Better Without Me.

One of the most distressing feelings I have with BPD is a feeling of paranoia and ‘possessiveness’ when it comes to friendships. I haven’t always had it. It seems to be when I’m under more stress, or my mental health is worse like it is now. If I hardly hear from a friend anymore, and I see evidence of them having fun with someone else, seemingly happier without me, I feel a pang of something… it’s not jealousy… it’s not even possessiveness as such. It’s more a kick to my self-esteem. It just starts me attacking myself.

I have no issue with friends of mine having other friends. Yes, perhaps I’m a little envious of them having other friends, when I don’t. I only had the one in the end. And of course it kicks in the loss of all the friends I did have before 2012 happened. But it’s not a problem.

The problem is I automatically go to ‘I’ve been replaced’. ‘That person is their new best friend’. ‘They’re happier without me’. They look it. They sound it. They have more in common now with the new person – I’m single, childless, depressed and suicidal. Why would anyone choose me as a friend? I feel I’m being ditched. This could be because of my mental illness, telling me this is the case. It could be because life has changed, and I used to see my friend once or twice a week, when our lives had more in common, and this year I’ve seen her seven times in nine months… twice in January, twice in February, once in March, twice in June…. with two lots of three months in between where I don’t even hear from her… maybe that paired with my mental illness makes me arrive at this point, of feeling it’s over. I’ve been replaced by someone better.

I know it might not be that I’m being replaced… she might just have several friends. But the reason it feels that way is because she sees other people, seems happier and more like her old self, she doesn’t see me, give me the care and understanding I need… and all of that mixed in with the paranoia and depression, and the state of my mental health right now, it tells me … that she’s better off without me. That if she’s friends with me anymore it’s purely out of pity or just because we’ve been friends a long time.

I feel us drifting apart, and nobody can understand what that does to someone with BPD and a fear of abandonment… to lose your rock. To see it happening gradually over time. It’s mental torture. In some ways it’s worse than a sudden abandonment. Believe me, I wish I could be one of those laid-back friends, who you don’t see for ages, but you don’t stress about it, you never doubt the friendship and you pick up where you left off. Perhaps in the past I could have done that. In fact I think I have. But so much has changed in a year or so. There’s so much I had to go through alone. So much that happened that I wanted to share with someone, and I have nobody to share it with. To ask what I’ve been up to since the last time we spoke or met… that’s three months… you’d need three days to hear the answer. I feel so disconnected… detached… and it’s nothing personal. I feel that way to everyone and everything. I feel like I’m a non-existence just floating around a world where everyone else lives. It’s not just about her. But it feels worse towards her, because I felt so close to her. It’s like it would feel if I felt disconnected from my family…. thankfully I’m not. They’re the only stable thing I have left, and they’re always there. But to have someone who felt like family drift away over time – yes, maybe because of circumstances beyond their control – but to have so much distance during a mental health crisis… for so long… that they feel like a stranger to you… it is hard to get your head around that. It’s not just your common ‘friends become strangers’ thing either. I’ve had that happen many times in my life, usually brutally. This is something else. This is ‘It FEELS like we’ve become strangers’ but I don’t just feel disconnected from her… but also from existence. Therefore it is hard to challenge my thoughts, because I’m disconnected from life. It’s like the thought is floating around in my head, and normally that would be fine, because I am grounded. But I feel like the thought is floating around in my head… and I’m floating around in existence. So nothing feels safe. Nothing can ground me and reassure me.

But more than this, if I expressed my feelings about this, I don’t believe I would be reassured. I believe having these sorts of paranoid thoughts about friendships will actually push people away. Like if I’m ‘possessive’ over my friend – or seem that way based on my mental illness and paranoia – it will make me a less desirable friend. It will make her more likely to replace me with the other one. I also wouldn’t believe it if I was told I’m also her friend. I’d feel it was pity. When I expressed pain at the distance between us before, I heard things that made me feel I’m ‘too much’. That she needed a break from me… time to focus on herself and other things. I respect this. Six months of this year I’ve respected this and kept to myself. Respecting it doesn’t mean I’m not hurt and won’t sometimes express that hurt. What am I supposed to do? Suffer in silence? I have nobody to talk to about anything.

I know I’m too much. I know people need time away from me. I know my mental illness is draining, and I have nothing good to offer anyone at the moment. I know that all I am is a burden. I know I bring the mood down – why do you think I keep to myself nowadays?? I know my inner turmoil when expressed, makes others feel like shit. I know people would be happier with me dead. Okay. I know that. I know I’m just one more problem that people don’t want to have to deal with. I don’t need reminding of it by people I care about. I’m too much. And I don’t matter to people.

All I’m saying is that I saw this coming. I always knew life would change and I’d lose relevance. But while my friend’s life has moved on, and she has other priorities now, I’m still traumatised and stuck in a time she’s left behind. It’s not her fault. But I wish people could understand this. While their lives have moved on, my life was destroyed in the process and I’m still living in that time. Losing a social life doesn’t exactly help me to move on and find my own happiness, and to evolve with them. So when I say I need my friends, it’s because I have nothing else. And when I feel like I don’t have friends it hurts … because I’m still stuck in 2012, and it’s like losing all my friends all over again. It’s magnifying the fact that I STILL have no friends… I’m STILL stuck here.. and everyone else is merrily moving along with their lives, forgetting me, and expecting me to save myself…. alone. 

I would have loved to share in everything with my friend. To have found someone for myself, and to have children at the same time as her, so our children could be friends, and I’d be part of the ‘club’, and everything would be happy and jolly and great… it KILLS me that that’s never going to happen. It KILLS me that I’m watching her go through all this, and I’m just a nobody… I have no children. I have no relationship. I know nothing of the world she lives in, and we both know it. I remember with another friend who used to rub it in my face, that I don’t know what it’s like to have XYZ like she had (like a house, partner, pets, job etc) – because of course I have and always have had NOTHING. So I don’t know the stresses of life for people who have it all do I….? So if I get upset about not seeing my friend, or not feeling like she cares, I know that the inner response at least, will be ‘You have no idea what it’s like trying to juggle all the things of an adult life – you live at home, don’t have a partner / children, a job etc.’… exactly. I don’t have any of that. And if you knew what it was like to not have any of that, and to lose all your friends as they move on with all of that, you’d never think something like that again. I actually feel like crying now, I’m that upset by it.

