Love, the feeling.
Love, the trap.
Love, the surrender.
Hit my button
Of emotions and
Set it on the “off”.
Love, the feeling.
Love, the trap.
Love, the surrender.
Hit my button
Of emotions and
Set it on the “off”.
Short and sweet this will be.
Like would master Yoda say, you own path go must. Ignore the stupid as better you can do.
That’s a comment to a conversation my mother and I had today.
Like two monkeys, not understanding what the other one said.
I could also speak Chinese, it would make no difference to her. She has a tremendous way of understanding me. She just doesn’t, but she thinks she does, so it turns in a one big argument conversation without the conclusion or ending.
I feel drenched and angry. Facepalm for her winning again,and leaving me feel like a crap.
In this video, originated from an open letter of a BPD sufferer who healed through DBT, the BPD is presented in a way that everyone could understand what is BPD really like.
Also, this is a great contribution to take away a BPD stigma from the society.
Please, watch it.
I had a cup of coffee, then two
I took a pen and wrote some notes on the paper
About the future, about the past
I wrote a letter to someone who will care enough to read it
I even draw a picture of the world as I see it
Just a black sheet of emptiness.
I don’t like guns
But I feel safe when I have one around
As being attacked too many times in my life
I always bear that feeling of threat incoming towards me.
The coffee, the pen and the gun.
I used only two of them.
The third stayed untouched.
For how long?
Why are the traffic lights of my life always red?
Even when I want to go, yellow stops me, in the moment, and doesn’t let me move an inch.
I stand, I expect, hope exists, but is getting smaller.
I’m not going back where I’ve been back, I want to go, go, forward
But the green light does not come on.
Is it a sign?
Do I have to stay where I am and face all memories from the past before I move on?
Again, go through all the mistakes and harsh words, wrong acts, reckless thoughts.
Who decides where I’m going?
Am I not the one who has the right to get up and go?
Why anyone thinks he is entitled to ignore my traffic lights??
I am completely faced with the consequences of what I have done.
How long will this purgatory last?
Please, whoever looks at it all and knows all, the one who gives himself the right to decide instead of me, please, ask him in my name to let me go.
I have suffered enough, and red is not my color anymore.
Extremly interesting post!
Read it if you have BPD, and if you want to know what an EMOPHANE is.
By the way, I meet all the criteria for an emophane. -:) I think it is good news, but still, that reminds me how I found another label of myself.
I’m a person with a lot of post-it’s on my body and mind.
A: An emophane
Direct link (or read below for a summary, along with my own personal commentary): http://aapel.org/bdp/BLemophaniaUS.html
Wow. I just stumbled upon this. I’ve met a few other borderlines around the internet and have noticed some similarities among us all. I think the biggest two I’ve noticed are kind-heartedness and creativity. So I started on my e-search to “the positives about having BPD”, and I found this.
This is my favorite part: “It is not because I suffer from a borderline disorder that I’m sensitive, but because I’m sensitive that I was in a population at risk to develop a BPD”.
One of the other hallmarks of having BPD, is an identity disturbance. I often do feel like BPD is who I am. Who would I be without it? What would I be like? What all aspects about me would be different, or non-existent? I guess in a sense, I…
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Ok, I have to be REALLY SARCASTIC about this BPD problem that I have.
Yes, I’m utterly impulsive!
Sometimes it is funny, sometimes it is not!
Gratefully,I’m not into shopping, because I simply hate shopping and the shopping malls.
I’m impulsive about other things, for example:
1. Hey, it’s a nice day, let’s just drive off into nowhere and have fun!I prefer woods and meadows, so I mostly end up there. Where? In the woods. Where? No idea.
2. Hey, how about changing my appearance? New haircut! And who needs professionals to do it, I also have scissors! The end result is incredible, mostly for my friends, relatives and any other human that meets me in the street. The usual comment: “OMG, not again! You look like your head was thrown under the lawn mower!”. Great.
3. Hey, let’s go buy some really unnecessary tech ware! Or, I’d like a new cell phone! Damn my obsession with laptops, Pads, Mobile Phones, LED TV’s…..
4. I really do not need that piece of clothing anymore. Put it into the trash. Tomorrow: “Where’s my favourite skirt?!”
I really like myself sometimes, because I have no idea what will my brain do in the next minute. That makes me so unpredictable, but beautifully and amazingly interesting.
