You Can Sit in the Front

Being a person with Borderline Personality Disorder is like being on a rollercoaster. Everyday has an up and down; even if my day is going well, you don’t know what is setting me off and going on in my head.

Waking up is like taking a ride everyday; the ride looks great from afar- it starts with waiting in line and waiting for your turn and once you are at the front of the line you need to take that ride… after all, all your friends are doing it.

I get on the rollercoaster and take the first seat available; the front seat. That’s it, I crave the thrill of the ride. I feel nauseous but I am anticipating the seat belt check and the team member to give us the ‘go ahead.’ This time I am going to make it.

Click, click, click… I can feel the ride and the day starting off bumpy. My whole body shakes with the click, click, click of the tracks. My day starts off with not wanting to go to work because I don’t feel like I am making an impact; but I stay in my seat till I reach the top.

Just as fast as I get to the top, something sets me off and I am plummeting to the ground; a thought, a feeling, a memory. I try to open my eyes but the flashes in my head are too fast and I just tightly grab the bar and close my eyes. I don’t want to be in my head.

The twists and turns come as fast as the initial drop and my head is making things up about me. Telling me that I am not good enough and that I don’t belong.

The ride is jolting me left and right no matter how many times I checked the seatbelt, I am still being pushed back and forth. I hold on as tight as I can but this skill doesn’t help. I hit my head on the side; I hit the side repeatedly and I can’t stop. It’s the way to make the thoughts stop so I just let it happen.

My day comes to a slow plateau when I pass Joe on the side of the rollercoaster. He is watching me and cheering for me on the side and telling me to hold on and he will be there at the end of the day; at the end of the ride.

The rollercoaster comes to a screeching halt and I hear, ‘click, click, click…whoosh.’ and that’s the end. I get out of the first car with bumps, bruises and a sense of accomplishment.

I made it another day; I made it another ride.

Until next time,

Wait for me at the end.

 

Fucking Up

This is a top ten list of things I already know or don’t want to hear when I already know that I fucked up.. 

Heeeere we go…

1. You fucked up. -no shit.

2. Why did you do that? -i don’t know.

3. What were you thinking? -clearly i wasn’t.

4. Are you stupid? -that is so helpful asshole.

5. You have to do better. -thank you for that diagnosis. 

6. Was this on purpose or subconscious? -you tell me.

7. Don’t do it again. -like ever?

8. Don’t feel that way. -ok, let me turn off my feelings.

9. Why are you feeling this way? -like I fucking know.

10. I’m mad at you. -I’m mad at me too… get in the back of the line asshole.

You know what I want to hear? -I’m sorry, I’m here for you and I support you… now stop being an asshole.

Until next time, 

It’s not that hard.

Watching the Clouds

I sit here and watch the clouds pass me by and wonder what it would be like to fly?

I wonder how clouds would feel in my hand. 

Would they brush through my fingertips the same way the cool ocean water slips through my fingers on a warm summer day or would the clouds feel soft like my favorite blanket that I wrap myself in by the fire while it snows?

If I try to hold them tight, would they disappear like the warm sun drifts off into the cool night?

If I hold them carefully, would they stay like a fragile piece of glass intact in my fingertips?

If I smell the clouds and inhale deeply, does it smell like clean cotton on laundry day?

And if I took a bite, a bite right out of the cloud, would it taste like cotton candy after a day at my hometown carnival?

I just don’t know but I hope one day to find out but it can’t be today.