I don’t have the life I wish I did. It hasn’t turned out how I thought it might. It’s paralysing. It’s frustrating. It’s deeply upsetting. I know that people are busy. I know my friend is busy. I know she has a lot to think about.  But this year I feel like a burden. I feel she’s reached the point where something had to go… and it was me. Her boring old, whiny, depressed drag of a friend. And if she hadn’t already concluded that herself, then me expressing my feelings about it will have done it for her. That’s what I mean – it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, but one I couldn’t avoid. My BPD and fear of abandonment saw to that. 

I honestly believe she should dump me as a friend, and find her happiness again without me. I’ve been such a drag the last few years. She won’t know who I am now. I’m different. All the years she’s known me she’s never seen me as bad as I am now. I’ve had low points, and she’s stuck by me through all of them. But this is something else. This is the lowest point ever… mixed with grief, trauma, isolation, and all the worst parts of BPD coming out in me. That’s something I’ve not had before. The symptoms ripping through my life like they have been and still are. I have had the symptoms before, but never to this extreme. It’s not in my control. And I hate who I am. I would be hurt, but I wouldn’t blame her if she gave up on me. She should. I’m not a good friend to her anymore. In fact right now I’m doubting if I ever was a good friend to her.

I’ve become selfish. I’ve closed down from everyone – I find it hard to talk one-on-one with people anymore… I wouldn’t know how to talk with her. I’m struggling so much with not wanting to live, that it’s hard to think of the feelings of others. People might think me pulling away from them is because I don’t care about them. This isn’t true. I just don’t think they care about me, and it’s protecting me from that. But when they don’t try to pull me back, that tells me I was right, and I never mattered to them. Self-fulfilling prophecy. It’s one of the hardest aspects of this mental illness. The fear of abandonment makes you pull away, and you end up abandoned anyway. And logic would say just to not pull away, but that’s rational logic, in a sound mind. And that’s where we end up feeling so misunderstood. Because people think of us in terms of ordinary thinking / behaving people. So they don’t understand why we say and do the things we do. 

It’s exhausting having this illness, trying to stay alive and trying to battle crippling paranoid thoughts… this is the first time in my life I’ve experienced paranoia to this degree, and it’s hard to challenge anything as I feel so detached from reality. And the trouble is that people’s responses matter. If they’re upset by my paranoid thoughts, and respond to me in a short, sharp, defensive way, it won’t help ease the paranoia… it feeds it. That’s been my experience this year. It makes me detach from reality even more. It makes me think they’re mad with me… they’re getting fed up with me… I’m ‘too much’ again… they’ll leave me for sure now… So it’s become this thing lately that it’s better to keep to myself, because anything anyone says is highly likely to make it worse. Even if they’re trying to be helpful I’m hyper-sensitive at the moment, and see everything as a threat… an attack… a veiled abandonment.

It’s like in my mind at the moment, people can’t do anything right. My friend will have a very hard time reaching me now. I will analyse every word said, and every word NOT said. I will say I want to know she cares, and then not believe her when she says she does. I will hear reasons as excuses, because of past experiences with people she knows about. I will not trust in the long-term, as things have improved at times and then reverted back to this, and I’m sick of that rollercoaster. But mainly I just don’t know what to say to her anymore. And it’s not fair on her. It’s not fair that she would have to walk on eggshells. That I don’t trust her or believe in our friendship anymore. It’s not right for her to feel neglected by me. Or criticised by me because of my paranoia. It’s not fair on her to make bits of effort, like I’ve wished for, for so long, and to have those bits of effort rejected, because I can’t communicate anymore… because too much is going on inside me to be able to form words and converse with her. I know how unfair it all is on her. That’s why I know she’ll be better off without me. I don’t want to be the cause of unhappiness for her. I’d rather she was happy with her new friends, and her family and didn’t have to worry about me anymore. Yes it would break my heart, but I live with a permanent broken heart anyway, because I feel like a burden and I feel neglected. No point someone else being dragged down with me. 

Inside I feel flooded with devastating emotions and so much pain and distress… but outwardly it’s like I’ve turned to stone, and silence is my preferred response.  It’s not about ignoring people. It’s just not having the words. I’ve written blogs, I’ve made videos… I’ve said all the words I possibly could. All were ignored. I’ve lived my life quietly this year, without anyone to confide in. It’s hard to open up again. I don’t feel I want to. I don’t feel I can. I’ve accepted my fate, and that I’m alone and have to do things alone. I don’t know how you can ever let people back in once you’ve reached that point.

I have just reached the point where I have to live each day suffering. I have to take it a minute at a time, and those minutes are filled with paranoia, self-hatred, screaming emotions and suicidal thoughts. But I have to just tolerate every minute, and not beat myself up for feeling how I do. I have to accept that my thoughts may just be paranoia… that in this moment I cannot safely challenge those thoughts… I just have to hold on to the belief that one day my mental health might improve, and I’ll see the truth more clearly, but that right now this is me, and what I think and feel is my reality, even if others think it’s distorted. I have to just bear the pain and the sick feeling I get when thinking about everything, and just breathe. For so long now I’ve been screaming inside to ‘fix things’… to get rid of the horrible feelings, as I feel they’re going to lead to my suicide. But now I have to stop looking at the bigger picture of life, of friendships, of my mental illness, and take it a moment at a time and just survive the little moments. Hopefully recovery will happen in its own time. Hopefully resolution of friendships will occur on their own, either by people going above and beyond, or by walking away. I have to ignore the cries inside about losing people, and focus on not losing myself to this world. I really want to at the moment. Nobody in this world knows how much I want to not exist right now. Everything is too much. And paranoia is scary when you’ve never really experienced it before. I have to wait a month to see my doctor. It’s going to be a long month. I wonder if I’ll hear from CMHT by then or whether they’ve rejected me already. Life is so difficult right now. I’m trapped within myself, and that inner experience is hell. 


