Dear Borderline Personality
Disorder,
These could have been the best years of my life if they weren’t littered with so much pain that I look back in shame, hut and anger. These are the years where I become an adult, and you have made me take those steps with a burden so much heavier than I am capable of carrying.
You have made me into a person I hate by slowly chipping away at every part of me that I could be proud of it and leaving me with nothing but shame and hatred. To say I don’t deserve love is an understatement, because you have shown me that I don’t deserve to exist because of what you’ve done to me. You don’t deserve to exist. You don’t deserve the space you take up in my mind and body, and you don’t deserve the words you make me speak and actions you make me fulfill.
You make me believe that the world would be a better place if I die by my own hand. You make me believe that the best I can do for the people I love is remove myself from their life. You make me believe that when I’m gone, the space my life took up will give the people I love space to breathe rather than being stuck with the suffocation you bring.
You seem to love letting me believe I have the chance to survive this life, then turning out the lights to hear me fall down in the dark. To give me people to love then wait until I am alone to hit me with so much pain that I don’t know how to bear each minute. You give me the thought of relief, only for it to be the idea of death rather than the hope of life.
I hate you with every cell of my body and mind, and I feel like I will have succeeded in this word if I can eradicate a bit of your existence from the world. Yet even this thought is you not me, because we both know that the only way I can remove you, is to remove me as well.
There is one thing you can do to make me hate you more though; taking my life. Please don’t make me die, because if I am left as a memory of pain then I will have been a wasted life. Because if I have to look down and see the people I love wish I was there, yet knowing I can never see them again, never try to heal the pain I caused, then I really will be broken. I don’t believe in heaven, mainly because for me an afterlife would be nothing but painful regret; nothing but hell. Don’t let the people I love’s memory of me be a scar rather than a smile.
I am not nothing. I am not poison and I am do not deserve to die. I am so much more than you make me, and I am worth fighting for, because I matter. I don’t believe any of those things, but I so desperately want to remove the hands you hold over my eyes to let me see the world through the eyes of someone who doesn’t have a mental disorder, to see if, perhaps, I am worth fighting for.
These could have been the best years of my life if they weren’t littered with so much pain that I look back in shame, hut and anger. These are the years where I become an adult, and you have made me take those steps with a burden so much heavier than I am capable of carrying.
You have made me into a person I hate by slowly chipping away at every part of me that I could be proud of it and leaving me with nothing but shame and hatred. To say I don’t deserve love is an understatement, because you have shown me that I don’t deserve to exist because of what you’ve done to me. You don’t deserve to exist. You don’t deserve the space you take up in my mind and body, and you don’t deserve the words you make me speak and actions you make me fulfill.
You make me believe that the world would be a better place if I die by my own hand. You make me believe that the best I can do for the people I love is remove myself from their life. You make me believe that when I’m gone, the space my life took up will give the people I love space to breathe rather than being stuck with the suffocation you bring.
You seem to love letting me believe I have the chance to survive this life, then turning out the lights to hear me fall down in the dark. To give me people to love then wait until I am alone to hit me with so much pain that I don’t know how to bear each minute. You give me the thought of relief, only for it to be the idea of death rather than the hope of life.
I hate you with every cell of my body and mind, and I feel like I will have succeeded in this word if I can eradicate a bit of your existence from the world. Yet even this thought is you not me, because we both know that the only way I can remove you, is to remove me as well.
There is one thing you can do to make me hate you more though; taking my life. Please don’t make me die, because if I am left as a memory of pain then I will have been a wasted life. Because if I have to look down and see the people I love wish I was there, yet knowing I can never see them again, never try to heal the pain I caused, then I really will be broken. I don’t believe in heaven, mainly because for me an afterlife would be nothing but painful regret; nothing but hell. Don’t let the people I love’s memory of me be a scar rather than a smile.
I am not nothing. I am not poison and I am do not deserve to die. I am so much more than you make me, and I am worth fighting for, because I matter. I don’t believe any of those things, but I so desperately want to remove the hands you hold over my eyes to let me see the world through the eyes of someone who doesn’t have a mental disorder, to see if, perhaps, I am worth fighting for.
You’ve taken years from me, taken
memories, given me pain and left me scarred, bruised and burnt. Please leave me
with my life.
Yours truly,
Someone who never quite gives up.
Yours truly,
Someone who never quite gives up.
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