To the friend I hurt, and that hurt me 

Sometimes I miss you, Even though I know that you’re not a good person

And that I’m not a good person

And together we weren’t good for each other  

the word friendship didn’t seem suiting 

Because there wasn’t that warm feeling there 

It was poisonous 

But I guess that’s what happens when two toxic people try to be friends

It’s drags out until you can’t stand eachother anymore


What is BPD??

It’s not cute that’s for sure. It’s pain, pain that stays with you all day. And all night. 

Borderline personality disorder is this complex and confusing illness, it’s this monster that lives within me. BPD brings out the worst parts of me. Or maybe I am just the worst. 

BPD is not sleeping. Or It’s always sleeping. Depends on the day.

BPD is irregular moods, and not being able to control how I feel. It’s either 0 or 100. I feel everything deeply.

BPD is loving people immensely one minute, then hating them the next. It’s black and white. And relationship destroying.

BPD is needing attention and seeking it out. 

BPD is also not wanting attention, and hiding away.

BPD is this fear of abandonment, and it’s so real it hallowed your bones. My mind is convinced everyone is leaving. 

BPD is pushing away the people closest to you, and not being able to explain why you do it.

BPD is reacting quickly, and poorly. It occasionally hurts those around you with its harsh words.

BPD is over attaching yourself to people. 

BPD is detatching yourself from people. 

BPD is not knowing who I am, and finding it within things, like all of the time. 

BPD is wanting to kill myself evey second something goes wrong. It’s always my first resort.

BPD is picking and prodding. And finding ways to kill myself even if it’s not physically. It’s disassociating to avoid feeling.

BPD is living with a constant tornado within you. It’s destructive, and quick. It hurts, and it doesn’t stop.  It’s reckless and unpredictable. And I never know if it’s me or if I’m pretentding. Even though I know that nobody could fake this. And why the fuck would you want to. BPD is something I don’t want to live with forever, and I can’t think past tomorrow because it pains me knowing it will always linger in me. 

BPD is not romantic, pretty, or fun; it’s real. And it hurts.


Lately the feeling has been sinking deeper into my body, which, I didn’t think was possible. 

Each day, more dull than the last. Every minute passes with warn out bones and sleepy eyes. 

Maybe this is the slowing, the numbing before the release

So cut the ropes you tied to me, 

Let me fall below the surface, 

where I’ll sleep for an eternity

And the rest of the world will continue on