Yep, the first post. The post that always seems to be the hardest one to write. It’s a time to think of something fresh to offer the world… But realistically, it’s all been written over and over, again and again, right? What could I possible have to say that will catch anyones eye?

This train of thought has always been stuck inside my mind, like a piece of gum that no matter how hard you try to scrape off, just doesn’t seem to clean off completely.

I’ll be honest; Throughout my life, I’ve never felt completely “good enough”, whatever that means to you, person reading this post. Even though authenticity is something I always strive for, I somehow never find it inside myself to make that shine more into the world. You see, I’m afraid. Of what? I don’t know, the unknown? I know you’re thinking, “Well, you have to just DO IT! Face your fears! You’ll never know until you try.” Yeah, okay. I’ve heard it a bunch of times before, thanks for your redundant input.

My brain doesn’t seemed to be wired right, actually, it isn’t. *Deep sigh* You see… I suffer from a mental illness called Borderline Personality Disorder. The best way I can describe it (without you Googling it and immediately thinking I’m a psycho monster) is an instability of emotions, the inability to stabilize oneself from intense emotions, frequent mood swings without any particular cause, unstable emotions, self-harm/risky/suicidal behavior, chronic emptiness, fear of abandonment. Well, now that you’re probably judging me and now think I’m psychotic, I will divulge in how it affects me.

It used to be very bad. I mean, VERY BAD. Long before I was diagnosed, I noticed with my first boyfriend the cycle that happened with me, which translated into our relationship. We dated for nearly 5 years, on and off a couple times. He was great, and I loved him dearly. During our relationship, I was just so unbalanced and my emotions were so intense. I went from idolizing him, to hating him, to being envious of his life and what he had, to intensely loving him, back to envy and so on… I would cut myself, tell him I’d kill myself if he left me. I was so lost and troubled and just constantly in pain… I blamed depression and anxiety, something I’ve struggled with since childhood, and something that still co-exists with my BPD, Borderline Personality Disorder, for short. Long story short, he didn’t understand me and my “craziness” and thus, the relationship ended for good. Years later, I still didn’t understand why I was feeling these intense emotions.

Then came my second boyfriend. The relationship that truly triggered what lingered inside of me nearly all of my life. The thing that I would later be diagnosed with.

That relationship was the definition of a rollercoaster, a train wreck, an abusive relationship. It’s something that haunts me still, and I’m not sure how long it’ll be until it passes away from my memory. I learned a lot. I lived through a lot. I died, too. It hurts to think of it, but I know from time to time that I need to drain the poison that collects in my mind, heart and soul.

A few months after we moved in with each other, I noticed something was off. It would be later that I realized he had an incredible amount of anger pent up inside him. Things he just couldn’t seem to let go. He dealt with his anger in a strange way. I don’t think he wanted to heal. I think he wanted to take down anything that came too close.

We fought all the time. We’d fight, he’d ignore me for days/even a week or more. It was torture. Living under the same roof and just feeling like strangers. Then one of us would cave, and we’d make up and be okay for a little. Rinse and repeat. This happened for 4 years.

During that time, I felt insane. I would crack and have nervous breakdowns too often. Finally, one day about a year into our relationship, I decided that I was either going to end my life, or I needed to find help. I ended up going to a crisis center where after 8 hours, and talking to a few doctors, I was diagnosed with BPD. In that moment, it all made sense. All. Of. It. I finally had a name to call all the things I’ve felt through my life. It just clicked. I was relieved, and yet I was still broken.

I was hospitalized for 5 days. Nothing much happened when I was in there, but it felt nice to be cared and watched after. It felt relieving to detach from the real world for a little. And of course, the boyfriend felt guilty. Until he didn’t anymore, and it just went back to the usual toxicity.

Later that year, I tried to take my life. A serious attempt. I don’t want to or care to indulge you with the details. But I will say this, he didn’t care. He didn’t try to find help. I was nothing, and I felt invisible, worthless, useless. He reminded me of this often.

Another year or so later, I tried again.

The cops were called on me/us a lot. Mostly from my friends and family. I think a neighbor called once. It’s a blur.

In any case, I tried to leave many times. But I was always sucked back in. I had Stockholm syndrome. I was a victim of abuse. I knew it, I knew something was off and I wanted to get away. But then part of me loved him so much, and could see the good inside of him. If only I could’ve just reached deeper into his heart and soul, maybe he’d finally change his ways… It never happened.

I got away from him, for good. It’s been 10 1/2 months since I have seen him. I’m free, and I feel unchained finally.

But I don’t feel unchained from my demons and insecurities. It’s something that I constantly carry with me. It’s terribly hard to explain. I’m not healed, as much as I’d like to think I am. I’m afraid… Of the unknown, the unfamiliar, people, interactions, behaviors. Things trigger me and I do my best to stay away from the things that swallow me whole. Sometimes I can’t avoid them.

But the thing about my diagnosis… If I never was diagnosed, I’d still be just as lost and confused as I was when I left my first relationship. Never knowing if I was insane or if this was normal. And with the diagnosis of BPD, I was finally able to learn coping mechanisms, strategies to arm myself with when shit hit the fan. I was able to reach out and find help. And here I am today, 3 years later from that tragic night, able to deal with my emotions more logically. Years of therapy and the assistance of medication have shown me the light. I don’t have intense outbursts anymore. I haven’t cut in a long time. I can see what it is that is happening within myself. I’m not 100% perfect, and sure, I slip up sometimes in one of those categories. But I feel like I have some sort of handle on my mind.

Liberation feels good.

And yet, I’m still stuck in a perpetual cycle of doom. Not with a relationship with someone else, but with myself. My lack of confidence. My self-esteem. Something that I should be working on, and I’m trying to. I really am.

There’s so many things I want to do and accomplish. I get overwhelmed and I crash when I think about these things. But I’m reminding myself now that I need to take things one at a time, at a slow pace. I’m impatient and want results instantly. But I realize that I can’t bite off more than I can chew, otherwise I choke and then I just never want to eat again. Figuratively (literally, however, I love food).

Of all the things I want to accomplish, writing is near the top. I love to write; Lyrics, poems, journaling, blogging, articles, and yes… even essays sometimes.

That’s why I’m going to try and upkeep this blog. I’ve had a ton of blogs in the past, and over time I seem to drift away from them. I have to promise myself to TRY, TRY, and TRY to keep at it. I owe it to myself to do something I enjoy without the fear of judgement crippling me.

It’s the small steps that count… Right?

xoxo,