So, people around me perceive it like I’m a fun to be around, ’cause they never know whats gonna happen next.
Fun or not?!
What do you think?
Your character defined through BPD:
awesome, brilliant, emotional, empathic, charismatic and with no control over all of it!
All of this is, and so much more, is a full package of things you feel and do.
That is why the BPD is so complex, so it is often beyond normal understanding of the people that surround you.
The worst thing is, that the majority of the psych docs doesn’t know what to do with you.
Help is hard to find.
And BPD is not a broken arm that heals over time.
What do you think?
LINKIN PARK- GIVEN UP
I relate to this song in every word that has been written, singed, read, written, felt.
“Stuck in my head again
Feels like I’ll never leave this place
There’s no escape
I’m my own worst enemy
I’ve given up
I’m sick of feeling
Is there nothing you can say
Take this all away
Tell me what the fuck is wrong
“I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and I must have it painted black
Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts
It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black” -Rolling Stones.
Darkest of darkness I have ever seen,
Turned into a crack filled with the pitch-black starless space.
I merged into it, floating on the surface desperately,
While I was unwilling, and slowly, consumed absolutely.
I turned into black, the darkness pure,
The Soul, the Heart and the Mind full of the gloomy fury.
Is there blackest than the deepest black?
Could the darkness I’ve become,
Turn into the substance more mournful than it is?
Do not wake me up,
Until the whole black mayhem is scrubbed away.
Do not make me feel,
Until the colors reappear.
I love you when you’re around
I hate you when you’re gone
I don’t know who you are
When you’re not here
I don’t remember you
But when you’re back
You look familiar
I’ll get to know you again
And love you
Game of angel and a demon.
Wish I could stick to just one of you
Either loved or hated one
Because I’m tired
Of getting to know you
Again and again and again.
Hey, hey, hey….how I hate this BPD.
I felt like shit for the last couple of days, but today it has escalated enormously.
I had a meeting arranged, which I couldn’t miss, because, hey, job is a job, and I have a work to do.
I pushed myself to the end, passing my limits to get out of the apartment, get to the meeting, smile, do the presentation, talk, negotiate, make a deal.
Hey, hey, my boss will be happy!!
I got home exhausted emotionally and physically. Exhausted, but yet tremendously nervous and anxious.
My body wanted to sit, but instead, I was cleaning the bathroom.
My mind wanted to sleep, but hey, I had to do the laundry.
Because, when I sat down, hey, what a disastrous mess started in my head.
“This is not good…fight it back..fight it back..”.
So I cleaned the apartment, I did everything I could just to stop myself from thinking.
But hey, eventually, I had to sit down.
I wanted to hit the wall, to take the razor, to scream until I drop.
Popped up one Klonopin to settle down a bit.
Hey, let’s make that two. Three. Four. I stopped counting at ten.
I felt dizzy, somehow sleepy, hey, I know that feeling, been there, done that a million times before.
But inside of me….everything you can imagine was happening at the same time.
Hey, do you know how does it feel, to feel all you that you are able to feel at once, and so intense, that it hurts?!
I hope you don’t.
I really hate this BPD.
Hate myself. Hate everything.
If this life had a meaning, I would have found it a long time ago.
All I do now is a struggle, not to do IT again and end up this hell.
Six suicide attempts, first when I was just ten years old.
The last one was a close enough. I have been reanimated, because I stopped breathing, my heart stopped.. and fuck it, there was no tunnel with a light at the end.
Maybe the lights turned off, just for me.
Hey, I really hate this BPD.
Maybe the next time, someone will be so kind to change the bulbs in the tunnel, and turn the lights on.
I would appreciate it, thank you in advance.
“And on my deathbed I will pray to the gods and the angels,
Like a pagan to anyone who will take me to heaven;
To a place I recall, I was there so long ago.
The sky was bruised, the wine was bled, and there you led me on.”
Surrounded by people I call friends, surrounded by people I call relatives, holding onto my beer, firmly.
Voices all around me. Making noise and not sense. Attacking me.
I hate gatherings. I hate being surrounded. I do not feel good. In fact, I feel awful.
In my head, the movie begins:
I am standing up on the table, throwing the bottle to the ground. The sound of broken glass makes everyone to look at me.
And then I start to yell. To each of them I tell everything I wanted to tell for a long time, but I didn’t, ’cause I was polite.
But not tonight.
After I told what I had to say, I break at least two tables and chairs. One chair is thrown into a window.
