Tag Archives: Personality

A heavy nightmare

Posted by Zeannaroux on

I wanted to be someone. I think about that daily.

I wanted to be someone and yet I sit. I became nothing. I am not helpless, nor hopeless, nor lost. I am not broken from the wasted pages surrounding the computer desk. I am merely something that became nothing. A person less blob of what could have been.

I am still capable of many things. I can still write my way into a heap. Carefully singing old hymns of what once was. A dream instead of a dark memory. I am here cutting away and pasting little hopes I once held for myself. I make the patterns on my skin.

I truly did want to be someone but I don’t actually remember what that someone is.

BPD and Identity

Posted by Zeannaroux on

At one point do people start to recognize themselves? I think one of the more interesting things about BPD is the idea of identity. We don’t really have one. Ok, that’s a lie, some of us do. I think we all can agree that some of us have titles that stick. I liken it to water. We shift with the tides changing course with the expectation life has on us. For some, the shift may come from the influence of those they hang out with. For others, it could be something different, like a new experience they have encountered. It can be a wide variety of other things as well but for me it is a mix of these two. My identity is dependent on my experiences and those I hang out with. I paint myself to fit the current narrative that is my life. It can be a bit…I guess much at times. Because people do not know who or what I truly am. That isn’t to say that I am completely without identity there are some things that stick that are similar to others

One such thing is that I am a mother. No matter what I feel as though I am a parent. I may not be a good parent but I am here.

The other, is queer, though I do not have any clue to what this truly means.

There are days when I wake up feeling trapped in a body not my own. I am disgusting, unlovable, deserving of pain. All because this body is not mine. It has…accessories that I despise. Yet, there are times when I wake up truly feeling myself. When I grab my breast with pride over the sheer size of them. A generous portion that overflows in a person hand, I am told.

If someone was to ask me which one was the real me…I don’t think I could answer.

There are days when I find girls to be attractive. When they thought of being with a man leaves me nauseous. But there are days when the opposite happens. There are times when I feel no attraction at all. When being with a person leaves me feeling disconnected. Why do people date tends to play in my head. My friends take full advantage of these days (with permission) because I am not hindered by emotions when they come asking for advice in their own relationship though “Leave him sis” tends to be my go to suggestions because why bother with relationships. They are to dumb. Why bother connecting with people at all. These days I liken myself to a doll. Just emotionless.

So what am I?

What label can I slap on that best describes me. Because my mental illness, in this case at least, does define me. So can I really pick and choose when there is something else at play making the decisions for me?

This is truly one of the more interesting things about BPD.

Nightmares

Posted by Zeannaroux on

It leeches and bleeds

As I scratch with blunted nails found on top pillow.

They curve into my cheek to my head where nails can’t reach.

The wounded symphony of rust and blood

And red and lead

Tapping on the bones as I try to go to bed

It is testing me, a dream I can not see

As I roll with a grinded grin

And try to sleep again

A New kind of update

Posted by Zeannaroux on

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

My mind hurts

Posted by Zeannaroux on

This is a drug. Sculpted by a set of hand cuffs made of plaster.  Not my finest creation, but this is not my finest hour. It sits and bakes in the wake off the addict. Hidden somewhere among the weeds and the trees and the flowers. Only another who suffers could understand it’s power. How it grows and holds. Expanding from the molds which housed it. A plant in the mind of those who know where to look. Where to find such meaningless things in wish filled dreams. Only they can understand. This drug. Sculpted by a set of plasterd handcuffs. This isn’t my finest creation but it only took an hour. I can choose to give it power or I can choose to throw it away. I am the addict who hides. Among the tree and and weeds and thorns. Watching as it expands from the molds I sculpted. I leave meaning in its creations. Define it by wish filled dreams. Only I can understand it. This is a drug.

A/N I can’t sleep again. I can feel the cycle starting. How empty i feel. I am sharing this one ahead of schedule because…well because it makes no sense. And I need to empty my mind right now before everything starts fading again.

Thieves cant

Posted by Zeannaroux on

The language of a liar has always been good to me.

Recently I have discovered something about myself. I love Chaos…well…not really. I guess what I really love is the idea of chaos. I am the type of person who sits and thinks of all the dark and twisted things that go on in the world and wish it would happen to me.

I am the type to romanticize a kidnapping. When reading books I often wonder why no one falls in love with the villain. I mean sure he is evil but he isn’t evil to you.

There was a movie I watched many years ago where a guy kidnapped a girl and a women in hopes of turning them into a family. At the end they get away from him but I remember being 7 or 8years old and mad at them for doing that. All he wanted was a family. He took care of them. Sure he was a little angry and did some shady stuff but he never hurt them. They should have just stayed and listened.

As an adult I learned that this type of stuff is wrong but I am still drawn to those types of characters in books and movies.

But..when it comes to actual life, I try and stay away from people like that. I am still attracted to dominate people but there if a difference between that and just plain crazy. If a guy yells at me in anger it is over. I lose my shit and will yell at him back. I have been with some guys who liked having control and I don’t mind giving it. But I am truly submissive and will fight anything I do not agree with. I have broken up wirh people because of stupid, controling, and manipulative stuff they have tried to do.

So why in the world am I drawn to these types of stories? Why do I find myself angry with people who don’t stay with the obviously toxic people?

I honestly can’t answer this but it is something that has always bothered me.

Spaceships

Posted by Zeannaroux on

Hello, I have BPD and it does define me. I refuse to lie and say it doesn’t.  I have anxiety and I have depression. I have mood swings out the ass, and there are moments when burning down a building full of people I hate sounds like a really good idea.

I can’t stand loud noises unless I make them. I jump to conclusion quickly but I also like to take time to think about what is going on. I feel to much at a time. Though there are times I feel nothing at all. My anger isn’t like yours. Something so small can make me feel like John Wick after someone killed my dog. I will hunt you down and I destroy every thing you love dearly. I will not only destroy that but I will make sure everyone knows what kind of monster you all. Nothing will be held back.

My happiness isn’t like yours. The smallest thing can make me smile for hours on end. You can tell me someone called you a bitch and I will still smile like it is the best thing ever.

My sadness isn’t like yours. When I am sad I  am dead inside. I feel nothing but that pain and it will spiral. Know how people joke about how girls will bring up stuff that happened years ago in an argument? Well imagine that happening all the time. When I get sad every bad thing comes to mind. Stuff I did as a kid is suddenly brought up in my head.  I will beat myself up over it and hate myself anew. I will contemplate suicide in a dark room. I will pretend that I am ok but I am not. I will smile amd make jokes, but instead be making up the seating arrangements for my funeral. Who will say what and when. Who will lie and say they love me and who won’t even show up. Don’t worry I have always known how my funeral will look, only the music changes with each reimage.
My emotions are not like others. They are to high. Ever got a song stuck in your head? How the tempo seems to go faster and faster. Louder and louder till you feel a snap! That is my life. My every day unless I go numb.
That is my Borderline Personality Disorder.
It hurts to sleep sometimes.

I can’t build relationships cause I either trust to much or to little. One minute I will love a person and the next they are satans midwife. Giving birth to a new evil who will take over this world instead of killing it when they had the chance.

I have BPD and it defines me. It is who I am but I try to not let it control me. Do not forget is there though. Do not try to wish it away. It won’t magically go away so learn about it and understand who I am. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. This is me…