There are days when all the stars in the sky take my breath away and I am glad to be alive on this earth. Content with peace and the knowledge I am loved.
But this illusion is a passing fad that soon disappates into the floating abyss and once more I am left with the world I have known since the days of my first memories. A dark place where it's too cold and yet too hot, and the crowd around me is suffocating and yet they are non existent.
It's the part I hate the most about being on that line between elated and suicidal. A thin string that from it hangs all my aspirations and dreams and yet my darkest fears and harshest worries. Because one day I own the world, I walk upon the skyscrapers and bask in the suns of far away galaxies and know that whatever I please is within reach. But the shadows always follow even the brightest light, and as quickly as I own the universe I am crashing through the glass window of my dream that was only an illusion.
I am not a burden, my illness is. To me, to others, to the continuation of my sanity, and worse, life. It feeds off itself, setting off the spinning chain that continually eats itself like a snake biting at its own tail. BPD thrives in relationships. Not the ones that are surface only, the take it or leave it kind, no, BPD thrives in the destruction of the heart. The relationships that weave themselves into your heart and life. The ones that hurt the most to.. well.. hurt.
I love deeply and fully and intensely. I will love every aspect of you. You will have my full acceptance, assurance, commitment and support. I will drive myself into harms way, physically and emotionally, to ensue your protection. I love always from the heart, never with empty promises or words.
But I ask only this.
Patience.
I misread situations, categorizing them into worst case scenarios and panicking unnecessarily in response. I am suicidal, please understand this, please watch for this. The signs of my lows are not eating, sleeping days away, not smiling at you anymore or anyone, not joking or flirting, just becoming quiet and non existent. It is the beginning of the war in my mind. I feel physically sick, emotionally devastated.
Abandoned. Rejected. Unwanted. Hated.
It isn't true. I know it isn't true, on some sublevel of my brain. But it feels true, feels real. I cannot come up with four no matter how many times I add two and two. It always comes out five.
I will forget to take my medication. I will do this on accident, I will do this on purpose. I want to know if I'm still loved by you. Whether you had just told me ten minutes ago or ten days ago. I will not believe you, some days I will.
I will hate my body, my face, my weight, my hair. I will hate the stretch marks on my thighs and stomach. I will loath the roundness of my cheeks. I will criticize the size of my hands, the length of my feet.
Other days I will celebrate these as the wonderfulness of life. The diversity of our beautiful world. I will feel beautiful, cute, sexy. I will flaunt what I deem beautiful.
You cannot change me, fix me, cure me or heal me. But you can hold me, kiss me, tell me it's okay and the situation is not as I perceive it. You can tell me you love me, you can tell me you are here.
You can accept me and stand by me, and keep an eye on days I am out of rhythm. You don't have to speak a word, just your presence will tell me what it is you want to say.
I don't need you to fix me, I just need you to try and understand. To try at trying. To put the stars back when they've fallen down again.
~~~
