Torn between too many things, I have no idea who the fuck I even am. BPD is tearing me apart more and more, and I no longer have the energy to fight it. I just want to give up (on fighting, living). My therapist told me on Friday how huge it is that I’ve managed to go to work these past weeks, that I managed to deal with university, that I managed to stay alive somehow despite me being stuck in a severely self-destructive mood. But you know? None of these things seem to matter; they are not enough, and neither am I. Even words are not enough; at least not enough to describe these feelings stuck inside of my bones.
February 14, 2016
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