I’m not having a good day or an okay day or an “it’s fine, I’ll survive somehow” one. Today is a “I don’t want to exist day”. A day that’s filled with nothing but me feeling empty, with me wondering what the fucking point is. I don’t even know who I am. It doesn’t matter how hard I fight and try, I’m just a shattered image of past versions of me. Nothing works. I’m empty, I’m not meant to be here, to be bothered with, or to be loved.

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always getting blamed and always called selfish. it



my fault.

so why bother living at all.
why not just kill myself, just set

fire to myself

and be done with it all
since there is nothing i can do right.

everyone is just happy while i’m on fire.

because it’s fine, right?

it’s fine
for me to burn away,
so long as it means peace and quiet for everyone else.

it’s fine

as long as my screams

fall on deaf ears.

it’s fine,



i’m having a hard time; once again, i’m stuck on my own – with these thoughts, with these voices, these struggles, these demons. i don’t know if i’ll be able to go on, i don’t know if i care. i feel like i should, but with exhaustion seeping through these bones, it’s too..difficult?

i don’t know.

there are things i still wanna do, but i’m suffocating. there are only so many hits i can take. what if i’ve finally reached my limit?

will you let me go?

it’s been awhile

it is 1am and i just finished some additional work stuff despite the fact that i originally told my colleagues i’d finish and send them the stuff tomorrow. dunno what it is with work?? i just really want them to love me and consider me irreplaceable as much as possible which is pretty much the one thing i’ve tried to accomplish since my very first day back then when i was still an intern

and i guess it’s working?? i mean they already offered me the trainee position for when i’m done with uni because i told them i’d love to do it and because i like to remind them that “i’m their *best* student assistant” lmao WHICH THEY OPENLY AGREE TO ok??

but still.

the fear that one slip-up could be enough for them to drop me is always there and i know it’s bpd that’s affecting my mindset there, however, it’s incredibly hard to fight it. even on days when i try to tell myself that i do a lot more than is necessary, that i’m always ready to help out etc. etc., it still never seems enough, u know? and i know it’s because i don’t consider myself enough (not good enough, not worthy enough of anything, never ever enough) because as much as i’d love to bs my way through this, i still feel the same i did more than 10 years ago: that i’m not enough regardless of what i do and how hard i try.

it still sucks. big time.

of course i’m trying to work on that. some days more than others. more often than not i just don’t have the energy to actively fight these things and instead pick things from my *resources* list which allow me to recharge, to find some energy in different nooks and corners of my mind in order to not feel as suicidal as i usually do, in order to find distraction and maybe even something like happiness (????) in the small things that are part of my life. and i guess i *know* that that’s a good thing, that that’s part of getting through the day, you know?

but today, i guess, i just couldn’t be bothered with doing any that, with not letting my thoughts wander all over the place – only to find the heaviest rocks that will inevitably drown me in the ocean of my mind, again and again.

idk. today i just feel stuck and tired. tbh there isn’t even a point in any of these words except that suddenly everything started overwhelming me again and i just needed these things to be written down.

it’s 01:36 rn. nighty night @ all of u.

Y (oct.)

— to others, nothing
but an empty vase
to be filled
with sorrows and
worries, when albeit
i am already brimming

(late night ramblings)

Therapist is worried about the prolonged stronger suicidal thoughts and asked if there’s any way to describe them and I mentioned that above all, they are like a screaming voice within my chest. Except that that voice is more like a thing that belongs to a demon that’s trying to claw its way right through me and it hurts hurts hurts

I’m twenty-fucking-six and it’s been more than 10 years and I’m still dealing with this bullshit and I’m just beyond exhausted?? I’ve tried everything, I’ve fought, I’m still fighting every god damn day, but tonight is just particularly shitty. I can’t breathe properly, can’t fall asleep, can’t think straight. I’m just looking at this hopeless reflection of who-ever-the-fuck-I-am and wondering what the point is. And nah, I don’t need anyone telling me some sort of comforting words that won’t do me any good, I need my best friends to be there for me with a hug or need them to hold my hand for awhile or sth because I’m lonely and heartbroken and fucking frustrated.

I’m overwhelmed by the desire to write while fighting the knowledge that no amount of words will be e-fucking-nough which in turn makes me feel frustrated and nauseous. I can’t even write or type fast enough to match the thoughts running through my mind, so instead I’m just stuck with hopelessness because what’s the fucking point.

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Once again, instead of sleeping, I find myself wide awake; stuck in front of a blank page that is begging me to fill it with words, to paint a picture of the mess within. The voices, the screams – they all need to be heard, need to be written down, and yet I’m hesitating, still. Writing used to be what allowed me to go on, however as of late, words have been slipping through my mind like sand through fingers. The connection I’ve used to adore and fight for has left my heart and soul. Each word feels misplaced, wrong. I wish I could find an excuse, someone or something to accuse, but all there is left is my own reflection in the mirror.


I feel (way too) torn and miserable and empty. My moods jump back and forth from furious to unhappy to disgust to self hatred to fear to pure suicidality. Why am I bothering with staying when everything is too hard and I feel like I am no one, like I’m nothing. Years of mental illnesses, years of chronic pain, of everything getting worse and worse and worse, and yet I still don’t see a point. Perhaps I’m just a space filler of some sort without an actual personality or self. I jump from one to another the same way I skip from mood to mood during particularly bad BPD days. Nothing feels real, but it still hurts. It’s like someone set fire to my skin, or stabbed my chest, making it incredibly heart to breathe. I wish I’d get a break. I wish I could breathe. I wish I wish I wish.


Your words,
spreading like wildfire,
set each fibre aflame.
The smoke,
engulfing my insides,
is suffocating me with shame.