*Self-harm / suicide*



I gazed out the window on the bus today, and I’ve honestly never felt so disconnected from life before. I didn’t feel part of the world. I felt like an observer. And at times I wasn’t even doing that.


The feeling of detachment, and disconnection is something I find particularly troubling about mental illness… maybe because it’s new to me. But also because it’s the one thing that puts me more at risk of doing something others would deem to be ‘stupid’ or ‘selfish’. I know that when I feel this distant from everything and everyone around me, that I am the closest I’ve ever come to doing something permanent. I once did a scale of warning signs that things are bad…. colour-coded like a traffic light – and this would certainly be a red warning, that things are about as bad as they can get.


My trouble is that I no longer feel anybody could reach me. I feel beyond help. Sad truth is that nobody’s even trying to reach me though. Nobody even notices how close to the edge I am. If they do they minimise it, dismiss it and invalidate me, making me feel worse – more isolated, misunderstood and troubled. I then close down further. It’s been like this for a while.


Looking out that bus window earlier was a saddening feeling. It was like I no longer recognise the world around me. I travel around, feeling as if it’s the last time I’ll see everything. I hear people chatting nearby, and it’s heart-breaking that people can be so busy living their lives, and not realise how broken someone next to them is feeling… how close to the end.


I feel no emotional connection to anything anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I feel emotions –  I have buckets full of them inside. But it’s my relation to the outside world… it’s like a part of me has died. You know how you can be talking to someone, and you see in their eyes that they’ve drifted off somewhere in their mind…. they’re not fully present. They’re pre-occupied. It’s like that… only it’s all the time. It’s not so much that I AM pre-occupied… I just feel distant.


I’ve always wondered what dissociation was. I know there’s depersonalisation and derealisation, and I’ve had that feeling before, where things don’t feel real. It doesn’t feel like I’m real. I had that on my therapy course actually – I heard people talking, saw them, and felt vacant, and like it wasn’t real – like it was a dream or made up in my mind. I don’t know if this is related to dissociation or not. I don’t know much about that aspect of BPD really. But it’s something that’s happened a lot more recently. Even when I’ve self-harmed sometimes, my arm doesn’t look like my arm – I feel no connection to it as my arm – this has freaked me out once or twice. But sometimes I’ve actually wanted to detach from it, so I’d repeat “It’s not my arm. It’s not my arm. It’s not my arm”, until I convince myself it’s not my arm. I know that sounds odd, but it’s relatively new to me, and I’ve never spoken about it before.


But life appears to me like it’s seen through foggy glass, or like it’s on a TV screen…. I feel like life is one big chemical reaction in a test tube belonging to something bigger, and I’m a rogue particle being sifted out… separated from the rest. Or like life is a doll’s house, being played with by a bigger child, and I’m the old, broken doll that’s been forgotten and left in the corner. I feel like maybe life is a dream, and when I sleep I enter the real world. I’m often happier when I’m asleep. Life feels like a nightmare. What if this is a test, to see how long it takes me to realise what reality actually is, and that I’m not living in it? What if when we die we actually start living? What if this is hell, or purgatory? I know these ideas sound a bit loopy, but it’s where my mind goes when life is this rubbish. I almost think of different scenarios for existence, simply because I feel there has to be more to life than this…. I’m not living. I don’t feel I exist here anymore.


I feel like a part of my spirit is gone from this world. This only happened in the last six months or so. I feel really sad that I couldn’t be helped before getting to this point. I’ve lost faith in my ability to recover now, and to reintegrate back into the world of ‘the living’. I saw the darkness growing around me, until now I’ve been swallowed by it. I’ve seriously never felt this way before. I don’t know how to live in this world anymore.

When They Ask… Tell Them…

*Note: This is not a suicide note… just me expressing the hurt I feel*



When they look back one day, wondering where it all went wrong…. what more they could have done to help me… why I didn’t ask for help…. tell them this…..


The signs were there. They were always there. They just didn’t want to see them. They just didn’t know what to do with them. They didn’t want me dragging them down with me.


I asked for help too many times to count, ranging from hints to blazing great statements. The most I got was a ‘like’. This says ‘I hear you’. It does nothing to help. It seems the more you ask for help, the less likely people are to give it, as they think you’re attention-seeking. But I only asked so much because it was never given.


Eventually I stopped reaching out. This did not mean I didn’t need help. It meant I realised my friends would never be there for me. They would always ignore my pleas. It hurt less to stay quiet.


They could have saved me six months ago. I made a video. I blogged. I tried to tell them I was starting down a path I knew would kill me. They ignored me then, they ignore me now. Now I’m so far gone I’m not who I was six months ago. There’s not enough of me left that’s worth saving. This is their fault. They could have stopped it going this far. They didn’t. Now there’s no way back.


At the time my granddad got sick, I was split from my friends, because of Hannah and others. At the time he passed I was still not connected with people properly. When I did my charity run in memory of him, hardly anyone supported me. On anniversary dates nobody was there for me. When I was away somewhere totally alone, and an important date happened, I reached out, and was ignored.  Nobody is ever there for me when I really need them. They don’t care about me and they don’t respect me. This is what killed me.


The isolation I feel because of grief, and because of my illness, is something they could have done something about. They should have been there. They’d better not come to my funeral and cry, or act shocked and upset and talk about how much I meant to them. I doubt they would anyway, as clearly none of them feel that way about me. But if they can’t show it in life, don’t you dare pretend to care in death.


Where it went wrong…? Try 2012. Try Gill and Sam. Try Hannah. Try Joe. They destroyed the person I once was. Other contributors: bullies at school; all those who shut down my voice because of my different political views; all those who publicly humiliated me; therapy gone wrong & the handling of Matt; losing Grampa & not having support from friends, plus family falling apart because they hurt my family; all the times people ignored me and excluded me; the world forgot me.


