Its my fault

Another year older, and I’m not really sure how I feel.  I can’t remember if I wrote this, I believe I did, but that when I was a kid I’d say “I’m not growing up, Peter Pans going to get me and I’m going to Neverneverland.”? Part of that was because I didn’t think I’d make it through, I didn’t want to even try, I was convinced that if life got harder than it was then (as I was constantly told), I didn’t want to go through with it.  Every year on my birthday I would feel such a sense of panic, and guilt, and confusion. I felt so anxious a lot of the time, the idea of celebrating a life I didn’t even want to live felt selfish.
Continue reading “Its my fault”

The Benefits of Borderline

I never know how to start these. Do I say hi?  Howdy? Ask about you though you wont be able to answer cuz this is through text? Anyway, its done now, off we go. 

I have spoken a lot about some deep, dark things and don’t get me wrong, there is a lot. And there will be more.  But I wanted to take a wee break from the dark and scary and talk about the good.  All too often we get stuck on all the ‘bad’ parts of mental illness.  We get stuck on the stigma, on the raw, grating monsters involved; we are so damn hungry for it.  We can be so quick to judge someone sometimes based on something like an illness.  How insane is that?  Illness implies that its not something you are choosing.  Its something you can’t help, you were born with, or nurtured into, a chemical imbalance.  Its not a choice.  So here, beautiful readers, are some things I’m pretty proud of, benefits, if you will, of Borderline. 
First of all, I am so empathetic.  I feel extremely deeply, I’m really sensitive, and that at times allows me to feel other peoples feelings without a word said.  It allows me to connect with complete strangers.  It helps me to feel so deeply, and yes while there are times thats so god damn hard, there are times its from something good.  When someone tells me, for example, some good thing thats happened in their lives I am literally in tears, TEARS of joy for them.  For an emotion that is not even mine.  When I see baby animals my body vibrates with happiness.  When a friend does something small like write me a little note saying they are proud of me, I cry because it means so much to me.  You could say I’m an emotional lightweight.  And I wouldn’t change that for the world.  
I tend to worry, and get paranoid at times (a whole other post), but something I’ve learned that helps me with this is being open.  While I don’t do this with everyone, I don’t tell everyone my life story (though….I guess I kind of am now eh?) I don’t hide anymore.  I have no shame in being diagnosed with Borderline, Depression or that I’m pansexual, or that I’m a little awkward at times, and I fumble my words around.  I am also open about whats going on with me interpersonally, I have a whole song written about how I don’t do ‘hard to get games’.  I don’t pick up on subtle hints that someone likes me, but I will pick them up if you’re in a bad mood or mad (and sometimes have a hard time telling which is which). While that causes socially awkward moments, and anxiety at times, I am always as honest as I can be.  I really value honesty and openness in others as well, so extra points here, if you are.  Its SO much easier for us to communicate this way.  I also really enjoy reminding people how much they mean to me on occasion.  I don’t do this often, mostly when it strikes me, but I try not to hold back.  I’ve lived through too many moments where either I regret not telling someone before they died or with someone had told me.  
I am constantly on a path of learning more about myself, how to better take care of myself, push myself out of my comfort zone, be more mindful.  NONE of this would have happened if it weren’t for my illness.  While at times in the past its been to a destructive extent, when its healthily used, its a great thing.  Its a huge motivator, and has helped me grow so much.  
These are just a few things, and as always they are specific to me, but they are things I love about myself.  Things that I know I learned through having a mental illness.  The biggest thing its helped me to do is to own my shit.  When I screw up, I really really try to admit it. And own my shit also in the sense that I am not ashamed of who I am.  I am not ashamed that my life has taken me on a rocky hilly, hard path and I came out bruised.  You know why? Its not my fault. Owning it is the only way I can look at whats going on and say “okay how can I heal this now”. Because, ultimately, this next part is up to me.  I am figuratively shouting to the world that I have Borderline Personality Disorder, and I don’t give a crap what that makes you think of me.  Thats on you.  
There ya go, a hopeful, happy post mixed in with all the rest.  
I continue to be blown away by your support in reading this.  
I made a few changes so you can now email-subscribe on the left side menu, and check back through old posts easier. Take a peek around, subscribe, comment, and share with whoever.  
Over and out,
Borderline Babe. 

