To be borderline is to have little sense of who you are or what turns you on. At its extreme, it may mean having to turn to others for cues in order to know when to eat or drink, work or rest, or even laugh or cry. It may mean intensely embracing a person, idea, or thing one day, and having no use at all for it the next. This lack of a constant picture of one’s self, one’s values, or one’s passions is at the heart of the borderline personality. Imagine floating randomly through space without any sense of up or down and without a map to show you either your origin or destination. To be borderline means to lack grounding emotionally and to exist from moment to moment without any sense of continuity, predictability, or meaning. Life is experienced in fragments, more like a series of snapshots than a moving picture. It is a series of discreet points of experience that fail to flow together smoothly or to create an integrated whole.
Lost in the Mirror: An Inside Look at Borderline Personality Disorder (via shitborderlinesdo)
I don’t know when it happened, or why it
happened. You just stopped. There were
no more phone calls in the middle of the
night when you couldn’t sleep, no more
texts that read, “I miss you.” The only time
you said I was beautiful, was when I asked
if I was. It’s not that I needed your validation,
I just missed hearing it. When you answered
the phone your voice sounded dull, the excuses
were, “I’m tired.” “I don’t feel well.” I never
knew the right words to say until after the
conversation ended, my talking just felt like
crunching leaves under your feet. You’d walk
over me subconsciously, I felt like I was the
gum on the bottom of your shoe. You’d get
rid of me faster than you’d let me stay.
I always held on a little too tight, a little too
long, I guess I was just waiting for the favor
to be returned. But your arms became
cemented to your sides, like walls around
your soul. I became the vines growing up
the bricks, trying to be tall enough to get a
peek of what’s behind them. I never was
tall enough, I never was good enough.
Soon enough the I love you’s just slipped
your mind, you forgot. I stopped noticing
how long it took you to reply, it became
our new normal. The nights we went without
talking, the mornings that went without the
good, the days we talked for five minutes, it
was all normal. You stopped. So, I’ll stop.
Or at least, I’ll try..
i.c. // "you stopped loving me" (via delicatepoetry)
I don’t mean to stray from
my goals and end up in a twisted
forest full of vices versus virtues,
I don’t mean to screw up
everything to the point that
I can’t sleep at night.
I don’t want this hole in my heart
anymore, I don’t want to wake
up and feel like I don’t have
a purpose.
I go to sleep empty and I wake up
empty, I feel hated, and alone.
this is the longest I’ve been without
spilling blood down my arms
since 7th grade, and I’ve never felt
worse. Somehow every decision
I make is the wrong one, and I can’t
right anymore wrongs without
going insane. I
don’t know what to do anymore,
and my fight or flight
instinct is pleasing for me to run,
telling me to get the fuck out of
this life while I can,
telling me to hurry before I hurt
more people who are in the path of
my self destructive storm.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.


(via affairedecoeur)