My birth was a mistake. Not killing myself when I was younger was a mistake. Believing all of the lies that I was told growing up was a mistake. Hoping that even one man on this entire planet would ever find me attractive was a mistake. Every time I go out into the world turns out to be a mistake. But staying inside all day is a mistake, too. Every action I could possibly take — besides suicide — is a mistake because continuing to exist will only result in further torment that I don't want to deal with any longer.
I'm not going to complain about how I did nothing to deserve this horrific fate — even if it may be true — because that won't change anything. The only thing that can put an end to my lifelong suffering is fast-forwarding to my death.
I read a comment today cautioning someone to take care and that "numbness is the first step toward depression."
I found that curious. For me numbness has been the last respite — or a series of intermittent attempts at convalescence.
Numbness for me has been the last gate in the long line of broken fortifications circumscribing my sanity.
Numbness for me is feeling such intense flashes of rage and destruction that conscious control must be temporarily forfeited to allow the organism to continue.
Numbness for me is being so far exhausted of ONE FUME, ONE DROP, ONE FUCKING DROP of hope that ANY GODDAMN thing will change before I break my own spine against the earth
and I promise everyone around me that is the BEST possible scenario!
I was driving to school and I was not okay. I was aware of the state I was in but I chose not to care. I made it to class on time but I wasn't trying to hear any bullshit from anyone. Some people act like they know everything when really they don't. People make fun of me because I'm a 21 year old virgin. It's ridiculous but honestly I don't give a fuck anymore. I'm trying to survive college and get my bachelors degree in aviation. It's hard as fuck but I have to keep going forward no matter what.
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The things I think of when I'm alone
PoetryUnbearable pain that is expressed and acknowledged becomes bearable. But people who have suffered from BPD received no such responses in their childhood. Therefore, they are stuck in the past, trying to elicit what they needed as a child-validation...
