Sometimes, I Scare Myself. I Hate Lashing Out. I Hate Being So Angry I Cry And Want To Hit Things. I

me: has a breakdown because mental illness has ruined so much for me

also me: but am i really mentally ill tho?? how can i be sure? how do i know i’m not faking and making things up for attention?? i’m probably exaggerating because i want to be sick

No, you don’t understand. People with BPD notice everything. We notice when you don’t smile as wide at us one morning. We notice when you don’t hug as tight. When you don’t sound quite as happy when speaking to us. When you look the slightest bit uninterested in what we’re saying.

And when you talk to someone else. When you talk to someone else and look like you’re enjoying yourself, we assume that you’d rather be with them all of the time. So we leave before you can confirm or deny that.

And if you start telling us about a fun time you had with someone else it will not end well. We might be too shy to speak up about it, but it’ll still eat away at us. We’ll feel abandoned. 

And “You should have been there!” is the absolute worst thing to say. We know we should have been there. We want to have been there. We know you had fun and we’re happy that you did, but the sadness of feeling abandoned completely obliterates that. So don’t rub it in.

Instead, say, “Yeah, we had fun, but I’m glad I’m here now” or, “… that you’re here now”. It really makes us feel loved and appreciated. 

I know this barely scratches the surface of what we feel on a daily basis, but I hope this can help those who don’t know.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

“I woke up in the morning and I didn’t want anything, didn’t do anything, couldn’t do it anyway, just lay there listening to the blood rush through me and it never made any sense, anything.”

— Richard Siken (via velvetnyc)

Because this explains so much.

“I’m lonely. And I’m lonely in some horribly deep way and for a flash of an instant, I can see just how lonely, and how deep this feeling runs. And it scares the shit out of me to be this lonely because it seems catastrophic.”

— (via flame)

Borderline Personality Disorder isn’t being cute and ‘clingy’ and ‘adorably needy’. Being with (romantic or otherwise) someone with BPD isn’t akin to taking care of a pet. BPD isn’t an ‘aw it’s so endearing that they need me so badly’ type of thing. 

BPD is a mental illness that is a conglomeration of several different tendencies and it’s not easy to diagnose. You don’t just decide you have it, just like you don’t decide you’re depressed because you had a bad  day, or you don’t decide you’re bipolar because your mood changes quickly sometimes. Believe  me, you don’t want it.

BPD is turning nothing into everything, is knowing you’re being irrational and not being able to stop regardless, is suppressing breakdowns for fear of being abusive or of manipulating the person you’re talking to into having to take care of you when they really don’t want to.

It’s thinking someone doesn’t care about you anymore because they made a new friend. It’s automatically registering new people as a threat. It’s a fear of abandonment and rejection that’s damn near omnipresent. It’s being able to shift from ‘I love you so much!’ to ‘I don’t give a fuck, I hate you, I don’t even want to talk to you’ and back at the drop of a hat.

It’s finding identity in a drastic hair change, and then feeling unsafe and desperately trying to fix it before you have to go out. It’s seeing someone you adore and trying to emulate them because you have no idea who you are. It’s waking up and trying to be a new person every day. Go vegan, go goth, go hipster, go glamour, cut your hair, change your makeup, gain weight, lose weight, and never feel quite there. Ever.

It’s comprehending ‘love’ as ‘pity’ and wanting to rip yourself apart if their tone is all too casual when your friend or love interest is returning compliments or affection. It’s regretting saying anything about your mood and desperately trying to turn the conversation around while simultaneously NEEDING to get it out. It’s wanting to bleed yourself dry as opposed to cry in someone’s arms because, at least then, they don’t have to clean your wounds for you. They won’t hate you. They won’t be annoyed. 

It’s the constant battle, every time you get upset, of, “Is this worth being sad about? Is it worth talking about? What is more abusive, talking about this or hiding it? If I tell them I’ll bring them down and I’ll guilt trip them and they will resent me and it will all be my fault. If I don’t, I’m a disgusting liar, I’m manipulative, I’m untrustworthy.”

It’s wondering if you’re faking your symptoms. It’s disassociating and feeling like a ghost for days. It’s feeling like you aren’t real, and then wishing you weren’t. It’s fear, a lack of self, and about a million different thoughts running through your head at all times. It’s trying to live for the people you love as opposed to yourself. It’s feeling suicidal and then feeling bad for feeling suicidal because, whoops, you’re being manipulative.