do you know that feeling when you’re ready to do things and have good time but then suddenly something switches in your brain and nothing has any meaning anymore and you don’t want anything
me: *finally opens up to someone"
me: *feels better afterwards*
a few hours later
me: i am so sorry to even have bothered you. please erase my existence from your memory.
You can’t be diagnosed legally with BPD until you’re eighteen but I have been told by multiple doctors at multiple in patient facilities as well as my psychiatrist that I do have it and my psychiatrist will give me a diagnosis when I turn eighteen. They can however say that you have “traits of borderline personality disorder” and that’s included on my long list of mental issues on my hospital records and IEP forms. It’s honestly torture not being able to be diagnosed because although they can’t do much for BPD, there are newer things that have proven to be effective and I can’t have that treatment until I’ve been diagnosed. But seriously, if a mental health professional hasn’t diagnosed you and/or is not planning on diagnosing you when you turn eighteen, please do not joke about it. It’s really serious and has wreaked havoc on my life. I hate the fear of abandonment I have; I hate the way it affects my relationships; I hate that I never feel “mentally ill enough”; I hate everything about it. All I want to do is be close to the people I love and feel loved and validated by them but the ways I try to do that always end up pushing them away. And to all of you who think that people with bpd are manipulative, abusive, crazy, etc., go fuck yourself. You don’t have a clue how hard it is to live with this disorder. You don’t know shit. Go educate yourselves assholes.
Alright I’m done now. Carry on.
To everyone replying to my first post about BPD (that one post on my account that people like and reblog lmao) saying things like “I don’t have BPD but I relate.”, stop. I know you might get jealous easily or something along those lines, but it’s not the same. For us, it’s chronic. It’s torture. I am unable to linguistically express how difficult it is to get through these feelings daily.
I’m sorry, but no, you can’t relate. Maybe you think you do because of how I’ve put it because I’m not the best at explaining things, but you don’t. I’m sorry. You can’t.