I Know Deep Down I Really Am Never Going To Make It, And This Will End By My Own Hands

having BPD is like simultaneously being a black cat and a lost puppy

you can be the sweetest little kitty and do no wrong but there’s nothing you can do to change some people’s mind about you. they’d stereotype you and believe all the misconceptions without giving you a chance.

you’re also constantly looking for your person. your place to call home. longing for that warmth and comfort of love but you feel so helpless in a storm that doesn’t seem to stop pouring. following mindlessly any person that gives you the slightest attention and being obsessed with them until you look up and realize you’ve lost them and are alone again in the unforgiving storm.

please don't leave; when I think you're leaving my head gets fuzzy and the world caves in and my heart bursts and leaks into my legs and the rot overcomes me

i hate that BPD gives me such a lack of emotional permanence.

you can spend hours describing the ways in which you care about me, yet the moment you stop my brain will immediately decide you hate me and are destined to leave me.

From the bottom of my worthless heart, I genuinely don’t know if I can survive another year.

life with bpd is always trying to fill a huge hole in your chest. you spend your life looking for a cure that doesn't really exist

Where do i go if nowhere and no-one feels like home anymore