Venting Somewhere between too much and nothing at all.... a update on my mental state

[Jisatsu]

I have borderline personality disorder and schizoaffective disorder justvto name a few things wrong with me...It's not a fun mix of mental illnesses. Most days, I don't even know who I am under the chaos. I shift ... thoughts, feelings, identities, moods constantly. One minute I care too much, the next I feel absolutely nothing. It's like drowning in fire and then being buried in ice.

People assume I'm just dramatic or unstable, but it's not that simple. BPD makes me feel everything too hard. A tiny thing a word, a look, a silence can ruin my whole day or flip me into a spiral. And schizoaffective disorder makes it even harder the hallucinations, the paranoia, the disconnection from what's real. Sometimes I see things. Sometimes I hear things. And sometimes, even when everything is quiet outside, my mind still won't shut the hell up.

There are scars on my body, and I'm not ashamed of them. They're not cries for attention they're proof. Proof that I've been here. That I've felt things too big to contain. That I tried to cope the only way I knew how. And the truth is, I don't even hide them anymore. They're part of me, like bones and blood.

Some days, just existing takes everything out of me. I'm not lazy I'm exhausted. From pretending. From managing the whirlwind inside. From masking. From not breaking down in front of people who wouldn't know what to do with the pieces.

I want connection, but I don't trust it. I push people away before they can leave. I cling, then detach. I test people, then hate myself for it. I get attached fast, feel betrayed easily, and hate how vulnerable I am to people who don't even know what they mean to me.

And then there's the numbness. It creeps in when I least expect it. Like I'm watching my life happen from across the room. I laugh at things without feeling the joy behind it. I cry without knowing why. I float through the days, unsure what I'm even waiting for.

Sometimes, I write. I think about stories dark ones, strange ones, mythic ones... me imagining Helheim just to form a bond with death. Maybe because it's easier to put my pain in a fictional world than explain it in this one. Maybe because I relate more to gods and monsters than to people who smile without cracking.

I'm not writing this for sympathy. I don't want pity or advice. I know most people won't get it, and that's fine. I just needed to say it to let it exist somewhere outside my head for once. Maybe someone will read it and feel a little less alone. Or maybe it'll just drift into the void like everything else.

Either way, I'm still here. I don't know why...

I will be a vague memory for all of you ... I know I'm not making it past 27 and I've accepted it but for now ... I am ... Hopefully soon I will be a I was.

 

[starlightstarbright]

I hear you with the feeling like you're constantly shifting and your relationships are all turbulent. A lot of that is similar for me, and my parents (the only people in my life anymore, and that's out of obligation) definitely think I'm just looking for attention and exaggerating the depths of my emotions when I'm not. It's exhausting. If my parents and I are arguing throughout the day, I can go from wanting them dead to finding myself in complete euphoria if they apologize or do anything remotely nice, and thinking we'll never argue again and the years of arguments are all just a big misunderstanding and I hope they live long happy lives, I love them so much, to wishing them dead when we argue again a few hours later. There's no averaging out the swings between absolute hatred over the smallest slights, and illogical euphoria over the tiniest scraps of kindness.

I've never seen any mental health professionals, so I've never been diagnosed with anything, but I see lots of my experiences reflected in your post. So for what it's worth, your post really did make me feel understood and less alone. I don't know if that was your intention, but I hope that's not a bad thing. I hope things get easier for you, one way or another. Living this way is hard.​

 

[death_by_life]

It's so strange to see so much of my life in something I didn't write. I always assume that no one else ever lives this way - they feel things but the feelings don't overtake them. They're not constantly on the verge of losing all composure when someone asks how they're doing. The majority of people don't get it, so it feels like detachment is the only option. Perhaps it is.

 

[Haibane-renmei-reki]

I have borderline personality disorder and schizoaffective disorder justvto name a few things wrong with me...It's not a fun mix of mental illnesses. Most days, I don't even know who I am under the chaos. I shift ... thoughts, feelings, identities, moods constantly. One minute I care too much, the next I feel absolutely nothing. It's like drowning in fire and then being buried in ice.

People assume I'm just dramatic or unstable, but it's not that simple. BPD makes me feel everything too hard. A tiny thing a word, a look, a silence can ruin my whole day or flip me into a spiral. And schizoaffective disorder makes it even harder the hallucinations, the paranoia, the disconnection from what's real. Sometimes I see things. Sometimes I hear things. And sometimes, even when everything is quiet outside, my mind still won't shut the hell up.

There are scars on my body, and I'm not ashamed of them. They're not cries for attention they're proof. Proof that I've been here. That I've felt things too big to contain. That I tried to cope the only way I knew how. And the truth is, I don't even hide them anymore. They're part of me, like bones and blood.

Some days, just existing takes everything out of me. I'm not lazy I'm exhausted. From pretending. From managing the whirlwind inside. From masking. From not breaking down in front of people who wouldn't know what to do with the pieces.

I want connection, but I don't trust it. I push people away before they can leave. I cling, then detach. I test people, then hate myself for it. I get attached fast, feel betrayed easily, and hate how vulnerable I am to people who don't even know what they mean to me.

And then there's the numbness. It creeps in when I least expect it. Like I'm watching my life happen from across the room. I laugh at things without feeling the joy behind it. I cry without knowing why. I float through the days, unsure what I'm even waiting for.

Sometimes, I write. I think about stories dark ones, strange ones, mythic ones... me imagining Helheim just to form a bond with death. Maybe because it's easier to put my pain in a fictional world than explain it in this one. Maybe because I relate more to gods and monsters than to people who smile without cracking.

I'm not writing this for sympathy. I don't want pity or advice. I know most people won't get it, and that's fine. I just needed to say it to let it exist somewhere outside my head for once. Maybe someone will read it and feel a little less alone. Or maybe it'll just drift into the void like everything else.

Either way, I'm still here. I don't know why...

I will be a vague memory for all of you ... I know I'm not making it past 27 and I've accepted it but for now ... I am ... Hopefully soon I will be a I was.

Sorry about your struggles for starters, but i find it interesting how you are able to put your feelings and thoughts into the form of literature/fiction
Plenty of history's great authors were exactly like that