I feel like I am at the end of my rope. Time and time again I try to hold on and with the tightening of each muscle, the end of my rope becomes frayed.
I want to use this rope for many things. I want to use it as an anchor. I want to use it as a lifeline. I want to use it as an means to an end.
Each time I have opened the door to therapy, it gets harder. Each time I have walked those creaky stairs to get to the room, the walk seems longer. Every time I sit on that couch it’s like time stands still.
I can hear the ticking of the clock but the hands aren’t moving. The only thing moving is the rapid fire shots in my brain telling me that I am not good enough and I will never get better. I just stare at my therapist hoping she will see through my bullshit.
I make the long drive home and my rapid fire thoughts have turned into rapid fire judgements.
‘You will never be good enough.’
‘You will always be like this.’
‘You will always be labeled with Borderline Personality Disorder.’
Being labeled is like being branded. It will always be there and it will never heal. However, my branding is different because you can’t see it. You don’t want to see it do you?
I try to talk to you but you look away and I know that you have no idea what to say to me but I wish you would just hug me. Tell me it’s ok. Ask me to stay.
Therapy is too hard and I want to take off like a thief in the night leaving behind a trail of nothingness. I want to escape into the dark never to be found and never to be seen. I’m not worth it. Don’t look for me- I’m not worth it. Don’t see me- I’m not worth it. Don’t speak my name- I’m not worth it.
This rope I hold in my hand is fraying at both ends. It won’t hold me much longer…
Until next time,