I can feel glass flying right into me, sticking into my flesh, the warmth of blood leaking slowly down my body.
And if that’s not enough, there’s always a Glock to finish the situation.
But the beer is not cold anymore.
And I’m on the verge of an incident.
Laughing next to me, my friend poured accidentally a glass of wine, ruining her perfect dress with lovely flowers.
To me, the dress looks so much better now.
I am getting of the table and walking away without saying goodbye.
I hear my name being called, but I’m not turning or responding.
The car, the road and me.
“Save me from myself, save me from myself….”, repeating into my mind like a broken record player.
After few cuts I’ll be fine. Pouring a full glass of whiskey makes me almost happy. The sound and the scent of the glass filling to the top.
Killing the beast is not easy, and I will do all I can, to make it go away.
Interesting topic. And a true one. I found myself in every four of the modes. And currently, I’m a detached protector. It lasts for a long time now. For me this is the best way to keep myself functional. And to be honest, my psych could not ever bring me into the Vulnerable Child.
My shield is too hard to be broken.
I read this article and OMG this is me. I tell people all the time (those who know about my BPD), that I go through emotional cycles. I’ve described these very “modes” in the cycle that I’ve noticed within myself. I didn’t necessarily realize that they were very real and consistent among those with the disorder. I’ve pasted the significant section below, but here is a link to the article itself if you’d like to read the whole thing.
To assist the therapist in maintaining appropriate engagement with borderline patients, a psychologist at Columbia named Jeffrey Young has developed an interesting way of categorizing the ego states commonly seen in borderlines. In his experience, the borderline patient will normally present four ego states, which he calls MODES:
1. The patient normally presents for therapy in an ego state which Young calls The Vulnerable Child Mode – in this mode…
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For all of those who do not understand self-harming. For all of those who are judging people with this problem. I’m embarrassed with my scars , but they’re mine and they somehow represent my certain periods in life. Every faded line has a story behind….
Something to ponder for those that judge self-harmers:
First let me say that I realize there are a number of reasons why people self-harm. This is one reason…at least for me.
What do you do when you get an injury? Let’s say you slammed your finger in a door. Ouch, right? You may attempt causing a physical sensation to another part of your body because it takes your mind’s focus off of the pain and onto the new sensation. Now, if you slammed your finger in a door, which we all agree hurts like hell, would a simple finger-point tap to your shoulder, for example, be enough to mask the pain? No way! You’d most likely rub vigorously or maybe even pinch yourself. It’d have to be enough to overpower the pain, right?
Now, those with mental illnesses experience similar situations. Except, their pain is on the inside. And let me…
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Yeah. Helps a lot. Not!
This is an exceptional post about self-harm, but not in adolescence or early adolescence. Because, self-harm is somehow “glued” to the young people, I also feel “thrown out” of the finding help. We must admit, as a society, that self-harm is not just a teenage problem. It just isn’t! And help should be provided for young people, but for us, older, also.
Really cool, I would say, the nick – “The Unsafe Containers”, for a bag full of emotions. Which is ready to explode.
When I feel, I feel with the enormous intensity, that overwhelms me completely.
Love, fear, it does not matter, I am overflowed.
That is a common problem in Borderline Personality Disorder. Emotions that are so strong that they could tear you apart.
Over the years, I’ve learned to hide these moments of overflowing, because I don’t like that people who surround me, know what I exactly feel.
The reason why I’m hiding myself is that non-BPD people don’t understand such moments, or especially the moments of total numbness and emptiness.
But, of all the feelings I do have, the only two I cannot control at all, are impulsivity and anger.
When I am angry, there are no words to describe the intensity of it. If it is really bad, I usually throw things around, the first thing that comes into my hand, cellphones, plates, even chairs.
I have never harmed anyone, or I wanted to hurt somebody else.
The anger results in harming myself.
Once I didn’t even realised that my arm is cut, and that I am bleeding heavily. I broke a glass, a wine glass, with full strength against the wall. The awards for that moment were eight stitches at the ER.
Luckily, these moments are rare, and I really want to find the way to control them, because, I must admit, I am afraid of myself and my own reactions to those feelings.
It’s mine own little, messy Borderline Personality Disorder. I wish I could say that I’m dealing with it ok, but I am not.
So, “The Unsafe Container”, stays with me further, until I find a better lid that will keep everything closed and wrapped up.
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