Update

I am in college now. I figured things would be easy but I forgot just how depression works. Every encouraging word is met with a voice telling me that I am fucking up. How do I explain to people that what they say is nice but mt brain won’t let me except it.

My professor flagged my profile and talked about what a wonderful job I was doing. But I couldn’t…I couldn’t accept it.

I feel like such a failure. I do not have anyone I can talk about this with. Not to say I haven’t tried but everyone has their own problems to work through.

I want to self harm like crazy but I can’t. I don’t want my daughter disappointed in me. The urge is getting louder. I do not know how much time I have before I just give in or blow up.

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A friend like me

A/N for some odd reason this posted as a blank page. So lets see if we can try this again.

I wanted to hurt you
So I wouldn’t be alone
Wanted to make you hate
So I wouldn’t do it on my own
I ignored all the signs
That said you where near your end
In my rush to find a like minded friend
I destroyed what made you good
I just wanted someone beside me
Who would suffer as I did
I didn’t see it as a problem
I felt that, overtime, our pain would solve them
I didn’t see you gasp for help
Was to busy cutting you like everyone else
As you lay bleeding in my image
I felt that we could win this
What a terrible friend was I
To live you alone to die
I just wanter you to suffer
Wanted you like no other
But I never wanted to be alone

I stopped laughing

I am not exactly sure when laughter started to bother me. When I figured a group of people experincing joy made me so sad. All I know that as times change I begin to look at laughter as a bad thing. Their happy smiles meant something was wrong with me. Doesn’t matter that they had been doing it before I even showed up, it was always at my expense.

I begin to hate the sound of people having fun. I begin to see their whispers as reasons to stay indoors. When a friend told a joke it was always about me, even when it wasn’t.

I am not an attractive person. I am not smart, or brave, or funny, or cool. I am everything a person hate. I am someone the world could make fun on for one reason or another.

I can not stand when strangers laugh around me. I always feel as though they are judging me. I fight the urge to run and hide whenever someone close by lets out a giggle. A smirk turns my stomach and makes me die inside.

I do better when I am alone or with my child. She can still hurt me with her giggles but I know that they are not always at my expense. I can be myself with her and she won’t judge me…much.

I hate being myself around others. If I show them someone fake then they can’t really hate me. Sadly, I do not really know the real me. I have no idea who I am so after awhile that doesn’t work either.

I guess it is because I hate myself so much I don’t want to get to know myself.

So I put in different personalities like clothing. There are so many layers that I don’t dare go looking for the core. I think it is because I am afraid of what I will find.

I despise when people laugh at me…or near me. I know it is because I have fucked up in some way.

Sleep aid

My daughter is crying in the other room

But I am to scared to go get her

I am afraid of what I will see

A giant figure standing over her

Caressing her whimpers

I am not strong enough to fight it

So I hide

My daughter is crying in her room

But I am to afraid to save her

I know what is standing there

A figure made of bad dreams

Touching her face as she shakes and whispers

A/N when my daughter was a newborn I was often afraid that something would happen to her. I remember watching all these videos about kids dying from SIDs or some other illness. I would constantly wake up and check on her. Doing the finger under the nose check just to make sure she was still breathing.

As she aged I started to have other fears. As I would open her bedroom door to check on her I would suddenly think that someone is standing there waiting.

They wouldn’t harm us but they would sit there. To this very day, and I do mean very, I am still afraid to go and check on her. I have to work myself up to it. I often hear her when she wakes up but I do not move until she comes to my door asking to come in. I stay silent… I know this cowardly but the person in my head is often one who loves her and hates me. To it I am a monster and she must be protected.

I am afraid but I know she will be forever safe.

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.

Permission

CW:Suicidal thoughts, Self-harm, depression and parenting.

My daughter has never really experienced death. The only way I could explain things to her is that when people die they change. Thier bodies break down and they become other. Tress, grass, flowers, but not just plants.

This hurt her of course. She is only four yet I needed to explain why I cried when I held her grandmothers photo. Sure she wasn’t blood but she meant so much to me.

My daughter has little memory of her. Try as I might she has now forgotten her.

There are days I cry cause I know she is disappointed in me.

I explained to my little one that grandma is a flower. A beautiful Daisy just like her. One day I will be a flower as well. I want to be a lily or lavender. Those are among mt favorites.

I get sad a lot. Some days I want to be a flower as soon as possible but others I do not mind the wait. Last night was horrible. I cried a lot as I held my daughter and told her I wished I could be a flower. She told me that she didnt want me to leave. That being a flower wasn’t a good thing.

She denied my request to leave.

I sent my daughter to bed then promptly self mutilated to stop the pain. I learned long ago that I am a terrible person but I love my daughter with all my soul. Instead of cutting like I wanted to, I held a blade against my arm and pressed down. It never broke past the first two layers. I figured it would be enough to ground me but it wasn’t.

So I heated the blade and tried it that way. This time it worked. The pain was glorious and I found instant relief.

But

I messaged a suicide chatline anyways. The burning faded way to quickly. I had no desire to die but I wanted to hurt. I wanted to be in control of the pain. To channel it to a more manageable location.

I will not lie and say that this was bot a mistake, cause it was. So many things could have gone wrong. In that moment I needed it but I could have done something else.

I know this now.

But it doesn’t take away from the desire to want to do it again.

A statement

I know to learn how to forgive myself for my mistakes. To not let all my flaws get to me. I know I allow them go control my life and it starts to effect that of my daughters.

I love her so much and I can see how my mental disorder is taking a toll on her.

I need to learn how to forgive myself before it is to late.