Dark pages (tw talk of suicide)

This one, my friends, is going to be dark, heavy, and sad.  Warning you now.  Also you are not allowed to get mad at me for telling you this: that wont help anyone. Don’t be a dink. Yes, I’ve felt suicidal. So that all being said, if you want to continue reading, take a deep breath, hug your cat, and read on.

A good friend of mine, the other day, compared people to books; I have been thinking about it since.  On the outside we can show whatever cover we want, we can change the picture, we can change the size, the dimensions, even edit the little blurb on the back: you can show on the outside whatever you want.  No matter what you do, dwhich parts of you you hide away from the world, as you open that cover who you really are is written in all those words on all those pages.  Pages that keep getting written every day, and don’t get me wrong, you have kind of a magic spell over the pen writing the words down as you go along, but ultimately a lot of it is out of your control.  All we can do is chose how deal with it, how we grow, to embrace our dark pages, those ‘flawed’ pages, and keep trying to write a great ending.  Don’t take that to mean you should only be happy for all those pages, because that would be a horrible book.  You’d get bored right away, you couldn’t appreciate the good without the bad.  You wouldn’t learn that important lesson, or meet that certain someone or whatever cheesy ending is in all those books you read.  My own book has its fair share of dark pages, honestly though my book would be more heavily weighed on the dark pages like a Dickens book. (Fun fact, my fave author)  A dark book that I have read through and tried to heal and deal with in every way I know how.    There are a lot of points in my story where I didn’t think I would make it through to the next chapter, the next page, or even the next sentence.   Most of the time I was growing up I didn’t think I’d ever even get this far.  When people would ask ‘what do you want to do when you grow up’ a lot of the time I’d say “I wont, Peter Pan is going to come find me and take me to Neverneverland”.  On some level, I knew if this was how bad it is to be a kid, I did not want to grow old, I didn’t think I could possibly make it through the pain to get there.  I have felt suicidal many many times throughout my life.  Even more I’ve thought about how I wish I didn’t exist, I didn’t think I made any difference to anyone by existing, I felt that everyone would be better off without me.  Feeling suicidal, you may judge, is selfish.  But in those moments, it feels like its for everyone else’s good.  I used to walk home from school/choir and walk over the bridge and picture myself jumping off of it in the middle of winter when it would be far too cold to swim.  These feelings still happen now and then.  I promise you I don’t have a plan, and its not something I would do.  Just those feelings of wishing I didn’t exist.  I can’t really help them, they’re usually when I’m in a low spot.  They’re getting better now that I am doing something I love, and now that I’ve cut out most of those shitty, toxic friends.  I am not usually good at asking for help, I’m not good at being direct when I’m in this place, and to be honest with you, even when I was direct a lot of the people I reached out to didn’t help.  The last time this happened I lost a friend.  I walked around by the water trying my hardest to breathe, to try and ease the intense pain that no words could describe.  I texted about 10 people, most brushed me off, some didn’t answer.  No one asked if I was okay, no one texted back the next day to check in.  It made me feel like I was right, no one cared if I existed or not.  That I really am a burden, a broken shell of a person.   When I’m in a better place, I know that this monster of an illness can be so convincing with its horrible ‘truths’.  I know it can convince you that you don’t belong, that you aren’t loved, that you arent’ enough, that no one cares.   I promise you that its wrong.  Its so, so wrong.  That night I took a picture of where I was standing when I finally took a sip of air (still felt horrible) and posted it on a support group on fb with #madeit.  You will too, I promise.  Maybe we have met, maybe we haven’t, maybe you’re in some country so far away but no matter where it is, I care.  I care you exist.  I know how it feels. I promise you the people in your life do too, they just are standing on the wrong side of a  two way glass.  They want so badly to see you but all they can see is the reflection of the piece of yourself you show so well.  They don’t know how to help, help them to know.  All I ever really want when I’m in this place is to not be alone.  I want someone to say ‘I’m coming to meet you.’ Even if its just to hug me.  I want someone to listen, to call me, to just remind me they love me.  To ask if I’m okay, and then just validate it.  Not to fix me and tell me what I “should” and “shouldn’t” do.

