BPD and the instability it beings in the face of identity.
To love is to hate. The boundary between Love and hatred is thin and blurred, it’s seam but fickle and quite easy to cross, there cannot be one without the other close behind at least that’s how it feels to me. they always seem to bleed into a single grey space, they are states of being that echo back in one huge illogical mess and i can’t seem to tell the difference anymore and It makes feel fake although throughout the years that is all i seem see each time i look into the mirror, insincerity and meaninglessness, all capture in the form of a singular woman, yet despite it all a smile seems to be my saving grace for it makes for a rather pretty face.
Genuine Attachment and bonds are perpetually under the threat of a certain jeopardy, nothing ever seems to last in this incoherent heart of mine for the dissonance is all consuming. There is always turbulence and noise, yet none of it ever makes sense although amongst the entropy theres always seems to be a sound that sometimes resurfaces and stands out from amongst the rest, a shrill yet distant cry that sings of resentful agony.
She’s screaming, my inner child, she’s still alive, even if just barely hanging by a breath after all this time i had left her for dead yet all i hear is her faulty breathing, choking, screaming and heaving fade in and out from amongst the chaos of the white noise, she’s slipping through the sands of time, all while watching me watch her fade away into the static of the disconnect.
Her fall from the comforting grace provided by naive innocence was one that shattered the entire world i knew with a new perspective, one that was the world in its truest form, one i was familiar with to an extent, i was just was not aware of the extent of its reach, bleak, dark, riddled with nothing but misery at every corner, The sun never dose rise in the endless grey. this entire time it was all just an endless march towards oblivion in a wasteland full of wolves and i just so happened to be born a lamb, a lamb whose fate was sealed by the very wolves who warped her mind, the predominant source of my suffering, its this brain of mine. Ober the course of time i have have come to slowly undo the threads of this wool that once veiled my eyes, one by one with every time i forced myself to look past the surface of my reality, for once there was meaning in the meaningless and the truth hurt more that anything those who were supposed to protect me and the world in it’s cruel glory ever did, i had been dancing with my greatest adversary this entire time i had spent philosophizing the enemy, i just failed to realize that she had been donning both my skin and my clothes.
“You must wake now, you are suffocating,”
I am suffocating yet i can’t find it in me to open my eyes, i don’t desire to wake. the silence has progressively become unbearably loud for once although that’s because silence has always had a way to be deafening for those who were not used to listening and for once i was hearing the world around me with clarity, yet there is one thing i fail to perceive through a lens of clarity that being just who is that woman that stares back at me each time i look through the reflection of the mirror before me.
I see, you are…
I see, you are…
I see, you are?…
You are?…
Can you see me now?, can i see me now?
Inconsistent and in-concise, the face behind my name has lost its meaning and the closer you get, the more i slip out of view and into the depths of the disconnect, and no matter how much i don’t desire to open my eyes there is ome thing i do crave with every moment that passes by…
i yearn to go back, back to when there was meaning and the certainty of personhood behind these eyes of mine.
Blame it on the bloodline? No, Blame it on the state of mind? Who knows? All i know is that I don’t know what i am, I can’t tell you who i am.
My vision, it has failed me, the broken state of my identity has become obsolete. I hurt those i love with as i am to love, yet it’s all undermined in the end with the hate that my tongue and actions are quick to gift, it feels conditional, it feels performative even when i know it’s not because i am aware that that is how everyone else from the outside perceives it. I love them, i really do, i love them more than i could ever love myself, i know i do and i always will so why must i keep bending my metal backwards, trying to justify what these disgusting facets of mine unleash upon the ones i fear hurting the most. It makes me feel incredibly fake, but then again what is genuine when even the skin that clings onto my flesh sometimes feels foreign?
“Is it really you?”
I have always been me…honest,
i just hope that you can still see me for me even when my worst become all the more difficult to keep crom bleeding into my image, i hope that you still know that i love you even when the words that leave my tongue and the look in my eyes says otherwise.
@Aki4705
Hi, thanks for posting. 💜 I'll share some things that I took away from reading through this, though I'm sure that I probably missed a lot (and it's also possible that I've misread).
- Love and hate feel like they go hand in hand. The same intensity/need that powers strong feelings of gratitude/affection toward someone (when things are going well) also powers strong anger/anxiety (when things are not going well).
- There's a feeling of "fakeness" around saying you "love" other people when on the surface those relationships sometimes look different than love. But it's true nevertheless. These people are important, you care about them, you value them, you wish/intend to treat them well, etc. It's just that things get complicated.
- There's been transformation or corruption over time. Starting from an inner child in a state of naivety and then watching things get distorted/shattered--ending up as a new self and looking in the mirror and wondering "is this me".
- With that change and seeing things disintegrate or dissolve over time, there's not only been a loss of identity but also a loss of meaning/value.
- A theme seems to be the idea that the basic reality of the world is a "wasteland full of wolves" where you were "born a lamb". There are people who cause suffering, and those who receive suffering. It was comfortable not understanding this, but experiences brought about that realization and change in perspective and it's not possible to undo or return back to the original innocence
***
Question: if the ugly/disgusting side and the child were able to have a conversation, what might they say to one another?
Well, my child self cannot speak, she has no face, she has nothing to say because there was never anything there to begin with.
she’s just a husk of what was supposed to be a little girl, bright, full of emotion and the purity of innocence but she was marred and warped and eventually snuffed by the hands of fate before she had a chance to even begin forming a concrete and stabilized identity, a definition of her own making to place on this name i was given at conception. My turmoil is what shaped me, i have become one with my pain, i found solace in suffering, i don’t feel content without chaos anymore, silence is agony.
These festering lumps of decaying sentiments, resentment, and perspectives i never did let go so upon having lost her to existential tragedy i did not mourn her, i just wore her lingering agony akin to a second skin and now i’m afraid it won’t come off because it has fused with my bare flesh.
I guess on the end there would be no conversation to be had for a conversation can never be had with the dead.