What more could they have done…? They could have listened. They could have responded to me… acknowledged me…. cared about me. They could have treated me like they did everyone else. They could have shown me not only was I visible, but I actually mattered. They could have said sorry when they hurt me. They could have changed so as not to hurt me again. They could have put in more effort. They could have spent more time with me. They could have told me they loved me…. that they missed me…. that they appreciated me. They could have included me more. They could have told the world, or even just me, that they were lucky to have me as a friend. They could have fought harder for me when I pushed them away. They could have learnt about my illness and how to make things better between us. They could have noticed me.


Tell them:

I only ever wanted to belong somewhere. I only wanted to love and be loved. I only wanted to feel accepted. I wanted a friend. I wanted a life. I wanted what you all had. Or at least a chance for it.


Tell him:

I never saw you as ‘the awkward loser’ or a consolation prize. I just hadn’t had any experiences with men. I was too new to it all. I liked you. I felt a special connection with you. I wish you had told me you felt the same, instead of settling for her. Who knows where I’d be right now. Perhaps I’d have a life worth living. I’ll always resent the way you ended things between us. You hurt me.


Tell her:

You ruined my life. You took everything from me. I hate you with every fibre of my being. You don’t deserve what you got. I could have achieved so much, but you destroyed it all. For a friend you showed very little care for my wellbeing. You got all you wanted, at my expense. I’ve never recovered from your betrayal. You killed me.


Tell him:

You destroyed my faith in men. You broke my spirit. You never deserved my love.


Tell him:

I loved you. Though it made no sense. I never felt so strongly for someone as I did for you. I only wished to have the blessing of you in my life, in any capacity. My soul recognised a kind soul… a beautiful soul. It could never recover from losing you. The pain of loss will be with me beyond the grave. I miss you.


Tell her:

One day we were friends. Through thick and thin. She came back into our lives and you took her side. Things were never the same after that. I always doubted my place in your life.  I knew that your circumstances would make us drift apart. I wasn’t wrong. You have no time for me now. All that time I was ignored, nobody was there, you were only there once I disappeared. You asked if everything was okay, I told you it wasn’t – that I felt invisible and like nobody cared… that I should keep to myself – silence was your answer to that. I’m sorry that the loss of you upsets me. I have nothing now.


Tell them: 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasted so much of your time, and zapped you of your joy. I’m sorry I was a burden. I’m sorry I was so demanding, and needed your friendship, for lack of anything else good in my life. I’m sorry I didn’t have the luck and success you had. I’m sorry I couldn’t be someone you wanted to have as a friend. I’m sorry my life was over before it began.


Why didn’t I ask for help…? I did ask for help. I prayed for help. I screamed for help to the bitter end. I didn’t give up without a hell of a fight. I deteriorated over an extended amount of time, but more rapidly in the last six months. Gone is the woman with a kind heart, a friendly smile, and anything to add to the world. I was reduced to a girl barely holding on… defeated, scarred, screaming bloody murder and suicide from the loneliest pit of despair. The care for others has gone. Everything’s gone. No joy, no hope. No more pretending. So distant from everyone, they’re practically strangers now. Not one of them helped when they had the chance. They let me die. I called out to them. I asked them to stop the hijacker taking me. They didn’t. They thought I was talking bullshit. But one day they’ll know. They’ll know I needed their help and they let me down. They could have saved me, but they chose to let me die.

Can’t Escape My Mind.

I’m in a bad place mentally. Even now, when I should be feeling good, I’m not. I’m ‘on holiday’, not an actual holiday, but having a break from my ordinary life. I should be having fun, forgetting real life. I usually do when I have these breaks. But for some reason this time I just can’t  switch my mind off. I can’t block out reality. I can’t lift my spirit.


Yes I’m here, away from the world, but soon I’ll be back to normality and be expected to carry on like usual. I don’t want to do it. I can’t. I want out of this life. Nothing is right. Everything’s too hard. And I’m expected to leap when I can barely even crawl right now.
And I’ve just found out I’ve got something very difficult to deal with when I’m back, and they’re going to ask me to leap. Everything’s going to change for the worse. I already can’t cope with how I’m feeling about life. It’s not about to get any better.


Things just feel so dark at the moment. I feel so detached, from everything and everyone. My heart hurts for all the loss. My mind is filled with thoughts about harming myself, but I didn’t bring anything with me to do so. I was meant to be feeling better for these couple of weeks. I was meant to forget ‘real life’ and relax. It isn’t working. If anything I’m feeling more stressed and anxious, and totally alone with it.


I can’t win. If I keep busy I get overwhelmed and can’t cope. If I stop and relax, I think and can’t cope. Sometimes it feels death is my only answer. I can’t cope with life whichever way I live it. At least in death there’d be no struggle. Don’t worry, I’m not about to do something – I’m just expressing how trapped in life I feel right now. That there’s no way it can get better.


I’m so terrified of this appointment I have to deal with when I get back. I’m terrified of everything. I’m even terrified about my appointment with the doctor next week. Going to appointments is a real struggle for me again, like it used to be. I’m also going to ask to be referred to the CMHT. This is scary, because I don’t know what happens from there… I’ll lose control. I don’t know the process. They might turn me down. What if they can’t help me? What if nobody can help me? What if I have just reached the end of the line?


Finding out about this appointment/interview – which happens to be a phone one… not so great for someone with social anxiety centred around using the phone – it’s really messed me up…. the timing of it. Just when I’m trying to forget about the stresses of life and find enjoyment again…. and then this. One of the things that actually dragged me backwards last time I encountered them. I can’t afford to go any further backwards. I’ve been trying my best to pull myself forwards. I just really want to pack it all in right now. Give up. I feel life is trying to break me. This time I think I might let it.

The Lonely Night.