Take a deep breath, this was a heavy one.
Love,

Borderline Babe

I hate you, don’t leave me

I know I can be hard to be around.  Its become a universal truth that few hesitate to nail to the ground.  ‘Thank god youre not depressed anymore now we can be friends’, ‘you’re an overdramatic queen’, ‘Im disappointed that you are still the same woe is me selfish girl I knew in highschool’, ‘you’re getting in the way’, ‘youre bringing me down’ (yes those were said to me)  They were follow ups after being reassured ‘dont worry i won’t leave you’ ‘i wouldn’t do that ‘ ‘i care about you, you dont deserve that’, ‘i understsnd and have empathy’.  I know that I am a different shade emotionally than most, that I can change really quickly, that my darks are really dark and my lights are really bright.  But that shouldn’t mean my paint pallate is any less important.  But Im told by those that Im close to that Im a little too much. You falsely promised that you will stick by me. I hate you for lying to me. I hate you for causing me to hope that I will finally be loved for me, then telling me that I am the reason you are leaving.  When really you weren’t brave enough to give me a chance.  A chance to see all my layers, all the parts of me.  You didnt reassure me when I started to feel like i wasnt good enough to deserve your time. So then I started to tail spin and you get mad that im upset.  I may be brutally honest but its not common that people actually listen, that people dont get scared and run away, calling me names for being a normal fucking human being, with feelings that make sense.
I hate you but dont leave me, because against all odds I still care about you, so much its a weakness. I care so much about everyone I let them get away with anything because “I understand what it feels like to be alone”. I hate you dont leave me because I only hate how you made me feel. Like you punched me in thr stomach then yelled at me for flinching.

Bad body days

As I have kind of eluded to, I have been working on healing my relationship to my body and my relationship to food, healing my digestive system which is all messed up right now.  Its hard work, but really important work.
That being said, while I have some days where I feel empowered, at peace with my body, able to love my body, I have some days where I feel just uncomfortable in my own skin no matter what I do. I try to repeat to myself “my size has nothing to do with my worth”, I try and look at myself in the mirror and smile, find things I like about myself.  Listen to the voices I’m hearing telling me I’m not good enough, that I’m too fat, not pretty, and try and stand up to them, realize who they are and say “who says”.  I do all this, and I still tug at my shirt, I still suck in my belly, I hide myself behind my arms, behind baggy clothes, trying on at least six outfits before I find one I don’t want to die when I see my reflection in them.  (“You look too fat in that”)   I have empowered moments/days where I wear shorts to yoga, or show my belly, standing in the front row and can look at myself and love what I see.  I have days, like today, where I wear shorts to yoga and pull them down the whole class, battling with my clothes, moving them around until I find a position for them that might make me good enough.  Days like today I feel like I am the Michelin man, and that everyone around me is thinking things like “why would she even leave the house” “shes ugly” “shes fat”.  I feel not good enough, and I feel so much shame I want to disappear into a tiny spec no one notices.  Don’t get me wrong, none of this negative hate talk ever goes to anyone but myself.  With everyone else I have such a deep and unbreaking ablilty to empathize and have compassion.  To the point where it is almost destructive because I let myself be treated poorly at times, by people that had a “good reason”, or who are close to me.   I, somehow, have become the exception along the way.  For myself, I have so many hateful, shaming things to say.  I am trying to change this, bit by bit, and I have come a far way from having eating disorders in high school.  Currently at my highest weight, when faceboook shows me photos from two years ago (lowest weight), or having to be weighed by a doctor for surgery, all those voices come back into my head.  The same ones I had then, only with more amo.  It takes a figurative army some days just to hush the voice into a whisper.  I am trying to remember that I had just as much hate for my body when I was at my smallest, and that even if I were on the “greatest diet ever” (which thank god I’m not, I’m learning to listen better to my body, and follow its wisdom) my body might still be the same size.  Because other factors effect the size your body thinks it needs to be.  Like the large cyst on my ovary, just having gone through the hardest year of my life not long ago, digestion issues, allergies I didn’t know about, stress, lack of sleep.  No fucking wonder.
Anyway, I thought I’d share this all with you.  As I’m sitting here so much of my mind is analyzing how large my stomach is.
How fucking ludacris is it that sometimes I feel like because I look the way I do, or I am the size I am, I am not capable of being loved because “who could love me looking like this”.
That because I am not skinny that I deserve less, or am not good enough, or hate myself?  Its stupid, it doesn’t make any sense at all.  But the media, and the family and friend voices weasle themselves in there.  I’m trying to listen to what my body wants, and that has helped, its helped me to love my body, and to feel like I’m taking care of myself.
So, for the love of all that is good, don’t make comments about people’s weights that make them feel bad.  Don’t tell them “oh this kale is so good for you, it helps give you vitamins, lose weight and grow wings”,  Stop. Just, stop. Mind your own business, let them be them and love themselves, without any of your criticism on their food choices or their body size.  It doesn’t matter.  None of that matters.

