General

I just blocked my friends again. I went on a random chat as kind of like a whatever thing. And now I’m talking to him offsite and wondering….. What were the chances? Is this a sign to move on? I’ve already destroyed what i had with my friends… With them i feel horrible but away from them i miss them.

I’m going to hate myself if i continue with this…. :'(

But, it gives me a blank slate. I’ll just hide my disorders. I can be “normal” like back in school….

He doesnt need to know i cut. That i have “irregular” eating patterns. That i have a drink almost every day. That im almost always high. That i have bpd ect.

Just like in school…. I can go back to a life of ignorance.

update: or not. so i ended up making 2 friends and 1 still doesnt know. the other GUESSED!!! “you must have had a shitty life” (not even close to what was said, paraphrasing). i was talking about making supper and he guessed ive had problems. ok, the first friend still knows nothing and he doesnt know anything is currently wrong.
but a guess…..???  and talking to the other friend my bpd is SO obvious. i am too broken….theres no way i can hide this forever :'(

i dont even want to see christmas (and yet “hey why dont you invite your mom over for christmas dinner”) i dont even want to see december, but im running out of time so i most likely will. i wish i was dead and forgotten already

I waste so much time and energy stuck in this loop of despair:
1. Something reminds me of something I feel might make my life worth living.
2. I’m confronted with the reality that those things are beyond my capacity.
3. I feel miserable, and question why I’m not ending my life if it’s not worth living.
4. I remember that I am cripplingly terrified of death.
5. I ponder whether it might be possible to overcome such fears, and if so whether it would be best to do so.
6. I conclude that although it would probably be best for my personal experience if I ceased to exist, it would likely be terrible for my family.
7. I reason that since I have an inherent aversion to suicide, and my suicide seems likely to increase the amount of misery in the world, I probably shouldn’t do it (yet).
8. I try to think of ways to better handle my misery and go on with my day.

There’s this weird state of mind where a part of me is kind of endlessly looking for a justification to convince the rest of me to end it. I don’t want to die. I really don’t. I still look both ways when crossing the road, and I worry about getting ill. And I don’t want to multiply my misery by passing it on to my family.

So I don’t want to kill myself, and I probably shouldn’t kill myself, morally speaking.

But I also don’t know how to live without any positive motivation. My life is not for anything. There’s no goal. There’s nothing that I can tell myself “this is worth suffering for”. I’m never going to have a family of my own, or a partner, or even a close friend. I’m not going to have a meaningful career, or even a pet I care about. I’m not going to make great art, or cure a disease. I’m not going to fight in a war, or devote myself to a religion. My life will be empty and nothingness, until I die.

It’s a weird, unnatural state, to be this disconnected from everything. And a part of my mind constantly rebels. It wants to hope, to dream, and believe that things can be better. And when reality denies that, it wants out. It’s like an animal trapped in a cage, in a cold, sterile, empty cell. And anything would be better than that, even if it’s death.

I don’t want to die. But I also don’t want to live like this. And I also can’t see any other kind of life for me. So I’m kind of stuck in this loop. This isn’t hell – it could be far worse. But it’s also not really living. It’s life with all the meaning stripped out. All of the pain and suffering, none of the fun stuff. Imagine Groundhog Day without the romantic subplot or the happy ending.

And I’m sure I’ll be back in a few days to post more or less the same thing for the hundredth time, once I’ve forgotten what I’ve said.

I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t go a day without crying or wishing I was dead. Realistically my circumstances aren’t the worst, but if that’s true that means it can only get worse, not better. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. It will not get better (for me). My brain is broken and it always has been, only getting worse as I get older. I’ve never been a habitual self-harmer. Usually, I’d do it like 3x a year at most and now I’ve done it twice this week and want to do it again today because I don’t how to cope. My life is a joke. It’s in pieces and it’s irreparable. All hope I had up until now has vanished completely. I wouldn’t wish the way I feel on ANYONE, not my worst enemy or past abusers, not Hitler, not even a serial rapist. I don’t know how I’m still alive and every waking moment is full of agonizing pain, fear, and feelings of worthlessness, shame, and regret. I might not end my life today just because its a holiday but I feel like this could easily be my last day on this planet and I’d die happily knowing the suffering is finally over.

God give me the strength to see this through.

Like you I’m in big pain. I feel like a real failure, I’m middle-aged and no career to speak of, money situation never good, it’s getting harder and harder to connect with people, I’ve no friends, seems I can’t do many things right. My family on the other hand is all about real success stories, they’ve always been popular and well-liked, had notable careers, went to ivy schools… But not me, I haven’t been able to achieve any of that in my life. My anxiety and depression have always taken control of me in the end.

