A New kind of update

This week is not a good one. I feel just so alone. Like no one wants to talk to me. I think it is because people only seem to talk to me on their terms.

But I need that interaction. So I send them message after message until a point is reached where they feel like talking to me. I know that this isn’t the best. Creating random situations to be noticed isn’t ideal, but what else can I do? I was doing so well for a time but now I am empty.

All because no one talks to me. No one is interested in what I have to say.

I have no friends

No family

That bothers to check up on me.

The only people I speak to on a consistent basis is my kid and my therapist.

When others take the time to notice me. I lie

Tell them I am alright and that No, of course everything is ok. Everything is going well. I am not sick. I am not scared. I am not staying up at night wishing that it would be my last but to much of a coward to do anything. Nothing like that is happening.

Instead I tell them about all the great things. How sunny the sky is. How happy me and my daughter are. How I love her and she makes me smile. At no point do I tell them that I hide in my room and only interact with her cause I have to. Not because I am a good parent but because I am a parent. I feed her, bathe her, get her ready for school. I listen to her read and play. We watch videos and tell each other stories. Not because I want to, but because it is expected of me. Given a chance I would not be here.

They don’t care. None of them care.

They talk to me on their own time and the interactions never last long. I can send them a message, an email, but it all gets ignored. Phones calls are regulated to once a blue moon conversations. Only call when they need money.

I hate it here.

I made this blog so that I can share my stories but also so people can have a small glimpse into what it is like for those who have BPD. And well…this is it.

And I am sorry for that

I wonder

“Do you regret it?”

“No, why should I?”

“Because you gave up!”

“No…I didn’t…”

“But you did! Had you listened to me-“

“What? Had I listened to you what!?”

“…We would be happy…a family.”

“No, we wouldn’t. We would be content. A mix of shame and regrets. We would have hated each other in the end”

“But-“

“And you wanna know what the worst part is?”

“…what? What could be worst than being a murderer?”

“That…that right there. We were never be fit to be more than friends. Yet you wished to make something out of what was not meant to be? Why? For such a little thing that we would both abandon. You despise me without reason and yet you scream about what ‘could have happened’ what ‘could have been’. When right now! Yes! Now! You hide behind a smirk. You want to be so woke yet you expect things. Grand things that bring about disorder. All because you felt as though a bundle of cell could bring us closer. “

“BUT OUR DAUGHTER”

“…”

“Or our son. Should have had fighting chance to become one”

“But you don’t want me”

“But…yes, still it would have been worth it since you already let me inside your dress. What a little bit more for both our sakes. Someone around to tie us to the stake. Sure we would burn and we may hate. But it would be worth it over this mistake. “

“So you would rather live in misery?”

“I rather IT live”

Honestly, this is terrible

I am not a momma to be held with contempt. I think I am exempt

From such animosity because there is no one, surely no one

Who can hate me as much as me

Such a belittling feeling and yet so deserved

For who else can ignore such a girl

One with a smile so sweetly filled with love

Who else would dare turn away from her hugs

Crying cause their skin is burning

Sleeping well into midmorning

Could you do it and still hold yourself on high

Or would you feel as I do? Despair beside a happy child

Making up excuses to stay a while

Could you really believe yourself worthy of praise

When not a day goes by that doesn’t end in a haze

This is what it is like to parent with depression

To parent in a borderline state of obsession

This desire to leave sticks to the bones

Yet, I know, I truly know, that this small child is home

Honestly_ what a terrible poem

I truly hate December

I made this blog as a way to work through my own emotions. But there are times when I wish I could something a bit more meaningful. This is not one of those times. Today is a different day. A day in which I truly do wish to die.

I think about it often enough but overall I am scared. I think that is because I might possibly actually want to lie and it is the pain and depression that I suffer with that I want to go. But every Avenue leads to more depression and more suffering. I have people I talk to but it seems as though I have to constantly update them on the fact that I have not gotten better. Because as soon as I do something that seems a bit abnormal they fight back with “Oh what but I that things were better now”

No, but shall I wear a scarlet letter upon mine breast so that you may see that I am, in fact, quit ill.

But if I were to send them updates they will do something drastic. Like take away my child and deem me an unfit parent. Or go out of there way to make my life hell in other ways. Such as sending me to the mental ward of a nearby hospital.

Which, mind you, I have been to those hospitals. Enough times that I could probably teach a class within it. I know the material by heart and am currently going to school for psychology and social work. So really how exactly are any of these supposed to help me or make me trust others.

Instead I wish people would listen. I want them to actually sit down and talk to me and help me build a plan. Hold me accountable yes, but also make sure you hold up your end of the bargain.

I am almost positive that I want to die. I crave not feeling anything anymore. But I can’t do that to my little one. I can’t ruin her life for the sake of my own salvation. Instead I will suffer along hoping that someone takes the time to listen to me.

Third day of Nightmares

I think I am infected

Distracted from a reality that I can’t see

Little visions dancing in my head

Forming solid thoughts about her dead

I can see her body

In this reality so terrifying

I can see her crying

Screaming for me to come save her

But I am to far away

Out of reach my soul is mistaken

Its breaking from this infectious disease

That is eating away at me

Everytime I close my eyes I can see her

Dead as the night that surrounds

These little visions are beyond lethal

And I need her, when I am sleeping

I hold her to my chest

I listen to her every breath

Her heartbeat a drug I can’t give up yet

I am infected

By a reality that can not be

A dream so terrifying

That I can not sleep

I see poetry when I think of you

I see poetry when I think of you.

The urge to dip my pen and write is fighting me. Drowing out my other senses. I have no fear in this yet I stand still. Listless in the making that is my only vital flaw. I must write to ease it all. The cramping in my hand just lets me know I am alive. Because in reality you are all that I need. My sweet muse. My reason to breathe. I can’t help but hear poetry when I see your smile. And though it takes a hold of me so violently I can not bring myself to fear it. I may stand still and listless, I can’t help but revere it. Writing is my most vital flaw of which you are my reason.