Rant done.
Love to you all
B.B.

Rowboat (friendships)

This post has by far been the hardest one to try and put into words. Be patient, and try and to set aside judgment.
  I spent most of the day sad, sleeping, or crying.  I did go see my moms dog (always helps), and go to yoga (holy fuck I love it so much, its my home) and I feel better now, but this morning, I felt horrible.  It was interpersonal stuff.  I feel like, right now, most people I’m starting to feel close to are either moving, or have ended the friendship, or hurt me.  I feel really alone.  So, I thought I would try and explain to you or, let you see a little of the darkness that happens in situations like this.

‘”They say, you’re a little much for me,
You’re a liability.
You’re a little much for me”
So I pull back,  make other plans, I understand,
I’m a liability,
I’m a little much for everyone’
(Lorde – Liability)

Imagine friendships like sitting on a row boat. Not just one friendship, all of them.  Every time that one friendship develops an issue, like someone letting me down and then ‘ghosting’ me, is like you throwing a cinder block off that boat and it starts to rock.  Sometimes it feels as though multiple cinder blocks are thrown off at the same time, and the boat rocks so much that it tips over, or it sinks all together.  Friendship, for me, is a scary dark path sometimes.  Interpersonally, is the only place you’d see my borderline.  I hide it fairly well (not on purpose), and I’ve done a ton of healing.  But in friendships, I can be triggered in so many areas, my fear or abandonment comes up, my attachment issues, and because I feel so isolated and deeply alone so often, I can sometimes cling on in hopes I don’t feel that alone again.  I give a whole bunch of undeserved hope into the person before I even know them.  Unfortunately, I for a long time let myself get treated horribly, so these fears are pretty deep, and a sometimes I feel like those lyrics are how all people see me, whether they show it or not.  ‘You’re a little much for me, you’re a liability’.  Generally my emotional self is way too intense for someone, or I am far “too sensitive”.  Usually the attachment stuff is triggered by a paticular personality type that might be similar to someone in my past.  Or, by something, whether it be a lack of response, or I’ve convinced myself somehow (I can usually find tons of reasons why, stupid brain) that you would rather not have me in my life.
I am a complicated person, in a way. Though, generally speaking if you are straight forward and open with me, its easy to understand me and get along with me.  I need to face and talk about issues I might have, feelings that may have been hurt, otherwise they will eat me alive, and it will escalate.  If I were a die I would have multiple sides, I don’t know how many, but there are different versions of me depending on who I am with, and where I am.  There are exceptions to this for sure.  There are very few people that I have been able to show all of those sides to.  I can be really goofy, really serious, really sassy, bubbly, laid back, more materialistic, less materialistic, emotional, philosophical.  Some people see a lot of the serious and emotional sides of me.  Generally it all comes out with time, but the trouble is, most people seem to get stuck on the emotional side, and quit there, because its “a little too much”. And it leaves me feeling like its my fault.  Throughought my life I have messed up my fair share of friendships, but I have also had a lot of people quit on me, because of this illness, or depression, or just the fact that I’m so sensitive.   Currently, there is a list in my head of people who are more on the ‘non-friend’ spectrum of things.  A few people who stopped answering me when I tried to be upfront about my hurt feelings, who don’t ever put time into talking to me, unless I talk to them, one or two who out right said some of the meanest things to me I’ve ever heard. There are some that are in a grey area, there are some from months ago, most honestly.  Its to the point where most people probably would have moved on.  But I keep replaying the friendship in my head looking for the place I went wrong.  When I have bad days, or when yet another friendship has a problem I add it to the list of reasons why I can’t seem to keep anyone close to me.  I text too much, I don’t text enough, I’m too emotional, too selfish, a downer, a bad person. The list is endless, and its so easy for me to get stuck there, under that stupid row boat, and drown feeling so alone, because sometimes it feels like everyone else would be better off not being friends with me.   Like I don’t deserve to be loved, I don’t deserve to have friends.  The person that told me I was an “over dramatic queen” must have been right, the person who told me I have not grown at all, and that I’m stuck in my own sap story, that I’m selfish, and a horrible person, they must be right.  That must be why blank person stopped talking to me.  They saw that all in me, and knew I wasn’t worth it.