I have pretty much given up on myself. And I would have seriously considered ending my life (though the suicidal thoughts never end) if it weren’t for my daughters. They’re the reason I’m still alive. I feel I have nothing left to live for, save for my children. I could never hurt them by taking my own life, I could never do that to them. I love them very much and they love me too. They’re my only blessing and the only thing I have done right in my life, as I see them healthy, happy, strong and successful in their own dreams. (I’m glad I was able to learn from my pain and mistakes to help them do better.)

I guess what I’m trying to say here is, when you feel suicidal, think of how losing you could devastate your loved ones. And if you don’t have loved ones or feel that they wouldn’t care, please consider my testimony. When someone needs you, you have something to live for. Not career or financial success, popularity and all that stuff we are supposed to believe in and strive for make the real difference (we all know of highly successful people who have committed suicide). What matters is to be there for someone who needs you. If you haven’t that person in your life now, don’t worry or give up. We all need each other, really. It’s just finding that person who you can help make a difference in their life, whoever they may be. This has been the only purpose and meaning in my (otherwise totally failed) life, enough to have kept me alive all these years. Be there for someone who needs you. Our suffering only makes us stronger and more understanding to make a real difference.

Less than a week ago I was released from a psychiatrist hospital. I cried and thought about dying as soon as I got home, regretting not having died already. Two weeks ago I messaged a crisis hotline and they told me to sleep it off. I woke up depressed and suicidal.

“It gets better”, they say. I wholeheartedly believed it from when I was 14 and now I’m 21, and sometimes I do have moments where I think it can, but I feel like I’m inching closer to death every day.

I’ve been crying almost day since the end of June. I went to a inpatient facility in august and they treated me like shit after misdiagnosing me then let me out 11 days into 30 day program.

I have one friend and I’m genuinely a burden to them. I have BPD and they’re my FP and they’ve been drifting away, and my one other friend blocked me after trying to break me away from my FP.

I feel like I can’t even function. I don’t know how to form connections with other people. I understand and recognize emotions and stuff but I feel like I’m a robot in some ways when I try to talk to people and that’s how it’s been my whole life.

I have my parents and brother but all I’ve ever done is cause them trouble and pain. I can’t even cry anymore right now. I don’t know what to think and I’m just empty. I don’t even want to go to thanksgiving dinner because my anxiety is causing nausea and my depression is also killing my appetite, and I’ll likely start crying. I just wish I’d stop waking up everyday.

I enjoy losing. I enjoy going down and deeper than down. I should torture myself more and keep more to myself. I should light myself on fire in the middle of the town square for everyone to see. Only the group conscious makes something real. I have no choice but to fall in love with the things my brain brings me, I have no choice but to fall below it and miss it when it’s gone and go crazy when it’s here. I don’t understand how they don’t understand that logic or common thinking cannot be applied. Every thought boils down to either killing myself, which is lighter now due to me slightly getting better, and the fact that I am incredibly, mind shatteringly jealous. No one get what’s coming to them, but us. When we sit and torture ourselves and pray and pray that some day they’ll get their consequences, they live happy and well. They don’t even have to pray, or put in a thought, because I fall straight down myself! When they want me to fall, I fall.

Whether it is the unbearable beauty that I’ll never be able to express, that they won’t ever experience, or the visions or memories. Just like Yihan I’ve taught myself to fall in love. The texture of that pain, from yourself to yourself, easy to snap in half like an apple, crisp, bitter, unseen for, obliviously happy of its existence. I know everything and nothing about myself. I hate every part of every thought that comes to be. I hate how I’m aware that I hate my appearance but also understand that it is a privilege for people to be more sympathetic when I am going crazy.  And the apple textured bite of that shielded love for your own out of control mind. To be unique, to be a contradiction, to be something that makes a young woman more beautiful, to be someone to find whatever they typed more disgusting and unbearable, to be someone who has put themselves in a suit of everyone but who they are now can’t find anything inside. To be someone who realizes how disgustingly tumblr that phrase was. The recent paranoia, knowing that a person has every string of what’s to destroy me and I can’t even talk like I’m a real person. The wave of depersonalization derealization in the afternoon. I hate how it’s getting worse, I hate how I can open my eyes in the morning to not find it to be swollen yet still neatly folded like a girl making origami, carving deep in each edge with her nails to neaten everything up. How I bring up memories from the past which completely didn’t affect me at all and keep thinking over and over about it until they’re now all colored in black and in a void without my true self to paint the picture.

