I Have Borderline Personality Disorder, and I Am Not a Monster

By Megan Embleton

I am sad. I am angry. I am OK. I am anxious. I am happy. I am numb. I am every emotion rolled into one.

I hate you. You’re horrible! Leave me alone. Please don’t leave me. You’re a good person. I’m lonely. I need you. I’m a bad person. Go away! I don’t need you. I’m sorry. I hate you. Don’t leave me.

I am inconsolable when I cry. I am bubbly and bright when I’m happy. I throw things, shout, scream and hurt people when I am angry. I hurt myself so I don’t feel so empty. I tell myself deserve it. I feel like a bad person on my bad days. I attempt suicide because I feel like there is no other way out. I am sometimes uncontrollable. I am impulsive. I make reckless decisions. I hurt people because my head tells me they’re bad. I want people to hurt as much as I hurt. Things are black and white, there is no in between. I push my friends away. Please don’t leave me.

I am treated like a criminal. Society tells me I am “crazy,” that I should be locked up, that I will never amount to anything. The police tell me I am childish, that I am wasting their time, that the next time they see me they’ll treat me like a criminal because that’s what I’ll turn into. I am a bad person.

 

“You know what that is, don’t you? A disorder that’s very hard to treat. You’ll probably end up killing yourself or locked up.”

A police officer told me that. A force supposed to make me feel safe, from both others and myself. BPD makes me feel like the world is a bad place, and comments like this validate that.

What’s it like having BPD? Surely it’s not that bad?

Intense. A roller coaster. Chaos. Lonely. Draining. Sometimes violent. Unstable. Suffocated. BPD for me means not knowing what “normal” is anymore and having the equivalent of a third degree burn on my emotional skin. It’s like living in a nightmare that I can’t wake up from.

Unless you’ve been through it, you will never be able to understand.

But let me just tell you one thing: If I tell you I hate you and never want to speak to you again, don’t leave me. It isn’t me talking; it’s the BPD part of me. I love you with all my heart and need you in my life. If I am having a bad day, comfort me. Don’t shout, please.

I am not a criminal. I do not deserved to be treated like one. I am a human being.

I am a good person, and I will get better. Please don’t make me feel like I won’t.

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