Well, thats not all of it, but thats a sneak preview into some of the darkness in my head.
Pointers: avoid saying things like ‘let it go’, ‘oh well’, ‘stop being so sensitive’, don’t take everything so personally’ to someone with BPD after they tell you about something going on in their life.  .  Maybe even to most people.  But to me, when you say that, it makes me feel like none of the feelings I told you about matter, that Im weak for feeling them, that I’m broken, that I’m a burden, that it and I don’t matter.  Even if you don’t ‘mean it that way’, its like throwing a glass of water in my face, it feels insulting, and hurts.
If I as you if we are okay, don’t get mad.  I’m trying to ease a circular storm thats brewing, and I need some kind of external validation because I’m so deep I can’t see whats up or down.  If I ask you if we are okay answer honestly, if we are, keep it simple.
It also helps if you remind me you care.  Especially after I’ve poured out my heart, or opened up about emotions.  I’m not looking for you to fix me, I just want you to listen.  Listen, and remind me you care tell me it will be okay.

Well, thats it for now I have to be up early. I’m really nervous about this one, because I’m afraid people will read this and just think I’m crazy, but, well, I told you I’d be brutally honest.

Ugh.
Borderline Babe.

Gloomy, Rainy Day

Here we are, another ridiculous day.  Ever have days where the weather just matches your mood?  Not necessarily that it changes your mood just that it starts pouring rain and you say “yeah sounds right”. (Usually I love rain, but sometimes the gloom suits). Today, my lovely internet friends, was that kind of day.  Now, usually my mood can change minute to minute, from extreme to extreme, like little coloured marbles. Sometimes it changes so quickly I get whiplash, but sometimes those little moments that are all grey gloomy colours tend to pile up, and form a mountain of a grey gloomy day; with some bits of sunshine splashed in there, for a sense of false hope. (Haha, but seriously right? Thats how it feels)  So, let me paint you a little imaginary picture. The last two nights I have not been sleeping well, (sleep and nightmares is another story), I have been working through some digestive things, waiting for surgery, there’s a lot physically going on in my body right now, which effects my energy level, and general energy.  There’s a lot going on in my life.  (Lots of amazing things I’m so grateful for too). Today I woke up, everything hurt, my head was pounding, I wanted to roll over and not get up, I felt so incredibly sad.  I pulled myself up, ate breakfast, made a lunch, brought a smoothie in my favourite travel mug (I just bought it for myself to celebrate this blog, teaching, and where I’m at.  It says “I bend so I dont break” on it, it is white and gold and beautiful. It reminds me why I do what I do, and how I got to where I am. Plus how incredibly lucky I am to have an amazing teaching job). I pulled my sorry ass down the street to work (the one that isn’t my dream job), all the while my body protesting, my heart in my stomach, my head full of jackhammers, and that inner child throwing one hell of a tantrum.  I got to work, the job that I like, but its not my passion, and I didn’t want to be there, I didn’t want to be awake at 630am, I didn’t want to turn those bright lights on.  I tried to listen to music, smile like an idiot when all I wanted to do was frown, still, those dark stormy waves came crashing down.  It was busy, and the first bit passed quickly and my coworker got there and I remember saying “I’m grumpy today” as both of us were half-asleep walking around the cafe.  Part of the duties on Thursday is to count inventory.  You know this, you count each individual milk, each syrup, each cup sleeve, each coffee bean (ok thats exaggerated but thats how it felt this morning. Thats how everything felt this morning). I felt like I just wanted to be hugged, to cry, to sleep.  I open the fridge to count the stupid milk, and a whip cream carton knocks over my mug (you remember, my beautiful new TWO DAY OLD mug, that I love so much) and it broke.  Broke into pieces. Smoothie in my shoe, it was a mess.  Maybe you’re thinking “could have been worse”, but I may as well have thrown that $25 dollars into the garbage instead of spending it on the only damn mug of its kind left in the store.   I can see now that its not the end of the world, but this morning I went and hid in the backroom to cry.  I could go into more detail, but I think you get the drift.  To a “normal” (hahaha right, like that exists) person, this may have not seemed like a big deal.  Maybe a little annoying, but you’d say “aw shit” and move on?  To me, it felt like all the love I’ve been trying to give myself was slapped out of my hands, felt like the universe was like “AH HAH! You THINK you’re getting better eh? Well I’ll show you”. Not that it is. It felt like it was my heart that broke.  The day went on, other things happened, I have a big dentist bill, I was in pain, and tired. It felt like my body was moving against me with the BPD, the cyst, digestion issues, and now dental stuff?  It felt like the universe was playing with me.   I cried a few more times, and pulled myself together to get to the studio.  As I get there, a lady standing outside says “what gloomy weather” and I heard myself say “true, but thats okay, it has to happen some days, or we wouldn’t enjoy the sunshine”. Well. Fuck. I thought, yeah today’s been horrible, but shouldn’t that be under that same logic.  As always, teaching was amazing, then the day went back to its stubborn self, but it has to happen sometimes. Damn wisdom.   Its so easy for me sometimes to see things in all or nothing.  The mug broke, I got the dentist estimate and “nothing ever works out for me.  Life is hard. Why even bother doing nice things, working so hard”. Then things are good and i’m all “life is sugar, and roses, and everything’s beautiful, and everyone’s great.” (I don’t necessarily think these things, this is my half-asleep brain you’re communicating with here). Now and then, I have moments like these, where I can see that this gloomy rainy, messy day, isn’t every day.  And if it weren’t for these days, I wouldn’t love or appreciate  the good sunny days as much.

