Recently, as I’ve been paying attention to some of the BPD social community postings and message boards, I’ve noted that everyone gives a courtesy warning if there’s something that could possibly upset someone with your same issues. So I am going to follow this now.
The following blog contains upsetting emotional descriptives and triggers, such as terror of abandonment and extremely negative self esteem. I wouldn’t even post it, but I have tried to be honest when I write these, and this is something I could never say aloud in any circumstance, but I needed to say.
In both the figurative and literal sense, if you think about it. Possibly I have it wrong.
I was watching the second Reboot!Trek and thinking about things that repeat and things that are different from reality to reality and I missed you again. Exactly as I always have, even when I was trying to convince myself to not be afraid of being abandoned, trying not to face the truth that all I have ever been is your dirty little secret because you were ashamed of me. My weight, being poor, being weird, being sick, being BPD and you would rather be with her than me because, really, who would have ever chosen me anyway?
Mandi and Stephen were here, curled up together on the couch, and my main thought was “Don’t let them see what your mind is doing so closed my eyes and templed my hands in front of my mouth and let the sorrow just hit me in wave after wave. Don’t break, don’t break dontbreakdontbrea-
I thought about writing, and how I can’t write anything without wondering if you’ll ever see it, and knowing you won’t because you would never look for me.
It’s like you’re dead. Or you’re Rory Williams and I’m Amy Pond looking at sunflowers and crying without even knowing she’s doing it over a soul mate who had fallen into the crack of the Universe and had never existed.
I’m sitting here now with my teeth gritted tight and my eyes are searing and I feel the tears on my cheeks and it’s a gasoline burning that scars all the way to the genetic code.
At the same time, I realize that the intensity of the hurt that I’m feeling isn’t natural. And that’s the worst thing of all. Betrayed by my broken brain. Tricked into believing in love when it normally would be, what, nothing? I had never even thought… I’m not a brave person. I don’t take chances. The only time I have ever stood up for myself was getting my divorce, and even that has backfired because I am crippled by the misfiring neurons and imbalanced chemicals and I need someone to be on constant suicide watch because I don’t trust myself to stay alive. Not even actually committing suicide, because that would be an active movement toward something. All I am doing is slipping slowly downward. Down, down, swirling cold and clammy shadows of despair invading my soul and smothering it.
It’s been 341 days.
I remember the last time you walked out my doorway. I leaned my forehead against the screen and wanted you to stay. I told myself to not show the worry and hurt, but to look happy. Let you leave on a positive note, so you will want to always come back.
I told myself not to be stupid. I told myself that of course you’ll be back. That it isn’t the last time. I told myself it wouldn’t be the last time I saw you.
It rises inside me. It hurts. I close my eyes and swallow it down. I will continue to do this until it builds up too much and explodes.
Nothing takes it away. It is a constant. It is always there, the web of cracks in my soul. I hear the damage in my head, so loud and rolling it turns into static.
I will never not miss you. I tell myself I can survive that. Every moment. Every day.
And the really insanely awful thing is maybe-
No. Not maybe. I AM.
I am afraid to get better, because if it is just my BPD multiplying how I feel, the me that was me that had you becomes a lie, like the you that I thought you were that loved me. And I don’t want her to disappear, she’s all I have left now.
What if I wake up tomorrow and she’s not here?
Emotional state: Save Yourself by Sense Field