Life with BPD

Everything ends. You either do it until you die or it leaves. The choice you make it how you cope with the end, and how long you prolong the inevitable. It isn’t about denying the end; it’s about avoiding it. You run from commitments knowing you’ll ruin them prematurely. Only you last until death. Everything else leaves.

“You can have a disagreement without fighting,” he says. I stare blankly, tears rolling down my face.

“I understand that, but it doesn’t sound right.”

We’re fighting because he asked me to carry bags upstairs that I thought were too heavy. I’ve been making up problems to yell about for five minutes.

“I think I’m going to go.”

“You can’t leave me.”

“I’m just going home.”

“I’m never going to see you again! You’re mad at me, you’ll be mad at me forever.”

“You know that’s not true.”

I say ok but the tears pour out harder. I turn around and try to gather them. This is weakness. This is the part of me that is unlovable. I can’t let it be seen.

“Fine.” He sighs and sits back down. I’m overwhelmingly guilty. I’ve been told this is emotional manipulation. I don’t understand that. All evidence points to the fact that when people leave they don’t come back.

~

My emotions are a tornado. It is impossible to distinguish one from another. If I feel one feeling I am feeling them all. Happiness is sadness is anger. I react to all emotions the same. I push them away. Feelings are uncomfortable and are ultimately not worth it. You get nothing out of emotions, just more of them.

“How do you feel?”

I’m sitting on a couch. A woman with motherly eyes looks at me from a parallel couch.

I can’t think of an answer. I feel. If I feel one emotion I feel them all. Sadness becomes fear becomes anger becomes manic joy. I wonder what it’s like to feel one thing. To be able to have control. These are all the things I think.

“I’m ok.”

It’s not a lie. I’m what I call ok. Something eating away inside me, crawling out through my tear ducts.

“I’m ok.”

~

I’m terrified of conflict. People don’t get un-mad. They’re mad at you forever. I don’t have a very good perception of time. Things only happen right now or last forever. Neutrality is better.

“Did you ever want an apology from me?”

The beginning asking for an end. We’re sitting in a car. I would like to not be. The trees and cars suddenly don’t seem real. None of it does. Everything melts away and I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting in silence.

I don’t know what to say. Yes? Do I dare take the out? Do I dare ask for what I want? Do I dare?

“I think we’re good.”

~

Other people have feelings. I know this is a fact. I forget that. Everyone’s top motivation is clearly to cause me harm, I feel that. I want everyone to take my feelings into consideration, but I can’t do the same for them.

“You have really negative energy. I’m not the only one who notices”

I sincerely don’t care. This wasn’t my fault. I throw it back.

“Because you never pay attention to me! I’m not important to you.”

“I live with you don’t I?”

“Barely.”

“That makes no sense.”

That makes no sense. I feel it, so it must be true. How does everyone not feel this? How does no one feel what I’m feeling. Why am I alone?

“That makes no sense.”

~

I like swimming. Swimming feels like thinking but easier. Rushing through, meeting resistance, blurry, stinging. There’s a chance you may not resurface. There’s a chance this will be the last time.

My head is on fire. It’s very loud. I’m struggling to breathe. I pick up a piece of fruit. I hear screaming.

I see a picture of myself on the wall. It disgusts me. I take it down. I remove all evidence of myself from the house. I’m the first-born. There are a lot.

“Why did you do that?” She asks.

“I didn’t want to look at myself.”

“Why?”

“Everything’s my fault. I can’t do anything right.”

“Was 9/11 your fault?”

This was extreme. But I am not wrong.

“I don’t know. Probably,”

“It’s just puberty.” She puts the pictures back up.

~

I am garbage person. It’s an endearing nickname I created for myself. It lets me off the hook. I can’t be held responsible for my actions. They are inevitable. I am garbage person.

“I don’t want to date you” I say. “I like you too much.”

What I mean is I wouldn’t want to subject you to the emotional nonsense that is dating me. I see myself screaming at you, lying to you, cheating on you, blaming you.

“I’m not a good person.”

“I know what you mean.” You flick your cigarette.

“No you don’t.” We kiss.

“I don’t want to date you.”

~

I should be ashamed of myself, and I am. I’d call myself an opportunist if I had any objective. I romanticize qualities in others I cannot find in myself. I lie selfishly. It is always to protect myself. I am a coward.

“What are you writing?”

“A story.”