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.