I’m home. I’m in my room. I’m stripped down in nothing but a shirt and a sweater, and I lie here in bed, alone. My favorite vinyl spins as the song that has been cemented to the inside of my brain plays on. I’m staring out the window from under the lonely warmth of my bed. I’m empty. I’m not home. My head is static. I’m in my surroundings but I’m not here.
I’m longing for a connection, but I’ve backed away into the shadows instead. My voice is small, and the music that echos in the room sings for me. If only everyone could hear what I hear, maybe they’d have a taste of what I live through. If they could feel every single word to its core. If they only had as deep of a gaping hole inside their chest like I do. Maybe they’d know how the music sticks to the walls of this void and can never be shaken off. At times, it’s my only friend.
If only they knew.
I wish it would rain. I wish the rain could wash the poison from off of my skin. Why does it hurt to breathe sometimes? Why are my eyes so heavy, searching endlessly for I don’t know what… what lies on the other side of my vision? Can anyone really see through me?
My moods have been fluctuating so much lately. This is normal, but it’s exhausting. Not only for myself, but for others, too. I do my best to contain it from them. But I get lost in my emotions and I can’t seem to shake it off as quickly as I’d like to. Living with BPD is tiring. I’ve dealt with this for as long as I can remember- I just never knew what it really was. I still feel misunderstood and isolated by others, but mostly because of my own tendency to keep myself away from others. I’ve been the burden, I don’t want to be the burden again. So it just seems like the best solution is to stay in hiding.
But I can’t describe the loneliness that comes with it. It becomes my only friend, but also the enemy in the corner of the room that stares at me all day and all night. I try to be friendly. I try to be complacent. I don’t want to disturb it. I just want something or someone to see me… but instead I hide.
It’s never been easy asking for help. I wonder if it will ever become easier. I wonder if I’ll feel confident and lighter one day for reaching out, instead of feeling ashamed and burdensome.
Somewhere down the line, I became scared to say what I really felt. I muted myself. I censored my own feelings, thoughts, opinions, emotions at my own expense. I never want to disturb others with whatever that is inside of me. And here I am, 29 and I’m still lost inside this part of myself. Letting go of the notion that I’m a burden is one of the hardest things I could possibly learn. I must believe somehow that I’m allowed to take up as much space as I want in this life. I’ve never felt welcome, wanted, or needed. I simply exist, and I don’t know why, or what or who I’m living for. I’ve always looked for the answer in others, when I should be looking for those inside of myself.
Sometimes I find tidbits, little pieces of the puzzle that is my life, my heart and soul, and I’m able to place them in ever so carefully. Sooner or later though, something comes along and shakes the pieces out and I’m back at square one. Sometimes it’s just too exhausting to find those pieces and assemble myself back together. It gets so heavy, holding the weight of the world alone.
But I still flip through the moments I live through, reliving every memory and feeling it as if it were in this present moment. I have to reflect. I have to remember. I have to know that I’ve become stronger through time and that I haven’t lived this life in vain. I’m not looking for a trophy. I once sought out approval and praise, but I let go of that because it doesn’t come around often. It’s so tiring waiting for the recognition that I most certainly don’t really deserve.
I can only try to give myself that. I can try to be my own friend, my own savior, my own freedom. Instead of floating above myself and watching from afar, maybe I can pull myself back into my body. Maybe I can live here and stay here instead of drifting away when reality doesn’t stick for a multitude of reasons. I don’t think that day will be anytime soon though. I win some days, and I lose terribly on other days.
I will keep repeating the music and the words that resonate so closely inside of me. They’re the reminder that I am alive in some way. They’re the reminder that my feelings reside deep inside of myself, even if I can’t truly and openly share them with the world. They don’t judge me for my isolation. They become my only friend. They chase away the loneliness as best as they can.
My connection with the world feels severed when I’m fluctuating. I’m drifting away further from my body, desperately looking for an anchor. The music that plays on is all I can hold onto in an attempt to stay grounded. But sometimes the music drifts away with me, and we float off together into the stratosphere.
I sometimes wonder if anyone looks up into the sky, and they see me up there and wonder if I’ll ever come back down to the ground.
Consistent sanity remains a pipe dream.
The words and the colors all blend together, and I’m covered in everything I can’t possibly express. Where is the connection? I turn around and nobody is there. Time trickles away. I fall away further. Nobody waits for me.
The record plays on. The sun sets and the cold air chases away the warmth I once had. The loneliness suffocates me and I lie inside myself, heavy and alone.
There’s nobody home.