cedar2bug

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In another universe I was happy

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my favorite conspiracy theory is that they regret what they did to me

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In another universe I was happy

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It is becoming increasingly more difficult to alive.

My doctor and his nurse haven’t seen me in months but have also been the only people who have made me feel like a human. Like a living person. Simply by remembering something about me. The two people I never would have expected to remember anything about me decided to do so.

The alternative? People I’m around constantly. My family. Can’t remember anything. I’m not a person to them. They don’t remember I exist until they need something from me.

These people are supposed to love me and clearly don’t.

Even shittier, I can’t afford to live on my own. I have no friends. I can’t leave and they all know it.

I can’t check myself into a hospital because that would be attention seeking and selfish because of everything else going on in our family.

I’m not a person. So why should I stay living?

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People hate me because I have BPD and it’s like…

…baby, I don’t want to be this way either. They made me like this

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bpd culture is never knowing when to pick your battles because everything feels like the end of the world or the most important hill to die on

.

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𝕾𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖔𝖗 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖓

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This was a day a few years ago I felt I could be myself- felt allowed to be myself and exist without feeling bad about it.

There was peace in that walk.

I don’t know how to get it back.

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Journal entry

Loneliness is eating me alive even though I’m surrounded by people who say we are friends only to leave me behind until they have a problem and need to talk.

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Thigh cuts are disappointing. I want to cut my arms open so bad

i miss cutting on my wrists, but now i have to cut on my theighs so i dont get caught

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Streams of red run down the curves of my legs

Spreading across my feet

Between my toes

Turning pink down the shower drain

It’s not enough

Never enough

I’ll never be clean of this ‘thing’ inside me

Clawing at me

Trying to break free

I want it to break free

The streams of red are supposed to help

They never do

Now bubbly red streams slide down

Soapy red bubbles

Soapy pink bubbles glide down the shower drain

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Can't stop thinking about how it's so easy for them to not talk to me, yet I become physically ill at even the idea of not having them around

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I don’t know how many times i survived myself without telling anyone.

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liability by lorde.