I’m not sure why I’m even writing about mental illness because I dislike spewing out negative thoughts in public and most especially on the internet. Such a hypocrite that I am but I’m not sure what do about this now and I just felt like writing would be a catharsis.
I don’t like to say that I suffer but rather I live with a buttload of illnesses in my head. I’m not proud of it and I’m pretty much ashamed of this. Such a hypocrite that I am now talking about this.
I have had depression for many years, I carry anxiety around and here’s the kicker… I have BPD or what you call Borderline Personality Disorder. It’s a party in my head but I’m the only person invited.
I have a black dog constantly tailing me around. Medically, they call it depression but I like looking at it as a large shadow of a black dog standing guard. Let’s call him Sad in this article. I don’t like to blame Sad for my current state of mind. I try to do the things that make me productive but I falter and I drown in my own tumultuous prison with Sad for company. He’s not my enemy but rather an unwanted guest that’s been living with me for years. Everyone leaves, but never Sad; and yet, I feel alone.
I only have a handful of friends I trust but I don’t want to bother them with my sadness, my worries, and fears because I know they’ll just look at me like a fragile piece of work. I hate how I can be so positive and cheerful around me while lifting people’s spirits but on the inside, I loathe everything about me.
I am alone.
The shame of being someone who I never thought I’d be. I try to be positive, I try to see the goodness on everything and everyone except myself. I wish I could be more like the people who are proud of their accomplishments. But I’m not, I know I’m not enough.
I guess it is true. My self-esteem really is down to the depths of the Marianas Trench. My therapist said I used to have a pretty normal level of self-esteem growing up, but I lost it along the way somewhere. I can’t find it but I’m trying to build it and yet I keep on stumbling every step of the way.
No positive area here
I fail as a productive human being in society. I try my best to function despite the baby steps. I know it’s not enough, you don’t need to remind me. Had this problem been something tangible, I would have been the legless wonder trying to walk with stumps for legs. The blind being forced to read without the powers of Helen Keller. Sorry, not trying to make fun of the cripple. Society doesn’t make fun of disabled people.
I’m sorry for being such a negative Nancy. I don’t want this to be the last thing I write before I die. I’m not doing this for the likes, I’m going to make this one of the last things people will look at when I’m gone.
Anxiety, hey hats up to you. Thank you for making every small detail become an irrational worry. You may probably be the sickness I hate the most. I hate you for making me think about the timid reply I did a couple of days ago. The excessive worrying really made such an amazing icing on this cake. I know what made me become this, the hours of continuous resentment over such small things really did make an impression, Mom. I will not blame you because I know you had your problems as well. We’re all damaged in our own way.
The disconnect that is Borderline
It’s crazy how people are really breakable. It doesn’t matter how smart you are, where you come from and what you do. Mental illness really hits you like a truck without the brake pedal. Slowly, crushing you from the inside until one day, you wake up from that dream realizing there is nothing special about you.
I know I have unhealthy coping mechanisms. I think too much and the fear of abandonment is unrealistic. Especially when you’re all by yourself and unable to talk about it. I have the battle-scars to myself. I’m too critical of everything around and I’m sorry.
The stigma of having a mental illness is unbearable. Having experienced this firsthand. You didn’t think I heard the things you were talking about me behind my back? Just because I was suffering at the moment, doesn’t mean I’ll be like this forever. Just because I couldn’t do what you wanted, doesn’t mean I don’t understand. I am definitely not proud of this but isn’t it crazy how I just wrote about it? The hypocrisy.
It’s tiresome at times though.
I’m amazed how you managed to read up to this last paragraph though. I need to deal with this by myself because I’m the only person who will ever make the move to be okay. Not God, not medication, not a therapist, not a loved one. I am the deserted island that will only appear when the tides are low. I’m not fragile, I just have more side quests towards healing. I’ll go back to my silence now and try to pretend to be functional. I am sick but I have to act like I’m not because that’s just how the way the world works when it comes to mental illness. I don’t know what to do anymore and I have been at the edge of that cliff. I failed myself and I am ashamed.
Sorry, I don’t have a positive note to end with…
