Cheers! Tomorrow is my birthday. Every year for years now I never thought I’d make it another year older. But here I am. Unhappy and still wishing I was dead.
I love having BPD. I love it so much, those abandonment issues. Those rocky relationships. Whenever feelings go south I keep thinking about suicide, I don’t know how to cope normally. I don’t know how to not think about killing my self when I feel negative emotion. I broke up with my boyfriend today and now I feel like dying. This isn’t normal I know. And I’m not going to tell him how I feel. Because that is Unfair to him. But I want someone to know this is how I feel. I’ll never be someone’s number 1
isn’t it funny how mental health works. all of sudden you’re fine and then all of sudden you’re not. its funny how what works for some people wont necessarily work for you. its funny how i somehow am stuck in that pit of emptiness and no matter what people try and tell me or try to help me nothing works. ive been on almost every mood stabilizer there is. ive tired anti depressants, ive tried CBT, ive tried DBT. ive tried it all.
yet im still empty
ive lost the motivation to care about myself. ive tred to get better for long yet here i am, again. ive been writing posts on SP for 3 years now and honestly im tired of it. im tired of all of it. i just want to die, i want to kill myself. but yet, im so scared. is it normal to want something so badly but still be afraid? i dont have fight left in me, i dont want to help myself.
i have no feelings anymore, its just emptiness and despair.
I want to feel loved. I long the feeling of being desired by someone. I want to feel like people out there love me and want me to exist. I want to have a reason not to kill my self. I want people who show me I matter and that i will be missed. But I don’t have those people. I just have sadness and emptiness. I have people who don’t bother to reach out to me and shallow friends. Give me a reason to stay alive. Don’t make me regret not killing my self. Because right now, I regret not killing my self when I had the chance. I don’t want to feel this way anymore. I’m tired of getting drunk alone. I’m tired of cutting myself so deep I have to sleep on a towel so I don’t get blood on my sheets. I’m tired of making myself throw up because I feel guilty for consuming so many calories. I just want to be okay again. I want to be loved. Is that too much to ask for?
Relapse. a simple 7 letter word that i seem to know all too well. i got locked up again for trying to kill myself after a year of doing well, of thinking shit does get better. but it doesnt and i suppose i should have known that. im out now, doing better, but wishing that i did end up dead. life fucking sucks and although im not actively suicidal, i wish i died. i wish the pills killed me. i wish they didnt save me. i want nothing more right now than to slit my arms and bleed all the pain and frustration out, but its been 2 years since i last cut and thats something i worked so hard for. it shouldnt matter right now, but theres that voice inside me thats telling me not to, to put all those years of therapy into practice and resist. but am i strong enough to?
after spending two months in the psych ward last year after attempting to kill myself, i thought that maybe hope isnt so false after all. i saw a little glimmer of it in the midst of my recovery. fast forward to this year, when i thought to myself, this is what being on the brink of relapse feels like, to actually let the thought of suicide cross your mind again. it was raining outside, and it was late at night, so i put on all black and went for a walk in the woods in the dark, sobbing, trying to justify why i shouldnt try and kill myself again. a man found me and talked with me until i stopped crying. that night was when i saw hope a second time. i guess because of those two instances i thought, wow, maybe i should give being hopeful a try. and so i did, but it fucked me over. i mean when shit is too good to be true, it really is, it always is. in the midst of my mental break down right now, i keep on asking myself the same question, why?
its day in day out, rinse wash repeat. i go through the motions, slightly numb inside. sometimes i feel a little bit, just the slightest bit of emotion to remind me that im alive and breathing.
i dont know why i do this to myself. why i let myself suffer this way. theres people around me that are trying to help me and care about me.. but the sad part is i just hate letting them down. i hate seeing them care for someone who doesnt even are about themselves. im not quite suicidal yet… but im getting there.. i can feel myself slipping away.. loosing touch with reality day by day. im afraid. im afraid of my mind and my thoughts, i just want to be normal and carefree.
