Dear Borderline Personality disorder,
So, where shall I begin? I’m unsure of the date you attached yourself to my being and started consuming my mind. Before I knew about your existence within myself, I went through a series of moments I loathed. I realized I was reacting overtly in situations and felt a consuming need to have someone around me all the time, but I was unaware of your foreign and parasitic presence. So, I kept on blaming myself.
I swore to improve and then failed miserably. It kept on repeating like a cycle, filling me with destructive thoughts of ending my life. Isn’t that what you wanted?
It was on 10th June 2020, that my therapist, after conducting a personality assessment, declared your presence. Oh, I was shattered, I felt that my mind no longer belonged to myself but a savage entity residing within me named ‘Borderline Personality Disorder.’ I was spellbound at the destructive potential of the three-letter word, which had been filling my life with darkness from an unknown duration of time.
As per my psychologist, my disruptive familial environment, years of schooling in an atmosphere embellished with toxicity and an encounter with a bunch of self-centred beastly humans, served as your invite. Are you even aware of how much damage you have caused and are still causing me?
Having nights filled with ambivalent thoughts, living a life drowned in a sea of gloom, a brain capable of thinking only black and white, and constant fear of abandonment, are some of the things your sickening presence have introduced me to.
But, I want to tell you one thing no matter how high your adhesive, (or whatever property might be), I won’t let you be a permanent resident in my mind. The distinctive, ‘I hate you don’t leave me’ property you make your hosts go through, would not be my defining personality.
My psychologist says I’m doing good, I can feel your clenches loosening but still, there are times when you overpower me and I somehow escape to a world I don’t belong into.
That world is filled with negativity, there is no laughter and smiles but only tears and abuse. When present there, I tend to reflect upon my problematic past, it’s like I’m living it all over again. Recalling those touches which used my childhood innocence as a tool to attempt to rob me of my virginity, I question myself, why me?
Looking at my top, drenched with tears, I think about the love of the lovers who exploited my vulnerability. Sitting alone I wipe my tears, and every time I touch my face, I recall the comments of those guys at school made about my brows, my eyes and my existence.
Oh, did I look that bad? When in that world I don’t question but believe everything which enters my stream of thoughts. Yes, I lose sometimes, yes I cry sometimes, yes I forget all that my therapist has told me, sometimes. But, my dear BPD, it’s just ‘sometimes’.
I won’t let you win, slowly and gradually the frequency of these ‘sometimes’ will decrease and eventually will disappear from my life. You don’t want me to love myself you have erased my confidence to a level that I feel an urge to check every text message at least five times before sending. But, trust me, soon, you will be ripped off of your shelter.
You have had enough of comfort and pleasure, start counting your days my friend, because very soon, I will fall in love with myself again, and kick you off my brain forever and ever.
Sending you strength.
Previously Published on du beat