I’m afraid of myself, I’m afraid of what I will do. I at least have one person to talk to for somethings that talks me down my thoughts. I’m afraid of the freedom I have left. I don’t want to kill anyone but myself(really?). I don’t want to dream of dead infants again. Freud, mind explaining? To add on further to my disgusting, narcissistic self analysis? My exterior self is not going to lose, once again, to armor myself up, to feel a slight sense of power, to find some value in myself, just a little, would be enough (never!). I hate how I believe in every thought that comes to my head, I hate that I’m not getting worse, I hate how even at my worst this past year I’m not falling as deep as where I was two or one years ago. I hate how there’s nothing to kick me or the chair below me as I’m trying to climb down from the translucent noose.

Im dealing with ptsd tonight. And i just cant see how it wasnt my fault. I felt uncomfortable. I knew. But i still kept going back. I continuously chose him over others. Its my fault i almost got r***d…

oh boy. you know that moment that something clicks with you? something that makes your entire life make sense? that’s what I feel.

I have Emotional Dysregulation Disorder, which is basically just Borderline Personality Disorder but under a “nicer” name. I say nicer because holy shit Cluster B disorders are under so much stigma. people treat them (us??) like either one-dimensional abusers or hopeless cases. I kid you not, the things people have said have made me feel so bad I started crying. which is a common symptom of BPD, I think- excessive guilt and shame.

notably, my therapist and psychiatrist have avoided writing down any official diagnosis in my records. I understand why, though. I’ve read research articles about how some therapists will refuse to treat patients with BPD because “therapy isn’t effective”, even though it’s scientifically proven that therapy is effective at making symptoms go into remission. and when that happens, it makes the abandonment and trust issues worse, while also discouraging them from getting help. which brings me back to my point about the stigma. it sucks. some people are assholes.

but, thankfully, my therapist is really nice. she’s set me up with a DBT group therapy that’ll start in a month. I’ll also get one-on-one sessions every week. she’s run me through the whole thing: black-and-white-thinking, abandonment issues, anger problems, etc. and the ways DBT addresses that. I haven’t brought up my abuse yet, but I think once we’ve shared a few more sessions I’ll talk to her about it.

it’s scary, in a lot of ways. the fact that getting better will be an uphill climb through hell is scary. I cried afterwards, I’ll be honest. still, I feel hopeful for the first time in months. everything makes so much more sense now. when I started hating my psychiatrist for no reason (again), I knew the reason why! I didn’t go into another spiral of paranoia and guilt! it’s a BPD thing! I haven’t lost my marbles- well, I have, but in a way that’s at least sort of treatable!

I know there’s a few people with BPD on this site. hello. uh. dunno what to say. we have the same mental illness. that’s interesting.

alright, I’m tired, so I’ll end this post here. bye for now.

I got a job offer, which is nice. Firmly nice to okay, because it’s working at a hospital making very little money, and it’s with adults in crisis, so I guess my experience here will help with that (not that I mentioned it, they think I’m the picture of health.)

It’s a good shift, 7 AM – 3 PM Saturday – Wednesday. It’s something to do, where I might get to help people. That’s a fringe benefit, mostly it’s to keep my hands busy and make money to fix up some things.

ugh, the anxiety I’ve had, and the anxiety I expect to have will not be fun. However, it’s good for today, I really want to be done with today because it was exhausting

“LEAVE ME ALONE!!!” she screamed, as the blood ran down her leg. The pain intensifying. “LEAVE ME ALONE!” she yelled, her body growing warm. The feeling of the alcohol flowing through her veins. “LEAVE ME ALONE!” she cried, crashing to the ground in tears. Her mental pain too much to handle.

She just wanted it to be over…

Last night i cut
Last night i smoked up
Last night i drank
Last night i huffed npr
Just leave me alone. Im my own downfall. You cant save me.

“i would have stayed up with you all night, had i know how to save a life”
sadly its more complicated then that….

Growing up my stepdad had me working outside, my mother was braiding my hair. BPD on its own comes with identity issues, forget the parents wanting something but not getting it. sometimes i dont mind doing my hair or painting my nails. sometimes i want to go work on the car. im female but only when its brought to my attention. for the most part i dont think about it or care.
being both genders but neither kind of had this out of place feeling.
i dont care what other people think/know. i still go by she/her. its easier for others, what im use to and would prefer. he/him, eeeeh no. doesnt hit a homerun with me, it didnt even make it to first base. but i had someone call me sir by accident before and instead of correcting them, i was like “you dont know to check me out, awesome”. and if it matters to the person what i am, then they arent a friend. “im gay” or whatever, should be nothing more then info on the person, not something to make a judgment on.
so going through another bout of “who am i” i decided to go through an lgbt glossary of words, maybe ill find one that fits.