here we go again… after making so much progress and learning so much about myself as an individual.. im somehow back again. im on a path of self destruction, and oh how good it feels to be able to destroy myself on my own terms.
im pretty damn sure im bipolar. Well over a year ago i was diagnosed with depression and anxiety, but things have been changing.. and well for the worse. i wouldn’t say im suicidal exactly, but im on this path of self destruction where i just dont give a fuck. im putting myself in dangerous situations and i think its funny because theres this chance that they could kill me, but they dont. i dont necessarily want to kill myself again quite yet, but if i were to die, i wouldnt object. its like tempting fate if you will. i like to tempt fate, and im just waiting for that one day, i dont get so *lucky* and i end up dead.
but until then, im just here, chilling, doing whatever the fuck i want because i dont care. im failing one of my classes in school, im drinking excessively, ive gone off my meds, im doing dumb shit i would have never even thought of doing before. im in this downward spiral again, fucking my life up as we know it, but the difference is, this time i dont care enough to stop it. im losing touch with reality and with my own self it makes me laugh, it does.
im crazy and i know it, but this time i might as well embrace it since it sure as hell isnt going away
It’s been a while since I’ve been in here hasn’t it eh? I guess the saying it won’t last forever really is true, cause here I was actually thinking I was getting better. Oh boy was I wrong.
Happy happy oh how happy I was. Right? No. Not happy. Anxious and depressed, it’s all just an act. The meds help me feel the best I’ve ever felt, and help my lows become manageable, but here I am feeling myself slipping away again.
It’s been three days worth of tears for me. Three days worth of panic. Now I’m not going to say I’d kill myself over some measly panic attacks. No. I’m talking making the realisation that good things won’t last forever. Just like the bad, although it seems like the bad is more in my favour.
I don’t like living like this. They say I have depression and anxiety. But then why do I have these “high” moments where I feel so inviciable and amazing. You’d think that’s a good thing though right? Wrong. As I said, my luck seems to shift towards the bad part.its too happy. It’s too energetic. And then before I know it I’m back down again. Look at me go, spirialing out of control again. But this time we don’t have the time for this.i don’t have the time to deal with this shit. For the first time since November, I even self harmed yesterday. I’m so incredibly weak. My walls are closing in on me again, and honestly, I don’t have the energy to fight this Again. I’m exhausted.
Oh and self isolation? Seems to be my new thing. My friends seem to have a wonderful time without me,so I’ve been isolating myself from them. Just bit by bit detaching. Yet no one seems to notice. Or care, I mean who knows these days. I sure don’t.
So here I am. Unable to sleep (I mean what else is new) and alone with my racing thoughts. In about an hour, it will be midnight. It will be my ex boyfriends birthday. I sent him a card in the mail yesterday, with a very kind message in it, but now that I’m thinking about it, I regret it so much.
All I ever do is let people walk over me. I let them treat me like shit, I let them use me, I let them do whatever the fuck they want cause I’m such a pushover. For that last month my boyfriend and I were dating, he didn’t even care. All he did was string me along and enjoyed the sight of my body. I guess I did myself a good thing dumping him, but now why am I being kind again?
You see, my problem is I have no self confidence. My self esteem. None. If there could be a rock bottom in term of self esteem, I would’ve hit it by now. And I guess that’s why I let people walk all over me as if I’m a fucking door mat. I mean I hate myself already, might as well let others do what they want so they don’t hate me too, right? Right. It’s a fucked up way of thinking, but I think we’ve learned by now we all have these issues in some way, shape, or form.
And so since I have no self confidence, I also can’t say no. Do you need me to stay up until 03:00 to help you with physics? Do you want to talk to me for hours on the phone cause you had a bad day? Even though, I have my own shit to do. You bet I will. Because how could I ever refuse someone. I can’t. That’s my problem. So here I am trying to please everyone except myself. I keep telling myself “maybe if I get this grade” or “maybe if I score at hockey tonight” or “maybe if I go shoping” these things will make me feel better. Except, they don’t.