Well, different tone in this one, a bit ranty, but I did say picture.  Those have a lot of detail…
But my cat has not decided the best spot to sit is on my hands right in front of the screen, and I’m awkwardly trying to look over her body.  Shes getting away with it, the queen she is. Therefore my painting has come to a close for today.
Thank you for listening.
Thank you for reading.
Thank you to the rain.

Over and out
Borderline Babe

Self-Harm

Alright, folks.
I thought it was scary when I first started this, being so open, raw, and sharing such a deep part of myself I usually hide away…then people started reading it.  Then it became real, that people were reading it.  I’ve only gotten good feedback (thank god, you know how sensitive I am haha) and the things people have said to me have touched me, and really meant a lot to me.  A few of you have said I’ve made you cry, and while I do feel guilty, I know you mean it as a good thing, that I speak to you, and a few people have said that its helping.  So, here I am, sipping homemade cider given to me by a ridiculously kind friend of mine, sitting in my apartment channelling my inner, less chic Carry Bradshaw (mostly in the sense that I’m writing a blog and saying it in my head as I type it) trying to figure out what dark little secret to bring out next.  How deep to go, and trying not to sensor myself, and stay true to my Brutally Honest intentions.  So, why not dive really deep, I’m going to give you a trigger warning right now.  I’m going to talk a bit about self harm in this post.  Click away now.  (Esp if you are in my family and are already holding on for dear life.  You wont like this, I’m sorry, but it needs to be said.)