Gender Outlaw: A person who refuses to be defined by conventional definitions of male and female

so what if i do/like both but consider myself neither. and i hate this whole label thing anyway. gender outlaw seems to fit and i like it. i hope my bpd can stay on track with this one, i dont see why not but who fucking knows with bpd.

I have been on an act my entire life. The only way to break free, to truly be myself, is to exist as a corpse. Since my first depersonalization derealization, I stopped being able to live as a whole . Since the first time I wrote down that I wanted to die. I never wanted to speak about my mind or draw it out or turn it into something perceptible, but they just grind me up inside.

There’s truly no one to speak to. All contradictions. I draw my naked body on every girls in every piece I make but I’m a prude. I say everything is beautiful but only trace out the exaggerated contours of an anorexic. I can’t possibly list everything in my life, everything about me is a lie. Everything is an act. The only way to truly be myself is to die.

Been feeling kinda paranoid, two, it’s been three hours after originally writing this, i feel alright now. I don’t know why I’m falling back into this. I can go hours and hours about what I originally wanted to talk about, but I’d rather not remind myself of any of it.

Reading is what keeps me going best, good books, fair weather and decent food, I could get by on that.

Anyway, lately I’ve actually been reading some stories I thought other suicidally inclined people might appreciate. Two stories quickly I’ll tell you about, then I’m back to the stacks!

Black Farm -Elias Witherow

The first one was a bit of my normal selection, it was a cosmic/spiritual horror book, and trigger warning, because suicidality is very front and center for the whole book. It’s about this couple who die together and end up in an absurd wonderland/waking nightmare. It took me multiple sittings to finish it, but I’m glad I did.

I Should Have Been A Pair Of Ragged Claws / Scuttling Across The Floors Of Silent Seas

Hamantaschen, J.R.. You Know It’s True . West Pigeon Press. Kindle Edition.

The second one hit really close to me, it’s about a family dealing with a suicide and the aftermath, but also what led up to it. Brutal, four sittings for a few dozen pages, but it’s intense.

I think it’s the same thing that keeps drawing me back here; my own pain feels less when I share the load.

theres no point in living when i cant do anything. i was thinking that maybe i could save a bit of money, every now and again spend the weekend at a hotel to be at least a little independent maybe, but as in my last post, i cant deal with people. i cant even do that.
how am i suppose to get a job, a place, groceries. i cant do anything. theres just no point in continuing like this

• 
• PerhapI was a dodo underneath this starving,begging, crying, *destined* husk  of world hunger and pain .

” >.> >:{ ”

Let’s be honest, that was a cool autograph haha no sweat

@ I hope you get well

everything about talking to people in person, is unsettling to me. i literally dissociate every time i have to interact with someone. i have no idea what to say. i literally have a script of basic things to say in my head that i go over before the interaction. “just say good morning, here you go and get out of there”. i cant even handle something that basic without feeling like my eyes are inverting. or like theyve sunken to the back of my head. i feel bad if i dont have eye contact because “youre suppose to” but doing it makes me sooooo uncomfortable.
i cant interact with humans at all…

I’ve been sitting here since Thursday. In this same place on the couch I haven’t moved. Smoking cigarettes like they’re going out of style and drinking booze as if it’s my last time (it should be). I screwed up. Bad and I mean bad. My girlfriend moved out due to my alcoholism as well as being controlling. It never occurred to me that I was so controlling until the end, and why? Why would I put down the person that I loved the most down just to have her leave? I’m a monster. Something in my head seemed to break loose and I lost it. I lost control of my emotions and I can’t undo this. We were taking a break and the agreement was to let each other have space until Thanksgiving. I tried, I really did. Yet I’d still call day after day just to hear her voice, to check in, apologize. I was kicking a dead horse to the point where she wasn’t going to come over for Thanksgiving. I had to accept the fact that we needed room. I did not want to ruin this opportunity. Here I am on the laptop and guess who left their Facebook open? Why do I continue to abuse myself when this should be a wake up call? Why am I so God damn sad? How do I move on? I wish that you would’ve waited for Thanksgiving to talk instead of talking to other guys. I know I did you wrong but I just wish that you would’ve waited.

Has anyone been able to contact him? Is he okay? We have been talking for a very long time almost every day and now he’s quiet, way too quiet… Anyone knows anything?