Borderline, Born to Whine
The more I read about it, the more I both hate yet understand it. The drunken ramblings of wanting to die; the fantasies of flinging my poor, helpless body from the top of the highest building on Princes Street.
…”The trigger (or “final straw”) is often a threat of separation, rejection or disappointment in life. This adds to feelings of overwhelming tension, isolation, self-hatred, and apprehension about being unable to control one’s own emotions. The increasing anxiety culminates in a frightening sense of unreality and emptiness that ultimately produces an emotional numbness or depersonalization. Self-injury is a primitive means for combating the emotional numbness.”…
What does a person do when their life becomes a series of ‘bad patches’? I can’t think of any excuse to feel the way that I do. All I know is that sometimes I lie awake for hours, clutching at my bedsheets until my knuckles turn white with desperation to escape my mind; to exchange the torment with calmness for even just a short period of time.
Sometimes I concentrate all the pain of rejection into one little chamber of my mind and it hurts so badly I can almost feel it burning my skull. If it were physical pain I could deal with it – I could ask for help without pissing off my friends and the NHS. I would be understood, and it would heal.
I wish someone would take the time to try to understand, to research the symptoms of my diagnosis and the reasons behind them then turn to me and say “you know, Kat, it sucks and I don’t get it but I am here for you.” I hide away when things are bad and exist as an awkwardly manic, erratic, binge-fuelled freak when the misery subsides. The imbalance of a pitiful desperation for attention and a desire for intense control brings with it so much embarrassment, anxiety and self-loathing.
Is peace attainable for a mind like mine? Or am I confined to this torture for the rest of my life?