be expected. Unless you feel like death is a happy ending. In that case you will not be disappointed. Cause someone is dying, I can assure you of that.
I have always felt a little bit of pitty for the bad guy in almost every book. So this will be a story of the bad guys getting their just desserts. Not all victems ate innocent you know. Not all monsters are without a heart.
We shall see how it goes
Update: I need to learn how to edit as I write. Or at least go over things…