I’d Be Better As A Hermit

I hate my illnesses. Some days I hate them in a way as if they were physical and I can see them. I hate how they make me feel or act. I hate the way they affect my life. Like they are always waiting in the shadows ready to jump out and attack at the slightest smallest thing.

My illnesses make me look as though I am selfish, possessive, clingy and many other things that I am not, they are like masks that I wear, but they are nothing but lies. I try very hard to take them off, but sometimes I am just not strong enough and that is when my illnesses affect others.

They are all bad in their own ways. BPD (borderline personality disorder) borderlineprobably is the one I hate the most. That’s the one that has an effect on my relationships and friendships. That’s the one that makes me look as though I am clingy or possessive. It rears its ugly head whenever there is even the slightest kind of abandonment, which isn’t actually abandonment at all, but that is the way my mind and emotions see it.

Even just yesterday a small, nothing came up that meant someone had to do something else, and off was my BPD with the many words it likes to whisper in my ear, and then suddenly I have the feelings of the child that once stood and watched his parents drive off to their new house without him. It comes to the surface and makes it so I can’t breathe. I have to hide from the people around me because what has set it off is so small they wouldn’t understand the devastation I am feeling in that moment. Just because someone cancelled or needed to do something else.

I think it makes me a bad friend. I get snappy when I am trying to control what BPD is making me feel inside. I stand wishing the other person could see the crashing inside my head and understand it. I wish they could see it so much that they could stop it. I wish they would notice and ask me what’s wrong and then fix it.

It makes me feel that a life without friends would be easier. At least then I wouldn’t have to go through more trauma and risk showing the other person the ugliness inside.

Some information.

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BPD diagram

What’s the Point?

I’m trying not to think today, trying not to ponder on the idea of ‘the point’ but I can’t help it. What is the point? A question that crosses my mind so often and sends me spiralling down a path in my thoughts that don’t lead to anywhere good. It’s so hard to come back from it too, my chest feels heavy, like its aching and crying inside, that’s the only way I can describe it. It’s been with me for a couple of days now and I’m trying to fight it, trying so hard because if I don’t I start to think. I stare out of the window like a man stood on the top of a mountain looking down and I watch. man-756833

That moment when the air around is cool and still, like the fresh breath of a new morning, when there are no real sounds, but the buzzing of one’s own mind. When the air is crisp and clear and hasn’t been polluted by the day’s events. When there is peace inside and the thoughts are as clear as the air around.

That is how it feels when I stare out of the window, but if I just turn to the left or the right, the rest of the world is awake and moving and I’m not. I’m standing so still in this moment wondering how it is that these people can go about their normal day and not see it the same way I do. Why don’t they realise that the petty fights they have, the race to work, the worry about the next bill mean nothing. Nothing at all, because in the end, after everything we do; we all die.

That thought leads me to that question; what’s the point? Why do we fight? Why do we do anything at all? Some people say it’s to be happy, but what’s the point in that? Maybe it’s to make a difference in the world, but again, what does that achieve? In reality, every reason and everything we do is insignificant and doesn’t matter. SO why are we here. Why am I here? Why do I live each day with his pain inside?

What is the point?