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Life With Bpd - Blog Posts
I cry for the butcher
Gold silver and copper
cake my tongue
No harm can ever come from
my mother's praying hands
My filthy mouth -
I harmed myself
Orange wedge lip
Clenched ivory threat
Pulled the trigger with my tongue
Blood orange
Her saintly hands
I’m sorry - a million times over
I say to her
And when i finally cry
It is not for the lamb.
I want to metaphorically jump off a building and see who catches me. But at least I'm self aware enough to not do that.
Excerpt from a text convo between two Friends who both have BPD:
*edited for typos and clarity*
[...] I will do what Is in my nature to do.
I will beg the frog to take me to the other side of the river.
The frog will say no because it knows it cannot trust me.
And I will say: "you can trust me because if I sting you I too will drown".
And with its last ghasping drowning breath the frog will ask me: "why?" and I will say:
"Because it's in my nature".
As a person with BPD, I deeply identify with the scorpion in that story. I don't start out wanting to hurt the people that are helping me. I don't start out thinking about how much pain I can cause.
I ask for help from people who should know better than to trust me and I make it very difficult for them to do what I asked.
"Let yourself be loved", said my mother as she squeezed and pinched and bruied us with her hugs and kisses.
Don't be a "Limosnero con garrote" (begger with a club), my parents would tell us. They often found it difficult to meet our needs. And somehow, that was our fault.
Can a scorpion live without its stinger? Can a beggar carry a club? Can I stop hurting?
No joke, this is what living with BPD is like
"SURVIVING"