So then my brain, it does this thing, where it just cycles all the bad shit and makes me run myself dry because all I want to do is please others. If I can’t pleas myself, I might as well please others.
So back to my ex, why did I write such a nice message? Because I wish someone did that to me. It would mean the absolute world if someone did, but of course, no one would. No one has. Because we might be over but that doesn’t mean I don’t want the best for him? And yet, I find myself doing this with everyone. My ex really doesn’t deserve any nice gestures from me, but here I am trying to make him feel good.
I will do anything to make people feel good so they never have to feel like how I do. Maybe that’s why I let people walk over me. Treat me like shit. As long as it makes them feel better, I guess that means that that’s my purpose in life. One hell of a shitty purpose it is. Which cycles me back into me feeling shittier, and more suicidal, and slipping away into darkness I try so hard to avoid….
I wish I didn’t think like this. I wish my mind was normal. I wish I could change it all. I wish I could get away from myself. Why is the one thing we want to escape so badly, we can’t?
ever since we were young, they always told us we could be anything. we could be an astronaut, or the president, or an artist- whatever we could think of, we could be. because they always told us “skys the limit” or “if you can dream it, you can do it”. but the thing they never told us, were the curveballs life would throw at us. the things that would hinder us incapable of achieving that dream. they never told us how shitty growing up was.
and yet, here i am. just on the cusp of graduating high school, trying to make it through so i can accomplish my very own dreams. but yet, i dont know if i really believe the fact that dreams come true. i dont know if I believe the whole “you can do anything” bullshit. I mean why would I?
I wish they told us from an early age that not everyone has bright futures and happy endings. Some of us have the opposite. I wish I knew that I would be one of those people.
Some who don’t really know me, might call me dreamer. some might say I have this bright future and will go far in life. But they don’t really know whats going on in my head, they don’t know what goes on behind closed doors.
They might not be wrong about me being a dreamer, because I have these bright an bold and vivid dreams that I only wish I could accomplish. But the more I think about them, the more I realize they wont happen. As my future grows larger, the more my will to live shrinks.
I mean how can someone like me possibly accomplish anything worth while. I watch my friends become more and more successful, and yet, I feel like ive been left in the dust. I watch my friends accomplish their dreams, but yet im still here struggling to even do half of what they can. This is where I realize having dreams are just some irrational idea that we all have to give our life a purpose. But what happens when your realize your dreams wont come true? What happens when your realize youll never accomplish great things like those around you? I guess that’s when you become like me, and realize that you really, truly, have no purpose anymore.
Dreams are such an irrational concept. Thyere things that set people like myself up to failure. I mean whats the point anymore honestly? What the fuck is still keeping me here anyway?
I guess it’s the hope maybe one day ill be better. That I wont cry in the shower anymore where no one can hear me. That men will see me as so much more than a body. That people will see me as person and not just some invisible freak. That maybe one day it will all get better. But as I said, dreams are some irrational justification for life, so why am i even still clinging to this thread of hope when all i see is darkness
I am so fucking sick of this shit. Sick of living by everyone else’s standards and everything that everyone else wants. I fucking hate it.
I hate hearing “do this” or “do that” or “you’re not allowed to do that”. Like just fucking let me live my life without being critiqued on everything I do.
Maybe it’s this critiquing that I have faced over the many years as a child is what turned me into the self hating adolescent I am now. And since I hate myself SO much, I’m just one big pushover who lets people treat me like crap. Which in turn, makes me feel even worse about myself.
so instead I let people push me around. I let them tell me what to do, and what I can’t do, because if I can’t please myself I might as well please those around me right?
Except I’m sick. So fucking sick of this shit. And oh of course just merely saying fuck it and not listen to anyone could help. But do I really have the strength to do that? No. Is it something that scares me? Yes.
Because my whole life it’s always been about my image. Look good, feel good, do good. Be nice and people will like you. Be smart so teachers like you. But don’t show any emotion because you don’t want to wreck that image, oh no, of course not.