I feel painfully alone tonight. It’s a combination of things – politics is really getting me down at the moment. This Brexit deal – it’s divided people even more… even people I was united with in my views, this latest twist has made me feel completely out on my own with my views… in terms of ‘friends’ anyway. I feel so lost and confused about it all. I’m not happy with how it’s going, and I hear from some people it’s a disaster, a betrayal and then from others that it’s good. The trouble is my trust in the party I’ve supported all my life, is shaken. It’s hard to believe anything they say anymore. I’m really upset by the rhetoric in the media and in Parliament. They talk about it all as though we’re not PEOPLE who voted to leave… as though we’re mindless drones who were led up the garden path by Russian-backed propaganda. I’m sorry but that is fucking offensive. They say the division on this plan means we should have another referendum. They say the apparent ‘cheating’ by the Leave campaign means we should have another referendum. They say the stalemate in Parliament means we should have another referendum. NO!! Just stop disrespecting me. I’m sick of it. I’m so sick of it I’m actually crying as I write this. Stop ignoring my voice. I’ve been ignored all my fucking life. I’ve never got anything I wanted. And for once in my whole fucking life something went my way – we won the referendum, and now the people who always have it all, want to fucking rip it away from me. Well fuck you all.


This is what I mean – before the referendum we were bullied. It still happens now. People think we should just be ignored. It makes me feel violent rage and it scares me. I’m so fuming that this country is trying to ram it down my throat every single day that I am WORTHLESS. That my voice, my vote means nothing. That I’m wrong… a bad person… a xenophobic, stupid, uneducated, gullible, racist bigot. That I didn’t know what I was voting for. That I was brainwashed. That I was influenced by the Russians. That I believed the ‘lie’ on the side of a bus. That I’m a ‘self-harmer’ (well duh, but don’t bring mental health into politics). That I’m taking everyone with me off the edge of a cliff. Sorry, I’ll just throw myself off it, alone. An actual cliff though, not a mythical one.


Politics is mirroring my life. Bullying. Disrespect. Being ignored. People projecting onto me. The feeling of isolation and invisibility is sickening. I have a few people on Twitter who I can talk to about these things because they feel exactly as I do. But most of my friends don’t feel as I do about things. In fact they probably secretly despise me for being one of those ‘xenophobic, stupid Brexiters’. I feel like I’m the only one fighting the good fight, with everyone against me, thinking they’re fighting the good fight. It’s lonely being on this side… on the side of the silent majority… it makes you feel like you’re alone when you hear people on the other side make such noise between them, at your expense – trying to alienate you from the rest of the ‘decent, tolerant ones’. It’s emotional abuse. Trying to keep a barrier up to such abuse and not let it get to me, it’s so draining. I don’t think people realise that us voters have emotions and mental illnesses in some cases… they claim to be the kind ones, but when they’re pushing people towards suicide I don’t think they can rightly claim that kindness.


I’ve gone into one of my episodes of feeling disconnected from everyone. I obsess about people not interacting with me online. I’ll see so many things I share go unnoticed… which is no big deal – I don’t expect people to respond to everything. But I start thinking nobody’s acknowledged me for such a long time… then I’ll scroll through and see the last time someone ‘liked’ something was two or three days ago, and I feel stupid for thinking it was longer, and feel like such an attention-seeker. But then I’ll check to see how long it’s been since someone even commented on something I posted – 10 days… and I’ll start thinking that my friends aren’t bothered about talking to me. Is it something I’ve said or done? Then I’ll check my messages – there aren’t any. There’s one, that I haven’t replied to yet, and until I do, my inbox will be empty for all eternity.


Then I feel I’m alone with my mental illness. The most isolating, misunderstood, painful illness.


Then the physical loneliness of actually being away from people at the moment.


And then the thoughts of my granddad come in.


I tried a few things to stop myself from resorting to the usual… I immediately picked up my knitting and went and sat with the gerbils. I had a shower. I made myself an ice cream in a cone and started watching a film… couldn’t focus on it, so started writing this… was getting upset so messaged someone…. but I feel so ill now I just want to finish writing this and go to sleep.


The fact I’m alone is glaringly obvious tonight. The silence is gut-wrenching. The scream in my chest is overpowering. The hopelessness is drowning me. But all I can do is pray for a better day tomorrow.




I find myself in an uncomfortable emotional state. I don’t know why I feel the way I do. And I feel ashamed about feeling the way I do. I feel empty. And as a result of that I’m experiencing urges that make no sense to me.


I feel the urge to hurt myself. I want to self-sabotage and either alienate myself from friends, or to throw myself to the wolves online and let them bully me. I’m contemplating throwing myself at people who are unavailable. I don’t understand why I feel any of these urges. It’s like I want to feel something. I want a reason to self-destruct. I want to harm myself and fall apart entirely. I want a break from existing in this world. It feels wrong to say this, but it’s almost as if I’m feeling the need to cause myself drama, so that I can hurt myself for a legitimate reason…. that feels so wrong, manipulative and attention-seeking. It’s not like me at all. Any drama that’s caused me to harm myself before has always been incidental…. it’s always taken me by surprise. I never set out to cause drama. Just having this urge to do so makes me feel so ashamed.


I feel my existence is pointless at the moment. I’m trying to get along a bit more now. I talk to people more, see people, do my volunteering. I’m enjoying the football, and I’ve taken up knitting. To an outsider I’d seem to be doing better. But honestly, in my heart, I’m not okay.


I’m scared of myself. I feel so detached from the world… still. No matter how many interactions I may have with people, it’s like it’s all happening through layers and layers of bubble wrap. It’s so distant and muffled. And whenever I’m left to my thoughts my heart lurches at the reality of having to continue existing in this world. I don’t want to. No matter how hard I try and how many things are thrown at me as inspiration to live life… I just don’t want to.


This world is different now. So much has changed in two years. Forgetting the fact that two years ago politically things were different, and in that time the most disgusting sides of humanity have been shown, that I don’t feel accepted anymore. My granddad isn’t here anymore.  Two years ago he was. He was here… he was frail. He had his troubles, but he was still here. We’re approaching the time when he went into hospital, and our lives changed forever. Although I’m carrying on with life, as you do, the world feels different now. It’s not just about missing him… it’s the realisation that life has changed. You don’t just lose the person, you lose the reality you knew. You lose who you were. You lose a lot more than your loved one.


I’d been fortunate to be untouched by death until last year. I was able to live in a little bubble where the people I love would live forever. I never imagined my life without them. Life is a darker, more grown up place now. Now I see life differently. I see it as all of us waiting in line to die. It’s just a queue. And I think about the others I have to lose, and what order they’re likely to be in. I think of how little time I might have left with other people. I think about cutting in line… jumping the queue, to save having to go through grief again.


