ode to a borderline.

I want to write. I’ve got so much on my mind. But also, my emotions are so intense that it’s hard to articulate these thoughts. The days and nights have been a blur. Don’t really know what I’m doing anymore. I feel lost and broken. Time has slowed down, like those early mornings back home in Dana Point. I could hear the fog horn off in the distance, lulling me out of sleep. Time felt so slow all those mornings. It feels like that now, but less peaceful. And I’m just here in this fog… alone.

Within this fog, there are more layers. It feels like my head is on fire. It feels like I’m drowning in the ocean. It feels like someone tied my ankles together with a rope and a cinderblock for each leg. And I’m falling further down into the ocean with no chance to save myself.

I feel. I feel. I feel. I feel. I feel. I feel. Too. Fucking. Much.

This is borderline personally disorder for me.

I wish I could just… not feel. I don’t know how to not feel. Today I had an absolute meltdown. I didn’t hurt myself, but dear god… I couldn’t stop crying. I think I cried for almost an hour straight. It was absolute misery. I can’t describe the pain I felt inside of me. It just wouldn’t stop. I was struggling to self-soothe. I even googled “distress tolerance skills” while I was sobbing. As I was reading them, I was just shaking my head because it felt like all of those things were impossible to do as I was crying and feeling this overwhelming pain. It’s so hard every single time. Every meltdown. I can’t see past them when I’m in it. And the embarrassing thing is that these meltdowns happen so frequently. Why does it feel like it’s the end of the world every time?

I don’t know where I thought I’d be by now, at age 31… Honestly actually, I thought I’d be dead. I feel completely and utterly alone, and it’s painful. In a world with billions of people, how can I feel so alone? I can write all about it for the world to see, but I’m still alone. I’m alone with my thoughts, and stuck in my head. I want to break free sometimes. I want to rip out of my skin and disappear. It’s disheartening having to feel this way constantly and never having a permanent fix. It hurts to be alive too often for me.

I look at my arms and there are hundreds of scars all over them through the years. Then there’s fresh cuts from last week. What am I doing? Why do I do this? I don’t know anymore. Everything just hurts so badly and I don’t know how to make it stop. I feel uncomfortable right now. I want to throw myself off a building to just stop feeling this way. I dissociate too much. Yesterday I was in the shower for more than an hour, mostly just sitting on the floor of the shower and staring at the wall, eventually feeling heavy enough to drift in and out of consciousness. I have those kinds of showers more frequently than I’d like to admit.

I am empty. I’ve spent what feels like forever trying to fill up the void inside of me, but I guess these scars open up and drain out any hope or happiness I might find. Maybe the holes have always been there. Maybe something or someone comes and lacerates me and everything just pours out of me. I’m on my knees trying to scoop up what is coming out, begging for the flood to stop, but it’s fruitless.

Time is ticking by slowly as I stare at the wall. My thoughts rush around me, everything is so loud. It’s taking so much energy to write this out, and even so, it doesn’t feel like it’s everything I want to say. My head is heavy. My heart hurts. I just want to curl up and die. Everything feels so difficult. Nothing makes sense anymore. When I’m asleep, everything is obviously fine. But as soon as I wake up, all the anxiety I’ve left behind while I sleep greets me eagerly and steps back inside my head, and I’m left feeling dreadful the rest of the day and night.

The worst part about all this is that it feels like it’s the only thing I’ve ever felt and that I’ll ever feel. I can’t see behind or past it. I know logically this isn’t true, and I desperately try to convince myself of this, but it doesn’t matter. It still feels the way it feels.

Being in love hurts. I try hard to hold myself back a bit so I don’t overwhelm the other person, but I end up feeling like a burden anyways. I can’t help the way I feel. I don’t know how to express myself properly and say the right thing. I think I’m just cursed.

Life has just been a series of distractions, I think that’s all I can do in terms of self-soothing. I’m ok at some moments through the day, but it never stays consistent. My life has always been unstable, it’s exhausting. I’m 31 years old, and I guess that instability isn’t stopping anytime soon. I’ve accepted that fate but… sometimes I just really wish I didn’t have to wake up feeling the dread that I’ve felt for so long. I wish I could take it all and put it in a jar and just be able to breathe some fresh air for awhile. But I’m stuck in this body and mind that refuses to let me feel good for too long.

BPD is a curse that I wish I never had to be subjected to. I’m thankful that I was able to be diagnosed 7 years ago because I struggled for so long before that, not knowing what the hell was wrong with me. But being so self-aware of it makes it even harder now at times. Because people expect me to just be in control of my mental health because I’m aware of it and know what’s happening but… the truth is, sometimes it feels like before I was diagnosed. With every meltdown feeling like there’s no end in sight, like there’s no relief. I can’t make it make sense to people who have never felt like they’re on fire 70 times a week. I can’t explain it to people who don’t drown in their tears nearly every day. I can’t describe the pain I feel in my moments of solitude where it feels like the world is ending every day. How do you make someone understand this kind of life?

You don’t. You just hope and pray that those people don’t see you as a monster. You hope and pray for compassion and mercy. You hope and pray for them to not see you as a liability. You hope and pray they don’t leave you because you’re too much. And even with all the preparations knowing they could very well leave, it still hurts all the same plus more as they say their last words before leaving.

I’m not a monster, I swear. I’m trying my best to stay afloat and stay alive, even when I don’t want to be here anymore.

I think I’m done writing for tonight. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough though.

I have therapy in a little less than 12 hours. We’re going to pick up EMDR therapy again. It’s been 6 months since the last time we did it. I’m scared and I might cry again like last time, but I know this is something that can help me. I need to believe that I am enough because I’ve felt like nothing for so long. Working through these painful memories and traumas hasn’t been easy, and my brain is conflicted and doesn’t see an end to it. But there has to be relief somewhere. I just have to believe that it’ll get better. I have to believe it.

I’m tired of feeling like I’m in pain constantly. I’m tired of being on fire. The fire extinguisher rolled away from me and I can’t find it through all this smoke. I can’t breathe and I can’t see or hear anyone. I need some help, but it feels like everyone has ran away and left me here to die.

I’m hoping and praying for relief.
Between the fire and the tears,
I need to know there’s a breath of fresh air at the end of it all.

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These are the musings of a 32 y/o dreamer, wisher and doer. All my posts are authentic; I write what's in my heart.

One thought on “ode to a borderline.

  1. Wow Amy I can’t imagine, there are no words other than I feel a fraction of what you feel with anxiety and depression, my wife is probably closer being bipolar. But this was a very hard read. I can offer love and support from a distance ❤❤️‍🩹


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