Yet, if I were to be the honest, the ONLY thing I like about myself is my image. Even though I hate maintaining it, and being obideient to everyone annoys the shit out of me, I do it anyway. Because again, I hate myself so much, that if I can’t please myself, I might as well please others. But that’s sure as hell getting exhausting
It’s past midnight where I live, and I’m still awake. I’m still awake after taking my remeron, staring at mt celling in the dark. My mind is racing.
It feels like it can’t stop. Or won’t stop. Whatever, it’s not like I’m used to by now. It’s overwhelming living like this, it really is.
Every time I think things are getting better, it’s like something else happens that makes me feel like absolute shit again. It’s hard to find hope when every time you think you found it, it slips away from you.
I know I’ll never be good enough. I know my parents would rather I was a better daughter. I known my ex boyfriend is probably regretting his time spent with me. I know my friends think I’m just some cruel fuck up. It’s so hard to feel like your presence is valued in this life when your self confidence is at an all time low.
I’m slipping, and maybe this time, I’ll let myself fall. I keep my bottle of 60mg worth of Ativan by my bed, along with the bottle of tequila I stole from my parents. It sits there. Untouched, and unopened. But it’s only a matter of time before I try again. Because at this point, I truly can’t do anything right.
Every day is an inner battle for me. Between the anxiety and panic attacks, to the depression, it’s hard to manage. It’s getting harder to manage. I just don’t have a passion for life. Maybe the medication is working, because I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the least bit better. But the one this medication can’t do, is take away your feelings of wanting to die.
it needs to be perfect. everything you do needs to be perfect. you need to be perfect.
those are just a few of the thoughts racing around in my head, each and every day. its not like my parents had anything to do with this, no, its all me. im always worrying about everything, always tense, always wanting whatever i do to be perfect.
because i want to be perfect.
what a silly thought right? no one is perfect you might say, or we all have our flaws, or its okay not to be okay. but no, to me, its not. its all or nothing in my head. its a poisonous way of thinking, i realise that, but its pretty much ingrained in me at this point.
because when all your surrounded by are people who are a million times smarter, you feel dumb. so you strive to get perfect grades so you dont need to feel dumb anymore. because when all your friends have perfect skin and perfect bodies, you want to be like them too. and since youre not, youre flawed. youre not good enough. youll never be good enough. because when you fuck things up, you feel like the ultimate failure. and maybe you are, who knows. because you see things as black and white. as right or wrong. nothing in between. maybe thats why i like math and science, because its concrete and definite and.. well.. perfect.
this idea of perfection is so irrational, yet i still strive to be perfect every single day. i wake up every day wanting to be better. because i hate myself, and what better way to boost my self esteem if i become perfect? there we go with another poisonous thought. i mean im already suicidal enough, why should i add to it by creating these unrealistic expectations of myself?
and yet here i am hating myself even more because im thinking these irrational thoughts that make me even more depressed which makes me even more imperfect because perfect people dont do irrational things. why am i like this?
good question. sadly its not one i can not answer.
she sits on her bed, with tears running down her face
covering her mouth with the sleeve of her sweater to muffle the cries so she doesnt wake anyone up
she sits there, silently crying, wishing someone in this world cared enough
she wonders why shes like this. why shes this depressed ball of sadness and anxiety. why cant she be normal? she asks herself this every day
she knows she’ll never be good enough. she knows that its better to just bite her tongue and not argue. even when she knows shes being walked over. even when she knows shes being taken advantage of
because its better to stay quiet and accept it. she knows she deserves it. she knows shes never going to be worth anything more
because all she is is another collection of atoms in this universe
if she killed herself, the seasons would still change, people would still move on with their lives. in fact, people wouldn’t have to deal with the burden she is
her atoms could become something better. something bigger. something with value
the way she sees it, through her blurry, tear filled eyes, is that shes doing people a favour
but shes afraid of being unsuccessful. shes afraid of failing. especially since shes used to failing at most things in life.
