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192 pages, Paperback
First published August 1, 2016
I recently read an article about a girl with multiple sclerosis who runs races and collapses in pain at the end of every race. My every day is a race and at the end of every day, I collapse on my bed, in so much agony, and I never want to get through any other day. But I do. I have to. That’s what living with borderline personality disorder feels like. It feels like an endless fight. It feels like I’ve been treading in stormy waters for days, and I am getting so tired, but no one is around to throw me a life raft, because no one wants to be around me. This runner with MS has a coach who catches her after every race. My only net is the emptiness of my bed and the hollowness of my pillow. Although this runner and I share a similar experience, my story and my experience would never be reported on for public display.
There are so many ways to elaborate upon how far I have come without really coming very far at all. BPD sucks; the silver linings aren’t silver enough to paint any rosy pictures. There have been many instances where I have screamed out loud to a god that I don’t necessarily believe in, begging him to save me by killing me, as I clawed at myself; also cursing him for the injustice of allowing me to be born at all.