Me: “I’m Hungry”

If someone had to ask, “what’s the worst part of living with bpd?”

I think I’d say, trying to explain to someone what it’s like to not know who you are. Trying to explain swimming to someone who’s never seen water. Trying to explain purple to someone who’s blind.

It always results in a response along the lines of “But I know you”.

Which forces the conversation to an end, with a sigh. Realising that no one will ever truly understand what you are trying to tell them.

Realising that, the person they know, is based on themselves. Or the current movie character obsession of the week.

Trying to explain to someone that, if you were left alone, without any form of influence - real, or fictional - you would be stuck in place.

I wish I wrote the way I thought Obsessively Incessantly With maddening hunger I’d write to the point of suffocation I’d write myself into nervous breakdowns Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing And I’d write about you A lot more Than I should

- I Wish I Wrote the Way I Thought, Benedict Smith

When he’s a red flag but you need him

˚  ✦　.　.  ˚　.　. ✦　˚　 . ★⋆.

Mia Goth in ‘maXXXine’ as Maxine Minx, 2024 dir . ti West, X trilogy

BABE YOU’re a F*CKING STAR!

HALLEA JONES as Eden Hawkins in Locke & Key, Season 2 costume design by Megan Oppenheimer

You know what’s hard to swallow?

When you thought you had it all figured out. Not life, per se, but yourself - ever changing or not.

When you thought you had figured out the root of your problems, and praised yourself for being so darn self aware.

And then, something flips, the moment you give in to vice that you thought you had uncovered the secrets of. Why you drink, why you smoke, why you can’t seem to stop.

You thought you’d figured it out - why it pulled you in, and then, nothing makes sense anymore.

The moment of realising that you don’t know your demons, you don’t know why your eyes seem to always gaze back at the glass of wine next to you, and then the bottle. Why it seems to call out to you, louder than anything else in the room - a scream in an endless sea of whispers.

You give in, because the absolute soul crushing feeling of once again being wrong about yourself is worse than faking the reasons, but you know you’ll make up another. And you’ll believe it.

And the cycle will repeat.

Finally finding out what’s wrong with me: 😃

Finding out it’s incurable: 🤡