Life isn’t safe anymore. At any moment I could lose someone I love. That never entered my mind before. It  feels like I’m waiting for the next loss. I have nothing to give my life purpose while I wait. So it really is like sitting in a waiting room, waiting to hear who’s next. Before my granddad went I didn’t really appreciate what this kind of loss did to people. Not really. It changes your whole outlook on life. You don’t feel safe anymore.


The thing is I don’t think anyone can help me with it. No amount of talking will change reality. The reality is that he is gone. I can’t talk to him anymore. I can’t see him. I can’t hear him. I can’t hold his hand. I still remember how it felt to hold his hand in hospital, and how he moved my hand to his other hand so that he could move his oxygen mask… even though he was barely conscious. He didn’t want me to feel he was rejecting me. He wanted me to know I could still hold his hand. I can still feel his hand in mine. I can still feel when I stroked his head, eight months later, as I said my last goodbye to him. I can  still hear his voice. I can see his face. I can see him crinkling his nose up with laughter. Everything is so vivid in my mind. I just wish he was here, so I could talk to him… to know he’s okay.


I reached out for psychological help before he died. I wanted it in place to help me when it happened. By the time I saw someone he had been gone for four or five months. I then started my group therapy, breaking down in the first session because of my grief. And then everything went insanely wrong from then on, with the transference and self-harm. What I needed as help to make all this feel better, ended up making me worse. And as hard as they tried to fix it afterwards, I’m sorry to say it’s not at all fixed. Now I’m on my own trying to deal with so much loss and change. So much pain. The deepest depression. And trying to see a reason to live.


But the darkness got into my veins. It’s in my blood now. No matter what happens I can’t see the light. Matt was a ray of light. It always seems darker once a brief glimpse of light is taken away from you. Having seen him recently it’s darkened my world again to know I never will again. Everything feels so desperate and bleak, and as little sense as it makes, I want to run to him. I can’t though.


I just have to hold on to this uncomfortable feeling, and ride it out. I have to surf all these different urges. I have to comfort myself. I have to ‘just hang on’ and hope the feeling passes. I have to put on a front and pretend to be better than I am. I have to be there for other people. I have to ignore the constant paranoia.


I’m sorry, it’s still there, no matter what. What I described as the ‘hijacker’ in me. The bastard who drove me away from all my friends before. He’s still here. I’m trying my best to block him out, but it takes such a lot to ignore him. He keeps telling me to run away from everyone. He tells me I shared too much of my illness with people, showed too many flaws and unattractive / unacceptable behaviours to them, that they’ll never see me the same again… that I scared them all off. And that if they haven’t given up on me, they will. I have to keep fighting the thoughts in my head. I have to sit with the fears that people hate me or don’t care. I have to just sit with them and not act on them, which I’m managing to do a little more now compared to a few weeks ago. But it’s so exhausting and it’s the constant fight in my head that makes me want to give up on life.


People would look at me, hear me and think I’m alright. They can’t see what’s going on inside my head. A lot of the time I try and ignore the fighting in my head. It’s not always possible. It hits me the worst at night. It’s setting in now actually.


I’m really struggling with the monotony of life. It feels like life is about surviving from one day to the next. Wake up, exist, do any duties you have to do including volunteering, go home, sleep, wake up and repeat. Even fun things have become like duties. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy them while I’m participating. But I almost live for the quiet time and solitude. I live for sleep. There can’t be much that’s more depressing than that statement… ‘I live for sleep’. That’s no life. I need the time alone, shut in the dark, hiding away… I couldn’t keep functioning without it. Yet at the same time it allows me to think and go to very dark places.


I don’t know what’s going to get me out of this pit. I don’t even know if it’s a pit I can get out of, or if I’ll get out of it but still have the darkness coursing through my veins. How do you extract darkness from your blood? How do you clear the dark fog from your vision of life? I think I’ll make an appointment tomorrow to see my doctor. It might be time to ask to be referred for more help. As much as I’m scared of changing meds I’d try anything to feel better right now. And I don’t think it’s something I can do on my own anymore. I crossed that point months ago. It’s become so dark that I feel incapable of pulling myself out of this. I need someone to hand me some light, and if it takes pills to start me off with that, then so be it. I know it’ll be another month before I can see my doctor, so better get on and make the appointment. My fear is that I won’t get the support I need… that they’ll turn me down.  I suppose I’ll never know if I don’t ask.


It doesn’t look it from the outside, but I can tell you, from the inside it’s getting to quite a serious point.  I’m starting to feel afraid of my own mind. I just don’t tell anyone as I feel they can’t do anything to help me with it.


I will try to not do the things I said I have urges to do. I’m trying so hard at the moment. I don’t want anyone to think this is easy for me. It’s not. I really want to self-destruct… feels like 85% of me wants to allow myself to be destroyed, either by myself or by others, and 15% is holding me back from that edge. It’s a very strong part of me but very small. At least I have that part still. It’s getting smaller by the day.


There is nothing to look forward to. When I look forward into the future, and even think of things I’ve booked to go and see or whatever, I don’t feel excited. I think ‘Will I make it that far?’… I feel doom. I feel fear. Hopelessness. I see darkness. I feel that I see as much darkness with my eyes open as when I close them right now. I don’t see the difference between being asleep and being awake…. except often life is better in my dreams. Apart from the ones where I’m desperately trying to harm myself and can’t – they’re not good dreams. But at the moment sleep has more to offer me than life does. I don’t remember ever feeling this way before.


I want to go back to a time when my granddad was here, I was innocent, life was safe, I didn’t know Matt existed, and I felt some level of control of my life. Everything is wrong now. I’ve had so much taken from me…. spiritually… caused by physical losses. So many parts of me stolen… broken… I barely resemble who I used to be. There’s a lot of people I wish I never met. Many things I wish I hadn’t done. But what’s done is done. What’s lost is lost, and I have to somehow survive and pick up the pieces. I’m always reminded in my life now, of a quote from Lord of the Rings…..


