I Have BPD
Sometimes I wonder if my suicide attempt actually worked and this is just hell I’m living in now. Like I’m just another part of the statistic.
Research has shown that around 70 per cent of people with BPD will have at least one suicide attempt in their lifetime, and many will make multiple suicide attempts, and people with BPD are more likely to complete suicide. Sometimes I stand and everything goes black, and the static in my head gets louder and louder.
Sometimes I cry, sobbing between heaving- but not often because it’s hard for me to display emotions normally. We’re supposed to be constantly feeling things at an intensified level than neurotypicals.
Sometimes I get distant. I disassociate from myself and exist somewhere in between reality and the void. It’s hard for me to say sorry to those I hurt in the process of me hurting myself.
I can’t sit still. My mind’s moving 100 mph and it’s almost impossible to slow it down. Countless flashbacks play in the back of my mind on a reel. Like a horror flick, I can’t get out of. Like I’m in a nightmare and everything in me is saying run but my legs won’t move.
My therapist said that when you have BPD you can’t control your emotions. It’s an emotional switch that flips. Like the breaker box is shot and all the wires are frayed.
I wear my partners T-shirt’s when she’s gone to remind me that she still exists. Her smell on the pillowcase is the only reminder that she was even here, that it was real. When you have BPD nothing seems real. You often question if you do exist.
A friend asked me why I write everything down. The only way I can assure myself it really happened is to let it live on through my art.
Every day I wake up and ask myself if I can just be normal today. Be a normal sister, a normal girlfriend, a normal human being. I always set my expectations far too high.
It may not mean much to her but her slightly different demeanour has me in a state of panic fueled by my overwhelming fear of rejection and abandonment. I live with this every day and some days it’s harder to push all the fears to my subconscious. It’s like I’m falling rapidly down a mountainside and the sudden occurrence of fear in overwhelming quantities is crushing my chest. Clogging my windpipe, making it seemingly impossible to breathe.
Living with BPD is the equivalent of constantly being at war with yourself. You don’t get quiet moments. But I sustain myself on the idea that everything will be okay.
And people ask me why I can’t just shut it off, as if it is that easy. I’m doing everything I can to stop the voices in my head from screaming over the whispers in my ear.
I find comfort in the fact that she loves me despite the chaos. I sustain myself on the fact that she loves me. That’s all the justification needed. I know she’s probably sick of always putting me back together, but her touch makes all the sharp edges fit perfectly together.
I have no impulse control. But I am slowly accepting my disease, and I remember to not let it define me. I’m learning to cope, and I have to remember to be kind to myself.
If you’re struggling with mental illness, please remember to be kind to yourself. If some days you need to stay in bed, that’s okay. If some days you forget to take your medication, that’s okay. If some days you act on your impulses, that is okay. Don’t hide yourself from the world because you are different. You are radiant, you are celestial, and you are loved.
Always remember you matter.