woofwag
Bad dog
- Sep 17, 2025
- 466
The ever-constant mood shifts. The idealization of people flip-flopping onto believing all of them are terrible. Romanticizing myself and my life, only for hours or sometimes just minutes later to come crashing down and realize that the only thing that makes any sense at all to do is die. I lock it all up into time-sucks: doomscrolling, hookups, drugs, shows, useless puzzle games, anything mind-numbing enough that it blocks out the reality of my feelings.
Where do I draw the line between the me that I feel authentically and the me that I act as? Everything people say is a prompt for me to act. Another line for me to improv for. Fake it till you make it, sure, but if I'm always faking it, always forcing myself into the persona that I project for people to like, then what am I making of myself? What the fuck even am I?
I have all of these feelings, all of these parts of me that contradict one another, and there's so many that believing any one of them is true feels like lying. Because how can I say I want someone to love me romantically when I'm repulsed by that? How can I say I want to live when I want to die? How can I be proud of anything I've ever done when I know it's all useless in the face of some bigger, better thing out there? I take sleeping meds for insomnia, but the thing I need them the most for is to put me out before I grapple with the fact that being so full of everything makes me functionally nothing. I watch the emotional reality of my memories fade as I retroactively put my interpretation of my current mindset onto them, never fully able to grasp any reality of mine because my sense of self is trapped in extremes of euphoria and despair. Certainly, it must be that those depressive episodes were irrational because now I am feeling good! But now, it must be that I was blinded to the ugly parts of myself and the world when I was happy, because now I feel bad. I can remember whatever I want and it won't matter because it is this illness that decides which side of the emotional see-saw I'll be on.
Yes, I'm on meds. Yes, I'm in therapy, and I have been for years. It has helped, but at the end of the day, I will always be at the mercy of the border, always teetering between those extreme emotional shifts. BPD isn't curable. It's treatable, but it ends with me when I end. And I'm not sure how to handle that in the face of the world right now, in the face of me being poor and unemployed, disabled, traumatized, trans, you fucking name it. I fear that someday something within me will snap and I'll finally get over the SI enough to really go through with dying, and even more than that I fear that it never will, and I'll be trapped like this forever.
Where do I draw the line between the me that I feel authentically and the me that I act as? Everything people say is a prompt for me to act. Another line for me to improv for. Fake it till you make it, sure, but if I'm always faking it, always forcing myself into the persona that I project for people to like, then what am I making of myself? What the fuck even am I?
I have all of these feelings, all of these parts of me that contradict one another, and there's so many that believing any one of them is true feels like lying. Because how can I say I want someone to love me romantically when I'm repulsed by that? How can I say I want to live when I want to die? How can I be proud of anything I've ever done when I know it's all useless in the face of some bigger, better thing out there? I take sleeping meds for insomnia, but the thing I need them the most for is to put me out before I grapple with the fact that being so full of everything makes me functionally nothing. I watch the emotional reality of my memories fade as I retroactively put my interpretation of my current mindset onto them, never fully able to grasp any reality of mine because my sense of self is trapped in extremes of euphoria and despair. Certainly, it must be that those depressive episodes were irrational because now I am feeling good! But now, it must be that I was blinded to the ugly parts of myself and the world when I was happy, because now I feel bad. I can remember whatever I want and it won't matter because it is this illness that decides which side of the emotional see-saw I'll be on.
Yes, I'm on meds. Yes, I'm in therapy, and I have been for years. It has helped, but at the end of the day, I will always be at the mercy of the border, always teetering between those extreme emotional shifts. BPD isn't curable. It's treatable, but it ends with me when I end. And I'm not sure how to handle that in the face of the world right now, in the face of me being poor and unemployed, disabled, traumatized, trans, you fucking name it. I fear that someday something within me will snap and I'll finally get over the SI enough to really go through with dying, and even more than that I fear that it never will, and I'll be trapped like this forever.
