Therapist: Why are you here? Looking like this. The last time I saw you things were at a Bliss. You were happy, you said you'd never felt more at home. But you come here looking lost. Like your mind was somewhere else. Why are you here? Do we need to go over our options again. Is that why you're here?
Self: What are my options? I'm starting to run out of fear. So if I do, run out of fear. I need to know my options. So I don't impulsively slit my wrist or jump off a cliff. Once I run out of fear that is. I told you this. I'm desperate but not enough to end this here. What are my options? What's left that I haven't tried?
Therapist: What's going on that's got your mind all in a bend.
Self: Me. Literally just me. How I create problems from thin air. How I assume. How I panic. How I can't do shit right. How I can't keep people around. How I push everyone down. How I put myself last. How I don't see anything good for me. I never have. I never will. I still haven't seen a good to any of the shit I done did. It seems everyday something else is added. Like here's another reason you're a fuck up. I'm tired of having to feel. Tired of having to feel like this. Tired of always feeling like shit.
Therapist: BPD again?
Self: Why else would I be beating myself up like this? I'm starting to see an end that's nearer than I planned. And I don't see that plan deviating.
Therapist: So what are your options. Have you reached out? To the people who make you feel whole? That make all this make sense.
Self: May not be any left.
Therapist: This is a new low.
Self: One that I haven't felt in a while.
Therapist: What do you feel?
Self: Loneliness. Like I'm alone. Like I'm a little kid. Like I'm claustrophobic. Like I'm stuck. Like I'm trap. Like I can't escape my own thoughts and actions and how I come off. I wish I just wasn't me. I'm taking things too far. I don't even notice when I'm wrong anymore. I'm leading by being impulsive. Not asking questions. Just assuming everyone is against me.
Therapist: So here's your option. Are you ready?
Self: You could just tell me.
Therapist: Be a new you.
Self: ...
Therapist: Be a new you.
YOU ARE READING
Dim.
PoetryTired of trying to be everything. Trying to be perfect. Wrong paths and wrong people and missed opportunities. Am I letting my mental illness take over my life? A look into the mind of a BPD, Anxiety ridden woman. With no identity but her Panic. W...
