My inhibitions have been extremely lowered in the past few minutes so I figured if I was going to do this, I’ve got to do it now.

I want to do more than just tell you what BPD is, or show you the differences in the way I feel about everything; I want to tell someone, anyone- hell, everyone- how BPD sits with me. To be quite frank, it doesn’t sit well with me at all. Sure, I have my days where I don’t absolutely hate myself but they’re few in number. Most days though, I hate myself. And I say that but most everyone who reads this is not going to understand how honest of a statement that is. It doesn’t make me suicidal; it doesn’t make me lie in bed all day. In fact, the extent to which I hate myself most days is easily disguised by how I’m physically presented to people. But it’s there; oh, believe me it’s there. And please, everyone is so quick to say I shouldn’t hate myself and some people list things off but it’s futile so save your breath. This hate is far rooted in things that I can’t even begin to explain, so don’t ask me why. I don’t have a consistent answer for you. What I can tell you though is it’s mostly the ambivalence that bothers me because if it’s not ambivalence it’s complete indifference. Even now, I don’t like how that sentence was worded but feel there is no other way I can say it. It’s frustrating.

Anyway. New subject.

Let me tell you about what it’s like to wake up and feel absolutely imagined and unreal. The only way I can begin to describe the feeling is to imagine you are in a glass box and there are people walking by you, most of them only acknowledging you for a second; they’re not hearing your voice, they’re not concerned about you, you are absolutely alone in a crowded room.
That’s kind of what it feels like.
It’s horrible, but it feels so stupid to say aloud because, obviously I am not going to just wake up in a cartoon one day. No one is going to shut me between book covers. I am never going to really wake up in the middle of credits rolling. It’s a ridiculous feeling that I simply don’t understand. I find it completely unnecessary and it’s annoying as hell. Not to mention very difficult to handle because unlike other days where I just hate myself, these days I could be some desperate manic feigning for signs that I’m real or a pathetic depressed lump who doesn’t care to get out of bed and find out.
Just thinking about it makes me want to cry.

Alright, I’m done. I’ll reread this in the morning to see if my crazy translated well to my blog.

I'm in a dark place right now. 

Naturally, I had no control over whatever the hell sent me tumbling into this dark place so all I can do is acknowledge that I'm here and let the loneliness take over.

Have you ever laid in your bed and just wanted to be held and be told everything is going to be okay? Have you ever wanted this, realized it's not going to happen and just want to die right there in your bed for a lack of interest in going on?

I have.

I do.

I am.

Here's where the line blurs between insanity and disorder and people assume I lie in my bed because I'm suicidal. I'm not suicidal in the sense that I'm going to sit there and try to kill myself. No. Sometimes I just want to die. Sometimes it's too dark to put up with and I lose the will find the light.

I'm stuck in the dark right now. I'm stuck, I want out, but I know it's going to be a while.

My name is Stephanie Kate and I have Borderline Personality Disorder.

Such a difficult sentence to type, let alone say aloud, but no matter how difficult it is to admit sometimes it's the truth. Here I am, nineteen years old, and already I'm being told there is something wrong with me, mentally. 

Cue added loneliness.

Cue increased anxiety.

Cue even more self-loathing.

After attempting therapy for a few months, I decided to quit. Well aware of the fact that "people like me" often quit therapy before any progress is made, I did it anyway. I had to; it's not that it wasn't helping. No, I'm sure it was doing some good, but I was being told to change myself- to sacrifice things I don't find worth sacrificing so I would fit nicely in society's little niche for me. In all honesty, quitting therapy was liberating but since my decision to quit I've once again started to struggle with this god-awful disorder and found myself wondering what the hell to do about it.

Then it hit me; I'm not the only one with this disorder. 

There are other people like me. There are other people who wake up in the morning hating themselves and doing risky things that most people would find irrational and downright stupid. There are other people who struggle with idealizing and devaluing people they love. But unfortunately those of us that make up the BPD community are often under-represented and misunderstood, and it does us no good. Plagued by those feelings of loneliness and fear of absolute rejection, we're left with nothing but ourselves and our minds and it gets hard. 

It gets cold.

It gets dark.

It gets dangerous.

That's what motivated me to start this blog. BPD needs a voice, not a diagnostic manual to tell people what living with this is like. I don't want this to be just an outlet for me, I want it to be a comfort for other people like me. I want people with BPD to know that they're not the only one who feels the way they do and I want non-BPD's to get a real insight in to what our lives our like. 

This blog will have it's happy moments. But I'm warning you now; this will get dark. 

It will be honest.

It will be raw.

And it will probably get a little scary at times, but this is me. 

This is us.