All posts filed under: BPD Voices Project

Christmas with BPD

A Word of warning – if you’re feeling at all dapper or cheerful about 2016’s upcoming Christmas, most likely not a good idea for you to continue any further…   Christmas’s have always been a very bad time for me. I was never “allowed” to have them as a kid, and I have grown up not celebrating those or Birthdays (birthdays were also a forbidden thing). With every coming Xmas, it seems my insides begin to turn even more than the previous one, with the oncoming explosion of ridiculous festivities, “family get-together” and everything else that encompasses the “stupid season”. For someone like myself who identifies Christmas and Birthdays with trauma, bad times and loneliness, it’s upsetting and triggering to see so many people “faking” it every year just for the sake of the family or friends that they feel they need to impress in order to fit in. Growing up, Christmas was something I dreaded every fucking year, it made me feel sick and empty inside every year – sometimes weeks prior to it …

I Hate You, Don’t Leave Me

I’ve had a person from my past recently attempt to make contact with me again. My mind instantly jumps to the usual thoughts: “They’re poison. They’re subhuman trash. They have nothing to contribute to society. They’re completely worthless.” This person, my ex-companion, wronged me so they shall forever live in my mind as a sort of gollum: repulsive, ugly, and banished from living in the sunshine of my mind. It’s not that I think in extremes, this person deserves that label. They caused me pain. A decent person would never, EVER have done anything to cause me pain. Good people don’t do that. This person is clearly no good. Every good deed, gentle word, tender moment together, they were all part of a masterfully crafted ruse to disguise their inner ugliness. Shrewd devil, I saw right through you. And yet, somehow I feel inferior to the non-accomplishing zero that seems to have replaced me. I can’t not be the best. I can’t just be ‘superior to them in so many ways’. I have to be …

Just let me write

I haven’t written in a while. I’m not sure if this is something I should be apologising for. Part of me feels that I should, as I am sorry for most of the things that I do, or in this case didn’t do. The other part of me feels as though it doesn’t matter if I apologise or not because nobody actually cares. My apology will float away and get sucked up in some black vacuum as though it never existed in the first place. A few months ago someone lashed out at a piece of writing I had published. As much as I tried to understand their reaction and their perspective and why they wrote what they did, it didn’t hurt any less and I allowed them to make me question myself and whether or not I had the right to feel the things that I feel, let alone write about them. I write so other people can feel less alone because I know how terrible it is to feel lonely. I write so …

Bullying and Discrimination

Although I have often been asked about my attraction to darker literature, films, music and people in general, I have never really given it much thought (in terms of where BPD is concerned). Growing up, I was always a considered a bit “strange” or “weird” by my peers – other kids were reading “Dick and Jane” books, yet as early as the age of 7-8 I was engrossed by Stephen King, Dean Koontz and others. I was engulfing these books at a pretty rapid rate, and instead of using my school library, I would go to the local public library to get my fix (school didn’t cater for me). Horror films started earlier, my parents being the way they were, would let my brother and I watch whatever we liked, alone (or often while they were doing other things around the house). We purchased our first VHS recorder when I was 4-5 years of age, in 1979-1980, and that was a great time for films (horror in general), and some of the first films I …

The Circle Game by Monique Potter

My hands are wringing with an urgency to never leave this place and I sway, inhaling the terrifying sweetness of it all. The greed is leaching out of me like a stream of honey, slowly covering my skin and filling the spaces around me. I resemble something that is half human and my mind bends in preparation for the onslaught of ecstasy that comes right before that inescapable urge to destroy myself again. Tonight there is beauty in destruction, even if it’s nothing more than existing in this moment without dragging up the past. As the early morning hours creep up I swerve to hit the concrete because that is the only way I know how to stop. I can no longer recall the darkness lifting. It seems to have followed me here. Was it really only a few hours ago that we lay side by side as I ran my hands along your skin? And here I am now fighting the urge to smash my open palms against your front gate.  In my mind, …