so instead, she sits there, tears rolling down her cheek, muffling her sobs with her sweater, trying to be as quiet as possible, wishing that her atoms were used to create something that was valuable
because she knows shes a waste of atoms
if we all felt love would we still want to die? would we still have the “i dont give a fuck” attitude? if we lived in a perfect world, where everyone was kind, supportive and loving, would suicide rates go down?
this is something i wonder. i wonder about it alot actually, usually in the context of myself. if i felt like people truly cared and loved me, would it make enduring the pain of my illness easier? would things get better? i dont know. but i wonder.
i sometimes also wonder if my hospitalisation has had an impact on my boyfriend. ive tried to be as “happy” (or fake as some might call it) around him because i know its hard dealing with someone whos depressed and anxious. i feel like a burden. not only to him, but to everyone. so i plaster on the fake smile and hide the hurt inside. i let people push me around do what they want to me because showing how i really feel makes me vulnerable, and thats something im afraid of.
maybe my incapability to open up to people is what affects my relationships. but everytime i open up, and show someone the side of me that i hide every day, i get hurt. it comes back and it bites me in the ass. hard.
things are looking better for me, im not going to lie. but i feel as if theres an anchor tied to my ankle and something is weighing me down making me feel hopeless even when things are looking brighter. and i have a strong feeling that anchor is my boyfriend.
i thought he was different, and that we loved eachother. hes the first guy ive fully opened up to and let myself be vulnerable with, all because i thought he was different. and now here i am, feeling like ive been bit in the ass because it hurts when he ignores my texts. because it hurts how when i dont initiate dates or conversations we dont talk. because it hurts when i feel him being distant with me. because it hurts when i could in a heartbeat identify him as a trigger for my anxiety. the obvious choice would be to break up, of course. but how could i do that when i know that im in love with him. how can i do that when the first time i was suicidal he helped me get the help i needed. even though, through all weve been through, i still sit here wondering if he really loves me. if i even matter anymore. and thats where i ask myself, if i felt loved by him, by my friends, by my peers at school, maybe the suffering would hurt a little less. maybe i would have something concrete to hold on to, something to show me that i am valued in the world. something that helps me push past the suicidal idealisation because i wouldnt want to crush the people who love me. because i would have people who could support me when the going gets rough, and when i just need a friend to go get coffee with me to help me calm down when my anxiety hits me like a truck. maybe then, i wouldnt feel so alone in this world.
so i ask again, if we all felt love,would we still want to die?
i wake up every day telling myself that today will be better than yesterday. that i will be happy. that i will get through the day without a mental break down. every day i fail at this. every day some stupid shit goes wrong and sends me spiralling downward. i truly hate myself with all my heart. its funny because im actually looking forward to the future. im looking forward to moving out of this shitty city away from the shitty people. but yet, i always find myself looking at the bottle of 50+ ativan ive been saving for that day where i kill myself. every day, i find myself going back to that place of darkness, where i wish i was dead. theres this quote that my therapist told me, and it was that everyone is capable of loving and being loved. but how can someone love someone as fucked up as me? every day i look towards the future to when i get to leave home for college and study engineering. but every day, i come back to the place of darkness where i know im incapable of being loved. where i know that im destined for horrible things no matter how bright my future is. its funny, because i feel like the brighter my future becomes, the more hope i lose. i feel this pressure to get better, and be better from everyone who surrounds me. but the thing is, im not better. and i dont know if someone as broken as me can get fixed. maybe things happen for a reason. maybe im so goddamn suicidal because the universe is trying to tell me people would be better without me.
im such a sad excuse of a human being. someway, somehow, i manage to fuck everything up. i really fucking hate myself, down to the core. my friends dont actually care, my classmates dont actually care, my boyfriend sure as hell doesnt.
in fact i bet my boyfriend is only dating me cause im easy. or if he broke up with me he doesnt want to live with the guilt of me killing myself. the one person i thought was different really isnt shit.
i thought my friends understood. but they dont. its still a constant state of “well youll get better” or “you can snap out of it” yeah right. why do i bother? i dont know.
the sad part is things are actually getting better for me, so why cant i just appreciate it and not fuck it all up
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