BPD is killing me.
[Don’t touch me.]
rage, so violent
[Don’t come close to me.]
hatred, seething through these veins
[Don’t talk to me.]
bitterness, too venomous to ignore
[Don’t be here.]
are running through my pores, sticking to my skin –
[Don’t touch me. Don’t come close. Don’t talk. Don’t be.]
leaving a trail of
behind. If only tearing
my body apart,
exposing these insides
helped for more than mere minutes.
Yet these minutes
are keeping me alive.
Tag Archives: trigger warning
BPD is killing me.
I’m in a bad place in terms of my mental illnesses. Things have been getting so much worse again and it’s hard to get out of bed, to do the things I need to do. I’m still managing work-related things, but it doesn’t feel like it’s worth much. Arguing with my therapist about that is futile. “Of course, you cannot see it. But I’d say it’s pretty amazing given your circumstances”, is what he keeps telling me. But it doesn’t matter, does it? My best friend told me that I shouldn’t give up, I’m doing so much, putting in a lot of effort in my job & university – “Are you doing all of that just to give up?” I don’t know. No. It’s more of a safety blanket. This way it may seem like everything is okay – “don’t worry, never worry about me, I’m fine, take care of yourself” – but you know, it’s difficult to explain, in a way. And tbh it doesn’t matter, does it? Nothing matters. Day after day I seem to be falling more and more; I have no sense of identify, I can no longer distinguish between my demons and me. I am nothing. I am no one.
Above all, I am tired. It’s been so long. Too long.
Blood is staining my hands, pure vodka running down my throat – the bitter taste leaving a painful trail behind.
I am alone.
I am no one.
I am nothing.
Tears may be falling down my face, yet why should anyone care.
I am no one.
I am nothing.
Even spilling red is nothing but a sign I lost.
Why keep fighting when I am not wanted.
Why keep living, breathing.
“There are better off without you” – right?
The more I think about how awful my mood is (and how nothing seems to work to improve it), the worse it gets. It feels like there’s something stuck inside of my chest that’s trying to claw (scratch, push) its way out of me, making it difficult to breathe.
I hate that, next to everything else, I also feel like I have no idea who the fuck I am and that most of the time I cannot recognise my own reflection or even feel like I’m real. The pain, the bad, awful thoughts, the haunting demons following me around are there, are real, yes, but what about me? It’s like I’m not in this body; I’m here, but at the same time I’m not. I’m trapped somewhere else and can’t get out.
I know that it’s me. I’m the one who’s always wrong, who should be punished, who is worthless and doesn’t deserve anything but rejection. But my god. It still hurts. I want to be a better person. My god. I try so hard every fucking day. But it’s just not possible. I’m a monster, I’m disgusting. I’m not supposed to be loved. The nightmare that one day e v e r y o n e will leave me WILL come true, I know it. I just do. And on the one hand I am trapped between fearing that day, fearing the pain, the burning fire from within that is trying to turn me into nothing but ashes, and on the other hand, that day might equal comfort because then I could finally leave this place without any guilt. But why wait? I might as well just get it over with and spare me the aching. Don’t I deserve at least one moment without these torturous thoughts?
My chest hurts, I’m tired, and exhausted of my mind. I spent the whole day with suicidal thoughts and because that apparently wasn’t (fun) enough already, I’m stuck with more thoughts of misery. I know I am a burden, and I know, my God, I fucking know that I’m not lovely or great or worth a lot (if anything at all), but it still doesn’t make feeling insignificant and replaceable any easier. I’m tired. I’m upset. I’m all over the place. I just want to burn my skin and open it, just want to feel something else beside this misery, these constant thoughts of suicide. I just want to stop feeling so utterly t o r n apart.
You know, the fact that I feel utterly low and suicidal has at least one perk this week. I’m neither anxious nor overwhelmed; I simply feel calm. The horrible and awful thoughts (especially the ones related to my body) are still there and keep the fire of self-loathing ablaze, but other than that? It’s like I’m not even in this body. I’m somewhere far away, nothing can touch me, nothing can hurt me. I’m not me. I’m no one, I’m nothing. Even seeing my minor’s study advisor tomorrow means nothing. Because whatever happens, it doesn’t matter. Whatever happens, I’ll be done and gone soon anyway.
I want to say that I’m okay, alright, just fine – peachy, but the truth is that I am not. I’m broken, miserable, just nobody & nothing; I’m longing for Death. I swear I can see Him right there in front of me, not quite reaching out, yet I can hear Him counting down the days, hours, minutes, and seconds I have left on this earth.
My time is running out.
I’m suffocating; these thoughts inside of me are filling up my lungs, leaving no room for air. Each day (each hour, each minute) I cannot help but long for the courage to forcefully rip them out, to spill them on a canvas or an empty page. Yet try as I might, nothing will change. I will still feel as though I am trapped under water. The voices within me, pretending to help, whisper: “Do not breathe, or you will drown” over and over, and yet here I am, stuck, knowing that whichever path I choose, Death is the only one that will reach out to me.