There's no winning in BPD - A letter to everyone who doesn't have BPD
Last updated: Apr 1, 2022
Hey shitheads. I want to be real for once. I want to scream, I want to cry, and I want to be angry at everything and everyone. Something I’ve denied myself for a long time. If anyone has a problem with it, go fuck a cactus without lube. This is one of the rare instances where I’m standing up for myself. You see, once someone has the label of BPD, everything they do is seen through a neurodivergent lens. I have an outburst? BPD. Anyone else has the same? Probably justified. I’m sure there were legitimate reasons. I’m angry? Overreaction. I’m sad? I’m crying? SO DRAMATIC.
THERE IS NO WINNING WHEN YOU HAVE BPD. Let me say that again, THERE IS NO WINNING WHEN YOU HAVE BPD. Now this isn’t a post seeking pity or anything similar, though I honestly don’t find pity patronizing.
I lost a friend to BPD and that still haunts me. Another friend was recently in the ICU for days after an attempt. I spent some time under supervision at a hospital following my 18th birthday, fun times. Almost all of my friends w BPD have tried to attempt the Big S. All of us started pretty young. I was probably 10, probably not even sure what I was doing. I just didn’t want the pain. I still can’t handle the pain. I just want it to stop. It still astounds me that there are people who wake up without the immediate surge of suicidal ideation that accompanies. How? How the fuck do yall wake up without wanting to end it all?
I’m not going to pretend to represent a heterogeneous condition like BPD. I’m not a torch bearer, I’m just a fucking pallbearer and the person in the casket simultaneously. Going by DSM-V criteria, there are 256 combinations of BPD. Yet, it’s somehow completely okay to alienate and stigmatise people with a disorder that already makes them feel alien, feel alone. Great job, yall! FUCKIN’ A. Perpetuate the bullshit. Spread shit that makes us pwBPD feel like we’re the scum of the Earth. Thank you. What happens when you isolate and keep telling a community they’re abusive and fucking shit? Some self-fulfilling prophecy bullshit. If you so will it to happen, you make it happen. Look at you fucking Gods, shaping your own world. Pat yourselves on the back and say “See? I told you so!”.
I’m not going to disregard the fact that pwBPD can be abusive; anyone can. But every fucking time I see a post on the Internet where a person with abusive tendencies is talked about, armchair psychologists jump in to declare the person w abusive tendencies to have BPD! What else could it be? One of you fucking NTs being abusive? NOPPEE. Sorry. PwBPD have an exclusive monopoly over abusiveness. Stop appropriating. I had to go through a dozen specialists to get my BPD diagnosis?! Only if one of you pricks told me that Reddit did it for free in under five minutes! Man, I really did choose the wrong time to pursue Psychology. Reddit is gonna put me out of business!
Most of you won’t fucking understand how every single day is a struggle, every breath a fight. To have a war waged upon you on a daily basis, by your own brain. The organ tasked to ensure our survival. And me? I can’t fucking tell if I’m overreacting or underreacting. I can’t tell if my reaction is appropriate or not. I can’t tell at all and I feel like my meta-cognition has meta-cognition. I’m so up in my head, constantly. And it. Does. not. Shut. the. Fuck. up. NOT EVEN FOR A SINGLE SECOND. Imagine having to inspect and reflect on every thought that so happens to cross your mind. Imagine you dissect every thought, every emotion, every feeling in hopes of understanding yourself. Imagine feeling so out of your element, so alien. You ask yourself “What would a normal person do?”. I feel like a distant observer of humanity at times, and I’ve always felt that way. For Chrissakes, I cried a billion times wishing my laptop could be sentient so I’d have a friend. Imagine feeling that lonely. I was 12. I still feel that lonely. It’s like I live on a different plane of reality. Some warped, twisted plane that no one can understand. I speak a language no one can understand. I cry, I scream, I BEG for help. But it’s all pointless. There’s no one coming. There’s no one coming. It’s a sham, it’s a lie.
You know what my official formulation says?
“You tend to put the other person’s needs ahead of your own everytime.”
“You tend to feel guilty about expressing yourself due to your focus on others.”
Every single time, I’ve put others’ needs ahead of mine. Does that make me a saint? Heck no. I did it voluntarily. “Then why do you mention it, stop with the humble brag” I hear you say. But no, you have to understand that with this label, we’re set up for failure no matter what we do. What does the Internet and outdated ableist literature say about BPD? THEY’RE ALL SELFISH, THEY’RE ALL MANIPULATIVE. There is no winning. I tell someone I’m feeling the big S? I’m being manipulative! I don’t tell them? A fucking liar. There’s no winning. Every time, I need to choose my words carefully because it represents an entire community. Not saying everyone has this pressure, might be a me thing, but it fucking sucks. I have quiet BPD. I can distance myself from other subtypes and say “Hey, I channel everything inwards, don’t lump me in with them!” But no. Fuck you. It’s liberation for all of us or none of us.
I posted distress texts. I ASKED people for help. And asked in general and not asked a particular person because I didn’t want to single anyone out and make them feel like they must help. But you know what? Not many people gave a fuck. Almost zero. Friends I’ve known my entire life, people whose hands I’ve virtually held while they cried to me, no one.
Best part? I have no one to confide in. People get scared. Which is valid, not everyone, especially NTs know how to handle things like this. But what do I do? Who do I go to when everything is in disarray? Who do I go to when I’m falling apart?
All I fucking want is to be held and told I’m loved. Is that too much to ask? Is that too much to ask if all I’ve ever felt was the feeling of loneliness? Is that too much to ask when I spend all my energy trying to spread happiness? Is that too much to ask? How fucking hard is it to tell someone you love them or that you cherish them or shit like that? There’s an outpour of performative love when someone passes away, especially by their own hands, but where is it when they’re still here? Why is it not given even if someone begs for it? Basic compassion. That’s all I ask for. I won’t rant, I won’t burden you with my troubles. Just tell me you’re here for me? Hold my hand virtually? That’s all I ever ask for.
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