I HAVE FUCKING NO ONE. I STAY IN MY FUCKING ROOM AND JUST PRETEND. PRETEND THAT MY LIFE IS DIFFERENT,

it seems impossible

Having bpd is literally the worst thing ever. A mood swing can hit you literally anytime any second of the day. You’re literally at the mercy of this fucking illness. Does it care that two seconds ago you were having an amazing time with your friends? No. Does it care that no will understand why you’re frowning and sitting in a corner when you were literally laughing two seconds ago? No. It doesn’t give a fuck about anything or anyone. Not one thing. It just consumes you. And makes you hate yourself for being like this because there’s nothing you can do about it. Nothing.

I’m done, defeated. Some of us aren’t meant to be loved. Today is the day I will try to accept that. Keep to myself. It’ll hurt. A lot. A lot. But I’m done. My life has been agony and my fragile heart can’t take this anymore. I’ll always be an object. To be used then thrown away. I’m not good enough or worthy of being loved.

My brain is trying to latch onto something that might make me feel alive again, even if it’s a pathetic fantasy. It’s hard to sit with numbness. But deep down, I know nothing can fill the void I feel deep within my soul—that void that keeps getting deeper to the point where it will consume me one day. It’s hollowing me out from the inside, and I’m watching myself fade, but I don’t have the energy to stop it.

I’ve tried so hard not to let my depression define me, not to let it become my identity, but unfortunately, it has the upper hand. It controls everything—it has become me. Depression is so loud that I can’t hear anything else; it drowns everything out. I tried to convince myself that depression wasn’t me, that it was simply happening to me, but I failed. Depression has won. It has erased me completely, and it doesn’t seem willing to loosen its grip.

I miss the era of my functional depression now I’m just bedrotting. At least with functional depression I could still do things, still pretend, still have sense of normalcy. Now it’s just this heavy paralyzing nothingness.

I think I wanna get better but what if I'm no one under all the mental illness?

some days i think i’m okay and some days i wish i was six feet in the ground

You know what’s selfish? Breaking someone to the point where they don’t live. Breaking them so bad that they cant be fixed anymore. When they think of life, it’s synonymous to agony. They just survive each day. It’s not selfish to want to end it. It’s liberation from suffering. It’s selfish to do this to someone repeatedly and ask them to stay.

Why should I stay when no ever did.

i apologies to anyone who ever has the displeasure of trying to love me.

Idk if thats a bpd or a me thing