A Prose Piece on Borderline Personality Disorder

I’ve been borderline for as long as I can remember.

 

I can remember being in kindergarten and standing under the great white oak trees on the playground and thinking, There’s something different about me. I don’t belong here.

 

I can remember middle school, feeling a deep depression that none of my friends could understand.

 

I can remember high school, spent with a burning anger towards the world.

I can remember being borderline.

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This photo was taken on a day that I couldn’t get out of bed. My cat, Felix, kept me company as I sobbed into his orange fur, feeling the oceans of depression washing over me. I had already been in the hospital twice because of my borderline– the times I thought the world would implode on me. I was failing classes and giving up on everything. It all seemed so hopeless.

 

My life is over. It’s ending. This is it.

 

My life didn’t end that day.

 

Rather, my life began.

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Because of my borderline, I took a medical leave from school and spent the semester at my aunt’s house, caring for her children and suffering in silence.

 

Because of my borderline, I attended an intensive outpatient clinic for three weeks.

 

Because of my borderline, I lost friends and family because I couldn’t convince them to stay.

Because of my borderline, I am stronger than I was before.

 

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My borderline gave me push and pull relationships, where I push away the ones I love and pull toxic people closer to me.

I overcame this.

 

My borderline gave me loads of empathy, causing me to take on the conflicting emotions of every person in the room.

I overcame this.

My borderline gave me an intense, burning anger, that ate me up inside.

I overcame this.

 

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Today, I live my life to the best of my ability. I take medications that help stabilize my mood, and engage in therapy both one on one and in a dialectical behavior therapy group. I control my emotions– my emotions do not control me.

 

So, I’m publishing a book.

Yes, you read that correctly. I am in the works of publishing my poetry in a real BOOK.

It’s still pretty early in the process- I’m probably revising and editing as you read this. These poems have been composed over the past two years, detailing my relationships and mental health journey. The book is going to focus on MOMENTS. Title to be revealed soon.

Meanwhile, I am on the lookout for illustrators and artists who can provide artwork for these titles (see image below)! Spread the word, tell your artsy friends. I can be contacted through my blog’s contact link. Screen Shot 2017-07-01 at 5.20.07 PM.png

heaven-sent baby

how do you always know the best way to love me?

you respond to my attempted aggression with calm, gentle love and support. my tears are wiped away by your soft hands which brush my cheek slowly, steadily, until my crying ceases.

your lips graze my forehead and your fingers are in my hair. they trace my spine and rest on the curved dimples of my lower back. your movements flicker about my body like it is your home and you belong here.

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snail mail kisses

standing in her bedroom, she’s wearing white lace, and rose silk, and her classic golden hoop earrings. her brown fur coat drapes elegantly around her shoulders. her cotton candy lips are soft, her shining brown eyes gentle orbs. she raises her smooth hand to her face, turning her face from side to side, examining her youthful skin.

she sits in front of her vanity and pulls on her sheer fishnet tights. she rises slowly and slinks across the room to her bed, where she lies.

there, a blank postcard rests.

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green

it starts in the deep, red pits of my stomach.

the monster claws its way up my throat from the inside, leaving marks along my wind pipe.

it’s teeth are sharper than a great white’s, and it bits my tongue from my mouth during its escape and i can no longer speak.

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another day

my bedroom window is wide open and the smell of fresh rain is drifting in, filling the room with a dewy glow. the candle in the windowsill burns vanilla and tobacco, warm and homey. 

my bed is empty without you. my blue sheets always fall off the edges and i know that when you arrive in july, it’ll drive you crazy. i pull my dusty pink duvet up to my chin and breathe the scents in deeply. i hold tight to the stuffed horse you sent me, drenched in your lovely perfume. i pet her matted fur and she reminds me that the miles mean nothing. 

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