If only I would’ve been stupid,
It would’ve been unable to hide.
If therapists could’ve read my mind,
The diagnosis would’ve been easy.
Those 10 years of decay,
My symptoms were right there,
Finally reached the surface.
I’m not stupid,
But I was lifeless.
Continue reading “I’m Crazy, Not Stupid | Living with BPD”
You did your job,
You protected the child.
You’re too good at your job,
I’m not a child anymore.
Continue reading “My Mind is Under New Management | Living with BPD & Bipolar”
What a cruel thing to do:
Making love look disgusting.
Something I had to avoid,
At all and every cost.
I refused it,
Just like you told me.
I hated it,
Just like you wanted.
Buried it deep down inside,
Extinguished it within me.
Continue reading “Cruel | Homophobic Trauma Recovery using Buddhism”
I was misdiagnosed 5 times,
Confirming my soul was evil.
A single correct diagnosis?
Freed me from the delusion.
Like flipping a light switch,
My pain had a purpose.
Continue reading “The Power of a Correct Diagnosis | Living with BPD”
Author’s Note: Terms matter. Words have deeper meanings than letters strung together for a common understanding. Language affects the very way humans perceive the world. That’s why everyone (including myself) should learn a new language vastly different than our native tongues — who knows what we could unlock!
“Dissociative symptoms are common in Borderline Personality Disorder, including memory loss (dissociative amnesia) for certain time periods, events, and people.” [Source]
Memory loss was called:
Reach in somewhere,
Yank it forward.
THAT IS NOT IT.
Continue reading “Not Forgotten, Hidden | 9 BPD Symptoms: Dissociative Amnesia”
Disclaimer: This poem addresses how I acted as a 5-10 year old child. If you are one of the people this poem is written for, please do not take this as me asking for you to reach out or forgive me. This is merely an expressive art therapy process in the form of a free-write poem. I have written it “for” you as my formal apology for any psychological trauma I may have caused you during our childhood friendship.
[Author’s Note: This poem was written immediately after a PTSD episode. It is very raw.]
I was not a friend to you.
I should have been.
I did like both of you,
I just liked the games more.
I liked the lies,
I liked pitting you against each other.
It made me feel powerful,
When I had no other power. . .
Continue reading “Apology Poem for F* & T* | BPD Early Signs: Toxic Friendship”
What could I do?
What could I say?
How could I stop them?
Tell them we aren’t a threat to them?
We aren’t immoral demons from below?
Explain why they’re taught to hate us?
How could I tell them,
When they wouldn’t hear me?
How would I tell them,
When I couldn’t breathe?
How could I tell them when they openly mocked my people?
How could I tell them when they openly debated my rights?
How could I tell them when they openly beat him into submission?
Should I have screamed over their taunting?
Forced myself between them and the Faggot?
So the Dyke can be tortured as well?
Continue reading “What Could a Young Lesbian Do? | Homophobia Poem”
I tried to kill my evil side.
Most times it would evade clutch,
Openly mocking my attempts.
Other times it would allow touch,
Slyly preventing my movements.
It never stopped
I desperately tried to kill my evil side,
While my evil side easily killed me.
“I’m not getting married”
…to a man was unsaid.
Not imaginable, the day
Nor the flowers, or bouquet
What a day it could be!
Those purest gathered around us,
Sharing the moment two souls join in God.
“What will he look like?”
Why can’t I see him?
“What will he say to you?”
Why can’t I hear him?
“What will his personality be?”
Why can’t I imagine him?
“Imagine the blessed day,
your wedding day,
an eternal husband awaits.”
Why can’t I breathe?