Until next time,

Allison

Please Stay with Me

My heart is aching, my body is breaking and I don’t know what to do. There are so many thoughts that go along with being like this. I am stupid, ungrateful and dumb but really all I feel is numb. You will never understand because your feet aren’t in the same place that I stand. I stand among you but you don’t know the thoughts that pass through my mind; the thoughts that come and go. My world is shifting and I tend to fall. I get up again and again but I am so tired and don’t stand as tall as you. I slouch and crouch down so I can’t be seen. I can’t let you see me and what this all means. I don’t understand it myself because I am so lost and it’s dark here. I want to be better but there feels like there is no end in sight. Some days are light but the darkness sets in and there is nothing in front of me or in back of me, just an abyss. You face the night but I face the darkness. I can’t see my hand in front of me because it is too dark. Even the bright white of my hand can’t be seen in front of my face. My thoughts are just as dark but I try not to let you see because how would you feel about me? If I really told you my thoughts I know you would run; run as far as you can because who wants to be next to me? Do you really want to walk by my side to go with me step by step? I am safe and I am not actively hurting myself; they are just thoughts and thoughts they will stay because I could never die that way. Please stay with me and see my thoughts. Please don’t leave me because I can’t take that loss. Please stay with me because I can’t be alone. Please stay with me because I can’t be left behind. Please stay with me until this passes. Please stay with me.

Until next time,

I wish I wasn’t a borderline

Red Tape

You ask me how I am doing and I say I am doing fine. You keep asking me because you know that it isn’t true. You ask me how I am doing- I give you more information, ‘not good’, I say; ‘it’s been a tough week.’

Again you ask because you truly want to help me, I tell you that I think about hurting myself and you get nervous. For you, this is new, something you didn’t know about me but for me, it’s every day life. Every second the thought passes through my mind like a rapid fire rifle.

You start to get uncomfortable and start to show me all the gifts I have in my life and how I would be leaving my family. I hear you but my mind is racing- perhaps I have shared too much? You are on high alert like the United States on a holiday.

I start to shut down. I start to shut down. I can’t talk to you about this because it’s not normal and you have every right to feel the way you do. You have every right to show me what I have and what I would be ‘giving up.’ However, I already know this information.

I start to shut down. My engine is out of gas. The gas light has come on but I have no desire to find a gas station. I have no desire to pump more gas. I can’t make you feel better and keep myself from rolling off the nearest cliff.

You care about me so much and I, you, but we shouldn’t talk about this anymore. You are trying so hard to ‘help’ and I am trying so hard not to shut down but it’s impossible.

From now on, I need to conform with the rules of society. I need to feel what is right even if it’s a lie. Bound my hands and mouth with red tape. I need to conform to societal norms.

And even if I am trying to conform to society, I am cheating myself because I am not validating myself; ‘it’s not me,’ I say, ‘it’s society.’ There is such a stigma on people like myself. We live in a world where we are not accepted and our thoughts and feelings are strange. We are dangerous to the normal society because our thoughts shake up what is considered normal.

I shake up society; much like an earthquake in southern California. The buildings around me our strong but my building is crumbling. No one knows why but my building is not as strong as yours. When an earthquake comes, I hurt people. Bound me in red tape; bound me in yellow caution tape. ‘Do Not Cross,’ it says. Yellow tape is everywhere. You can’t cross because you will see the mess I have become; the mess that I am.

I will rebuild. I will get stronger. I will cut the tape but I need to cut the tape alone. You can’t be there because you don’t have scissors.

Until next time,

Learn to use scissors.

I’m Glass

I’m glass. You can see me as half full or as half empty. It doesn’t matter how you see me because I am all glass no matter what is contained inside.

I’m glass. Each particle makes up a piece of my history. Each scrape and each chip is just a reminder of where I have been.

I’m glass. I feel so transparent but when depression sets in, it’s like a dark liquid clouding your view of me. I don’t let you see what is really going on inside of me.

I’m glass. Fragile and still strong. You can break me with the touch of your lips but I gain a strength from your hurtful words.

I’m glass. If you drop me, I will break and scatter all over the floor. There will be shards of me that you will never be able to find again.

I’m glass. Don’t try to put me back together because there are pieces missing and I will leak in front of you.

I’m glass. I can’t leak. Once broken, I will always be broken and you can’t see me this way.

I’m glass. Once you break me, I will never trust you to hold me again.

Until next time,

Don’t let me fall

Frayed at Both Ends

​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,

Allison