I wish I could hide, I can’t deal with people today.
Lately I’ve been trying to not self sabotage. I wonder where that impulse comes from, I don’t want to fuck things up.
Trying to reconnect after forgiving and being rejected feels like getting stabbed in the heart twice.
I’ve never been interested in reading the book from where this comes from: “Stop Walking on Eggshells”. The title has always repelled me because I find it creates more stigma for those of us with BPD, as if we were ticking time bombs.
Putting all that aside, I can relate to this excerpt from it. I usually keep and carry around pictures or other objects. Sometimes people and events don’t feel real if I don’t have “evidence” with me. The irony of this disease: you feel too much or nothing at all, you need to keep in check your emotions or provoke them.
I don’t write like I used to and I’m dying to. I don’t have much time anymore to sit down and channel my thoughts as it should be, so you might see soon some posts that are not in chronological order or retrospective. I don’t want this blog to become tumblr and keep posting pictures.
I come to see my psychiatrist and I spend more time waiting to make a new appointment than in his office.