“How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand… there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep, that have taken hold.”


This is how I feel often. And I wish I could do what Frodo does next, which is to sail off in a ship, leaving Middle Earth behind… going off to a better place.


I can’t think of anything that hurts more than life.



Expectations, BPD & The Hijacker.



Do I expect too much? Am I too demanding? It’s a serious question. Everywhere I turn I’m met with people saying not to expect too much from others… that they all have their own lives and issues to contend with…. and that people aren’t always going to react how I want them to. Does this mean I should stop asking them to? Do I need to stop reaching out for help? Do I need to stop expecting people to care?


Because if the answer is yes, then that is asking me to return to ‘doormat’ status. It’s telling me that I’m unimportant. If you’re telling me that other people don’t expect care and concern from others, then I don’t believe you. Or perhaps they don’t expect it…. but they get it nonetheless.


Whenever I hear these sentiments I end up feeling like I’m ‘attention-seeking’ or that they think I am. And one of the things I hate about that is that even if I was after ‘attention’ does that mean I don’t deserve it? People seem to have this aversion to what they deem to be ‘attention-seeking’. They think those asking for attention (i.e. care) should be punished by denying them what they need. They should be taught not to ask for attention, or to ask for it in a more ‘acceptable’ way. Please tell me what the right way to say ‘I need help’ is…..? How do ‘normal’ people get the support and care they need, that I’m clearly not doing right? I want to know. Because others seem to get support and care, yet I’ve lived my life almost having to beg for it at times – my worst times. And still my pleas are ignored.


At which point people would say that people have their own lives and concerns – as though I’m thick, self-centred or totally unaware of other people. I’m not being self-centred by asking for help, and if you think I am then off you trot, as you are detrimental to my mental health. You have no clue how many times I DON’T reach out for help. How much I tolerate on my own. So when I reach the point where I verbalise things on Twitter or Facebook, that’s after I’ve exhausted all other possibilities. Sure I write my feelings out on my blog, but I don’t expect everyone to read it and to react. That’s not what it’s for. Of course if it will help them understand my state of mind, then great. But it’s an outlet. When I am honest on social media that I’m struggling, it’s saying I need help. I’m sorry if I do that too often. I’ll try not to do it at all.


But I see other people reaching out for support, and being granted that support wholeheartedly … yet when I need support it’s given either reluctantly or with the caveat that I shouldn’t expect too much from others, or I can’t always have what I want. What is that about? Do people think I’m thick? Clearly they do. I’ll tell you – my ‘expectations’ of others, comes from what I witness. I’m not thinking I deserve special treatment..… I’m thinking I deserve the same treatment that they give to others!! Is it because I’ve been too open and honest about BPD? Do people think they ‘know me’ now because of that? Do they think it makes me an attention-seeker who should be ignored? Do they think it makes me ‘manipulative’? Does it make them see me differently? Or perhaps it’s just a continuation of my lot in life….. I’m always below everyone else.


All throughout my adult life in particular I’ve been littered with comments that made me feel as though I’m too demanding. Generally speaking though I’m pretty laid-back. I’m less demanding than a lot of women out there. However, when I’m in a dark place, I’m upset or someone hurts me, I am a little more what you like to call ‘demanding’. I expect more. I expect more effort.


The point is that whenever I’ve had to practically BEG for this ‘attention’ – love, care, respect etc., I’m not actually asking for miracles. I’m not asking for the world. I’m asking for the basic respect, love and care that every human being needs, and seems to get. What is it about me that makes people think I don’t deserve what everyone else gets? It makes me feel like less of a person. It feeds the part of me that just feels like a nuisance to others, who should do them all a favour and die. I’m tired of fighting to be acknowledged. I’m sick of battling to matter, to anyone. I’m fed up with having to ask for what I need, when it’s given willingly to other people. It gives me this feeling of ‘I’m terribly sorry to bother you with my crippling pain and sadness, but could you just give me one little sign that I matter to you please? I know that’s asking too much, to take time out of your day to say “I hope you’re okay”…. I won’t bother you again for another six months after that…. thanks for taking the time out of your life to acknowledge I exist. You’re the best’. That’s how it feels being me. It’s like that thing of ‘Children should be seen and not heard’…. except that I should be neither seen nor heard.


Most of the time I just stay out of everyone’s way. I let them have it their way. I let them forget I exist. I bottle my feelings up and cope with them on my own, in my own way. But every now and then I start to resent that I’m made to live this way. I start to get annoyed that they’re happier when I don’t exist. I get pissed off that they make me feel so worthless for asking for help… and it explodes in a blog, or in a tweet, a post, whatever….. I then get kicked down for speaking out about my resentment. I get reminded I’m asking too much of people. And the cycle continues… I go back into hiding… don’t bother people. Don’t reach out for help….. give the people what they want….. ‘Oh, it’s getting too much for me again…. why is nobody even concerned if I live or die?’ BOOM. And shot down again.


The last time this happened I said to myself that from now on I will say what I want, and to hell with what anyone thinks of it. But I don’t really work like that. So I’m going to go back into my shell, and try not to explode again. I just have to learn that I’m irrelevant. I’m unimportant. I’m nothing. And anytime my ‘ego’ tries to speak up for itself and tell me that actually I DO matter, and it’s wrong of people to make me feel like I don’t, I need to put it in its place. I have to keep reminding myself I’m only here to be used and abused. I’m here to be taken for granted and taken advantage of. I’m here for no other reason than to wait to not be here anymore. I’m even breaking the rules by writing this blog. It’s ‘attention-seeking’. So please show me no attention for it. I don’t deserve it.


