I got asked a while back by a BPD friend, how I managed. To them I seem calm, stable and able to cope with the instabilities that being borderline brings.
It was flattering, I do think I am better equipped to deal with life than they, and have less visible meltdowns than I used too, so maybe that’s why they came to me. I did my best to share my tools and encourage them to keep working at it.
But it wasn’t until today, a bad one for my mental health, that I realised that a lot of it is not necessarily coping, I just hide it better.
I have learned to reduce the effects and consequences, resisting where possible the awful urge to lash out at the world because I am hurting and nobody understands.
Nobody ever understands. At least that’s what it feels like.
And the only/first comments from people who do respond to attempts to communicate my pain invariably come not from those that might be able to help, but instead those that just want you to shut up because they are uncomfortable with emotions. They think they’re being nice by insisting that one cheers up.
Like it’s that fucking simple. Seriously. If I could just cheer up I would. FFS. Fucking shithead wankers.
I’ve been asking for help for days, even pushed myself to try again today despite the knock backs. Not one person has even responded. Is it any wonder I feel like I have no real friends.
I do have some friends but they’re generally unreliable and often incapable of understanding mental health, or any invisible health issue.
Thankfully there are a couple of people I can call to talk to. But being telephobic that is something that’s going to have to wait until I can muster up the strength to actually talk directly to another person about my emotions and demons. By that time I’ll probably be feeling loads better anyway, oh well.
Until then I must put on my fake plastic smile and keep pretending because if I don’t I know I’ll get trapped in a world of pain so dense that the self harm and suicidal wishes will resurface.