Mar 17
Borderline Personality Disorder...
It's this thing that lurks in the shadows, a feeling that doesn't quite always manifest the same way.
BPD...the silent killer.....or maybe that's what all diseases are. I'm not so sure.
What I do know is that I never expected to make it past 18 much less to 23. What I do know is that BPD has a mortality rate of 8-10%. What I do know is that I'm scared.
Scared that one day the hidden thoughts of my mind, those things we like to keep in a box, will soon find their way to the frontal lobe of my brain and send my consciousness soaring.
Scared that one day I'll finally get tired. Then, I'll get tired of feeling tired and then I won't be tired at all anymore.
Scared of my ability to hurt others even more than I hurt myself.
What I find to be the sick irony of the whole situation is that BPD manifests solely from immense abuse. You cannot be born with it, the mannerisms are all learned. Therefore, I am now forced to bargain my existence, tiptoeing through memories that should be long forgotten.
Trying to remember what my childhood was like while overcooking my breakfast.
Trying to shower but my brain continues to replay that time she raised her hands to me.
Trying to sleep....but my brain doesn't allow that comfort much anymore because those thoughts find their way into my dreams.
When we struggle, they like to remind us that "we are not alone". Yet when I dream at night, I am the one to close my eyes. When I walk into a restaurant, I am the one that can't sit with my back to the door anymore.
I want to give a special shoutout to everyone who played a role in me obtaining this diagnosis. If it weren't for your years of abuse, I wouldn't be living through the single most wonderful years of my life.
Without you, I'd be free and freedom from ourselves is much easier said than done.
It's this thing that lurks in the shadows, a feeling that doesn't quite always manifest the same way.
BPD...the silent killer.....or maybe that's what all diseases are. I'm not so sure.
What I do know is that I never expected to make it past 18 much less to 23. What I do know is that BPD has a mortality rate of 8-10%. What I do know is that I'm scared.
Scared that one day the hidden thoughts of my mind, those things we like to keep in a box, will soon find their way to the frontal lobe of my brain and send my consciousness soaring.
Scared that one day I'll finally get tired. Then, I'll get tired of feeling tired and then I won't be tired at all anymore.
Scared of my ability to hurt others even more than I hurt myself.
What I find to be the sick irony of the whole situation is that BPD manifests solely from immense abuse. You cannot be born with it, the mannerisms are all learned. Therefore, I am now forced to bargain my existence, tiptoeing through memories that should be long forgotten.
Trying to remember what my childhood was like while overcooking my breakfast.
Trying to shower but my brain continues to replay that time she raised her hands to me.
Trying to sleep....but my brain doesn't allow that comfort much anymore because those thoughts find their way into my dreams.
When we struggle, they like to remind us that "we are not alone". Yet when I dream at night, I am the one to close my eyes. When I walk into a restaurant, I am the one that can't sit with my back to the door anymore.
I want to give a special shoutout to everyone who played a role in me obtaining this diagnosis. If it weren't for your years of abuse, I wouldn't be living through the single most wonderful years of my life.
Without you, I'd be free and freedom from ourselves is much easier said than done.
Keep going kid....