I just feel sad, as life has changed so much. Ever since my granddad passed away, and I had the issues at therapy, I’ve gone downhill. I’ve never been this unwell. I don’t know how to pull myself out of it. I know I have to do it alone. I remember a time I had depression and had to pull myself out of it. I know how it works with depression. But I’ve never truly experienced the full force of BPD symptoms like this. And people are less understanding and forgiving of such symptoms. They understand depression. They don’t understand the behaviours caused by BPD. They think I’m choosing them. They think I’m being a bitch. They don’t understand the raging fire inside… the battleground…. the carnage I see when I close my eyes. They don’t understand how sick of the rollercoaster I am.  How sick I am of feeling ‘okay’ more or less, to then being paranoid, thinking everyone hates me, I can’t trust anyone, I have no friends… within days – hours even. And how long it takes to recover each time my mind takes me to that place. I’m sick of it meaning I need people to make more effort to prove I’m not as worthless as I’m led to believe. Because that makes me ‘too demanding’, which reminds me of how utterly worthless I am. And I then hate myself for daring to think I matter at all. I seriously hate myself.


I am so sick of splitting on friends, that I purposefully distance myself from them, because they don’t deserve that. It’s better I’m lonely than splitting on them every other week. It’s not something I choose to do. But I can choose to isolate myself, to spare them my ‘mood swings’. It’s better that I AM alone, than to tell them I FEEL alone, even with their presence.


It's like I've been hijacked by some bastard intent on killing me... but ruining my life first. And I'm trapped with him, because as much as I'd love to just take a pill, close my eyes a



I can’t help how I feel. It’s part of the illness I’m struggling with at the moment. I wish people would understand that. It’s a terrifying place to be. I don’t feel in control of my own mind anymore. Sometimes I even lose control of my body during my ‘episodes’. It’s like I’ve been hijacked by some bastard intent on killing me… but ruining my life first. And I’m trapped with him, because as much as I’d love to just take a pill, close my eyes and leave this world and all this torture, I can’t. That bastard shares a space with my conscience, and the two don’t get along very well. Every time he tells me to end it, my conscience fights back… but eventually everyone gets worn down. Its resolve won’t be infinite. I feel as though that hijacking bastard is going to win. He’s already taken over so much of me. He’s driven me down a path I can’t return from on my own.


Months ago I witnessed it happening. In those days I was making videos and blogs asking for help, it was because he had taken the wheel, taken me hostage and was driving me away from my friends. I needed them to get my SOS and pull him out of the driver’s seat. I knew he’d lead me somewhere bad. And he did. My SOS back then was ignored. Now, months later, I’m out of the vehicle – he’s still with me, with a gun to my head, but I’m at a crossroads, assessing which way I could run to get away from him. It’s a barren desert… nothing in any direction. I’m lost. I’ve nowhere safe to hide. I don’t know how to get back to where I was when that bastard got hold of me…. which direction do I go in? And there’s nobody in sight who can show me the way…  we drove away from them three months ago… we’re miles away now. I feel stranded and isolated. And I’m trapped with this madman as my only company. So even when people talk to me now, it feels as though it’s a distant whisper, or a phone call. So when anyone tries to help me, they’re speaking into the phone trying to direct me by saying ‘Come this way!’ … it means nothing when you can’t even see where they are. I need someone to drive and find me, take my hand and lead me back home. But if they didn’t care enough to stop the hijacker in the first place, they’re hardly going to go to that amount of effort to find me and bring me back.


I don’t feel like the same person anymore. It’s a terrifying, desperate, lonely place to be. To feel so utterly detached from everything… everyone. To see no light. To feel like you’re suspended in darkness. To not know who you are anymore. To not like who you are anymore. But to feel out of control. Powerless. I feel as though I’ve lost everything. I feel as though nobody likes me anymore. I feel closed off. I don’t know how to be me anymore… not with these people. When I close my eyes I see a world flattened, burning, bloodied bodies, a lonely rowing boat – as though I finally drifted back to the shore and everything’s changed… destroyed. This is how I see the world now. And the safe haven I wish I could run to, I can’t. It’s not mine to run to. I just have to stand alone in this empty, broken world, grieving for all that’s been lost.


I feel detached from kind sentiments. People can say lovely things to me, and they can’t be about me. It doesn’t match with who I’ve become. It’s like they’re paying tribute to some deceased woman they used to know. I’m not her anymore. I don’t know how to relate to people anymore. I’ve been lacking proper human connection for a long time. And there’s a lot of water under the bridge now. Even when I’m in touch with people, things can plod along for a short time, but when I’m left alone things change…. because I’m never really alone now. That damn hijacker’s there beside me feeding me doubts, paranoia, misery and trying to drive me further away. This is BPD to me. A hijacker. I’ve never thought of it as a separate entity, I’ve always just seen it as a part of me. I still think of it as me – I don’t see a person. I don’t hear a person. It’s something that resides in me. But I thought it might help explain it to others, if I described it as another being that’s taken me prisoner…..because that’s what it FEELS like to me. I’m a hostage to this part of me. Would anyone ever pay the ransom to get me back…?


I ask for too much from people by asking that they care… that they talk to me…. that they acknowledge my existence or my pain… that they respect me… that they speak up in order to save my life. I’m sorry. You try living with a hijacker in your mind day in day out. You’d call out for help too. My calls fell on deaf ears for such a long time. I’ve come so far and feel so lost that there’s no point in calling for help anymore. Nobody can save me now. I will burn and decay out in this desert, and one day when they find my bones they will ask, ‘Why didn’t she ask for help?’ as they all do when it’s too late. They miss the signs. They say the wrong things. They tell me to expect nothing, as if my life is dispensable. Only when I’m gone will they change and say I deserved more. Life’s funny like that… or rather death is…. it gives you a new perspective. I learned that recently.


It’s just me and the hijacker and our journey to God knows where now. I feel very guilty and sorry to those who try to help. To those who care. To those who are now trying. I don’t know if I can be saved… not with this bastard’s gun to my head. He doesn’t want me to go back. And I’ve been his prisoner for so long, that I don’t feel safe going it alone, without him. I’d rather his company than total isolation. We’ll travel through this desert together. Everything’s flat here…. it goes on for miles and miles…. of nothingness….. we journey on, with me just waiting for it to end. This is no life. Who could even ‘exist’ with this? It’s purgatory.


When I close my eyes I see a world flattened, burning, bloodied bodies, a lonely rowing boat - as though I finally drifted back to the shore and everything's changed... destroyed. This i