Do you remember the story I told you about how after my grandmother dressing me so long, I was finally able to chose my clothes?  I excitedly walked upstairs to show her, she told me I looked to fat, and my little kid heart broke?  I think I was nine.  That was the first day I cut myself, I used a tin can, and hid it on my ankle.  But the reason that day stands out so much, is that was the day I’d had enough.  I wasn’t really allowed to express my feelings anywhere in my life, I was being constantly told that I wasn’t good enough, I was too fat, too selfish, too sensitive.  Meanwhile people were dying all around me, and I didn’t have a whole whack load of friends (or I didn’t really know how to connect to them properly). That was the day that it all came crashing down, and I believed them, everything that had gone wrong in my life had to be my fault.    I was always sneaky about it, never self-harming anywhere people could see, and if I did, I’d make sure it would look accidental.   I moved, eventually to my thigh, where I moved up from tin cans, and sometimes would self-harm multiple times a day.  It was rough, and that went on for at least nine years straight.  Then off and on for the next seven, and if you’re doing this math you know that that wasn’t that long ago.  I assure you, it ended fully for years at a time.  I stopped completely almost a year ago, or a little more.  I remember being so afraid of people seeing the scars, maybe they would not see me as fit for my dream job, maybe they’d judge me, maybe they’d see me.  It took me a long time to wear shorts, especially high ones that made the scars more visible.  This, self-harming, is one of the symptoms of BPD.  (And also a ton of other things.). For me, it felt like I had been boiling over for so long and trying to hold a lid down on my emotions that one day I exploded, and self-harming let a little air out at a time, and made everything else safe (but not really).  It also was my way of punishing myself for not ever being good enough for anyone around me to love me.  Some of these voices are still there, and I’ve learned to try and hush them, or give them their time to shine so they’ll shut the fuck up.  Sometimes I worry that I’m intruding on someone by spending time with them because they can’t possibly think I’m good enough to be around.  I know, logically I am good enough.  I am trying to learn that emotionally and like everything else it goes in waves.  I have weak moments where those voices scream back at me and try to subdue me again, but it doesn’t last as long as it once did.  I sometimes would punch myself in the thighs, or punch walls, but acts of anger like that were never really suiting for me. I am not by any means saying that it is okay, and if this post is making you want to, please dont.  I’m saying this so that if you see someone with scars, you know that they probably felt like that was their only option.  They felt like they needed to do it for some reason or another, they maybe didn’t feel supported enough to find another outlet, or safe enough to express themselves in any other way.  Or maybe they were taught to hate themselves, and that was the only logical thing for them to do at the time.  I am telling you so that if you know someone, fall in love with someone, become friends with someone with scars, you can see it as a part of the journey, you can kiss them and hold them a little closer for having the bravery to get through it, and stop.  Because that is a dark, dark journey.  And to get to the point where you see that as a logical thing, a good thing to do, you have fallen far.  You are standing in complete darkness, completely alone, even if you’re surrounded.  You are hopeless, and can’t, with any part of you, love yourself.   I promise, it dissipates. It fades, you get through it, and you might still feel alone even when you’re surrounded, but now and then the veil comes off your eyes and you see all the people that have been standing there beside you the whole time, even for a little while.  Next time you want to hurt yourself go outside, sit by the water, feed ducks (seeds not bread), hug your cat, hug your partner, smile to a stranger.  I promise it gets better, even when you feel like you’re covered in wounds and holes, and there’s not a single way you see yourself making it, there is.  It fades.  And you’re loved.  I love you, hell, even if I dont know you I love you.  You’re good enough.

I read a beautiful poem I wish I had saved, about how your body is like a canvas.  All those stretch marks, all the scars, tattoos, those are the paintings, those tell your story.  Show off that beautiful canvas, and be proud of it.

On that note, I did a yoga class the other day, showing my whole stomach.  (I wore a bra obviously) that was the first time I have ever done that.  I was standing directly behind someone which was probably good, gave me less time to criticize myself.  But, I survived.  I am trying to learn to love my canvas, even if the dimensions might not be what I consider “good enough” but, will it ever be? Isn’t it just a cycle, isn’t there always something else that needs to be fixed?  I say (or i’m trying to), fuck it, just be you, because you are amazing.

Over and out
Borderline Babe.

Dear You (letter to an abuser)

Its been a while, I apologize.  I wont give excuses, I did tell you I wasn’t great at the everyday posting thing.  Before I write this, know that its a big, scary step to do so.  If you’re in my life you might read this and get caught up on who it is.  Thats not the point, this is not a mystery novel where I’m asking you to solve my riddles. I’m writing this to get it out, because I know there are other people that feel the same.  It could apply to multiple people, multiple scenarios.  So, put away any pitchforks, any guilt, and listen. Please.

Dear you
I am your shadow.  I dream of a day when I’m looked at the way you are.   When my feelings matter as much as yours do.  When I can leave your side feeling like even half a human.   You are dangerous.  Because you fill with me with such a hope and a dream that would make me so happy I can’t even explain it.  But see, by now it’s just a hopeful foolish dream that I know by now will never come true. Because everytime this wee little seedling of a dream starts to sprout you take away the sunshine and it gets burned away.  This glimpse into the life I wish I could have from the life that was forced upon me.   You don’t seem to see me, you interupt me like my words don’t hold a meaning, act as if i don’t have any feeling, and this whole time you’ve seen me by your side as a selfish bully.  Meanwhile you’ve gotten away with emotional murder.   You turned your gaze away from the daggers in me, and you decided to join in the stabbing.  I devoted myself to you, to making sure you’re happy and healthy, turning my gaze from the abuse and manipulation you gifted to me in return.
To you, I will always be the scapegoat, who you will turn your gaze from, filling my heart with fake words,  making me feel small, alone and broken.
From, Me

There we go,  one more scary blogy step forward.
Over and out
Borderline babe.