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#actually borderline

Hi B,

I am reaching out to send you some updates from this past week.


I am struggling an inordinate amount with various aspects of trauma this week: aloneness, toxic shame, and intrusive thoughts. I have been overwhelmed with this sense of isolation with the rape, as if I am existing in a world apart from others with it. Much like November is a triggering trauma month, so too are the months surrounding it, and lately life feels so reminiscent of the state of things in January 2009 in the aftermath of my rape when I was so utterly desperate for help and guidance yet so completely abandoned and alone. There is this searching restlessness so saliently present within myself now, hungering for the love and sanctuary I never received, and I lack the self compassion to provide it unto myself. In my head, my teenage self still lingers in a stunted state, in a place of dysregulation and disrepair with a trauma that was too significant to her psyche to cope with, overwhelmed and displaced in the universe.

And I still feel much as I did then in these quiet moments when I can assess my emotional climate; displaced and disjointed and looking for the voices of reassurances that came too late.

When I am not numbed out by the obsessive nature of work and all efforts to avoid the past and establish a semblance of personhood through functionality, it feels so endless and so bleak within myself. And so much of me wants to know that it is ok to be where I am in recovery from trauma; I often feel as if I am not doing enough to heal, enough to reach a place of peace with my rape. There is some self critical voice within me that tells me I must move beyond this, that I must grieve and heal and compartmentalize it all.

There is such a circular nature to PTSD, and I have this nagging and chronic sense of hopelessness that this might never end. These spirals of intrusive thoughts and images of the assault that play in my head like ever present films. I have tried so hard to drown them out and then to feel them, yet they never leave. And I am beginning to accept that maybe this is just life with PTSD, that things will never be just as they were before, that my rape is always going to affect me to some degree. It completely altered the course of my life, how do I overcome something like that? The grief of it all, the things that could have been, the subsequent losses.

It is such an exhausting battle, a never ending war within myself.

Sometimes it feels as if there is nothing left to say anymore, maybe the rape will just forever be that albatross hovering over me, always haunting yet never capable of being fully healed.

It’s been so painful lately, this grief and this constant physical exhaustion. I’m numbed by workaholism and the constraints of structure, yet I have moments where the pain bleeds through, when I remember my rapist and what he did to me and to my body and my singing voice and my lost dreams. Life has become a hamster wheel of avoidance for me, and this preoccupation with work feels no different than any other behavior aside from the fact that it is not so glaringly damaging.

But at the end of the day, the rape is always there. My rapist is always lingering, waiting in the shadows of my mind when I drive home; I carry him within me everywhere. And this toxic shame and disgust for this body that feels so permanently bonded to him through his crime against me. I think often of how he stains me, making me feel as if I am inferior and lesser than others. There is this wave of buried emotion about my rape that still longs to be loosened, to be freed, yet I bury it and call it unnecessary dwelling. I stifle the urges to cry about it that are cropping up even as I write this, the pain of the rape and the neglect from my family at the time, how much was lost to it, how it reshaped my personality and not for the better. My rapist has become this figure of change in my life, as if he took all the good out of it and now I cannot find a purpose or a meaning and what meaning does a meaning have when it is not the meaning that I was meant to have?

I want to cry about it. I want to cry about it and have someone sit with me while I cry about it. I want the person I needed when I was younger who never existed. I want the warmth and the compassion that I needed back then, yet it is nowhere to be found. I sit in the emptiness of my apartment now, still that scared teenager I was back then after the rape, looking for the ghosts of parental figures who were not there. A shoulder to cry on.

It all hurts so badly tonight in the absence of work, able to feel this abscess in my chest, this chronic wound and garish emptiness left by the rape. I don’t know who I am and who I want to become, lost in this purgatory of a pasture, drifting.

BPD Flare

I have noticed a sharp increase in my BPD symptoms lately.

It has been manifesting mostly in extreme feelings of rage and mood swings, the desire to have temper tantrums and lash out at others. There are situations at work that we have discussed that have been triggering it, situations of being taken advantage of that have been stirring up ties to my trauma. I have been having drastic mood swings and shifts in stability throughout the day, trying my best to use grounding skills and DBT to not act on my natural inclination and history of yelling at people in blackout BPD rages. I am trying to keep my calm, my collectedness, yet it’s been increasingly difficult to refrain from the combative and confrontational urges of my BPD.

I also had a revelation this week in thinking about my BPD and its development and I realized that the trauma of the rape and the subsequent neglect of it from my family at a precarious age on top of a baseline foundation of an invalidating childhood was the breaking point which led to the emergence of my BPD. In some ways, the trauma and the family wasn’t there in the aftermath was the ultimate abandonment, the thing which solidified this inability to trust in the object permanence of others and their stability in my lives. After that, I began to idealize those who seemed as if they would be that compassionate other and then quickly devalue them once they began to show signs that they might leave me.

I am reminded of the aftermath of the rape and the origins of my cutting, dealing with my father’s anger and my mother’s willful oblivion and how I had absolutely no one to help me then. How I began to cut myself that winter and began to act out, getting into more altercations and lashing out in anger, trapped in this state of trying to deal with the rape on my own while my distress went unsupported and unnoticed. How I noticed my entire personality shifted in the aftermath of the rape, how I became an entirely different person; devolving from optimism and goals into a teenager trapped between girlhood and womanhood and so endlessly sullen and moody and hostile towards others.

I have remained in that half teenage/ half adulthood state to this day, solidified in my BPD, stolen adolescent full of rage and contempt for all of the older adults in my life who abandoned me when I needed them the most. There is a childlike fury to my temper, a wailing and a shrieking and an explosiveness.

Maybe because it is the twelve year anniversary of the aftermath that this BPD state is worsening, remembering what it felt like to only have razor blades and blankets to keep me company in a household that felt so cold and so empty. My personality shifted; this vacant void became my default state, this gnawing emptiness of the life stolen by my rapist and the need for compassionate others who weren’t there in a state of crisis. This makes it so difficult for me to trust and attach to others; anyone could leave, anyone could walk away, even family. Even the ones we love the most. I have such damaged bonds to people as a result of this time in my life, such an inability to love fully.

I am having so much trouble undoing this escalation of my BPD, in being able to see people as permanent instead of fleeting. It becomes very easy for me to erase people in my head when they disappoint me, when they push me away. I devalue as a post traumatic defense mechanism; I can simply protect myself from abandonment by abandoning them first, so I won’t have to become that discarded girl I was back then, suffering alone and helpless. It is an interpersonal callus, a shield against severance.

I died twelve years ago and no one noticed.

This BPD that gnaws away at me in fury and hurt and this palpable sense of nothingness within my chest.

Emptiness is the heaviest thing of them all.

Group Counseling

I have an intake at the rape crisis center on Wednesday for group counseling and I’m hoping it’ll go smoothly. I was also wondering if you had any luck in hearing back from any group leaders.

I look forward to talking to you,


1 notes

my brain is constantly trying to make me split by triggering myself with things that happened weeks ago and i want to cry

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fuck Alton Towers I have BPD at home

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Feeling super selfish after telling my bf that I miss some of the stuff for the beginning of our relationship which I thought was normal 🙃 but it made him think I don’t like our relationship now so. I feel like an asshole and now I’m a faliure because I guess what I just did 🤙🤙

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I don’t know if I’m in a bad mood or not. I feel shitty. Mopey. But not depressed. The super fucking confusing to me. And upsetting. But it’s manageable. But it’s annoying and I don’t like it. But it isn’t paralyzing me. Why is existing still something I have to feel guilty about? I’m confused. This period of my life is just uncertainty. Now that the other chaos has subsided, the uncertainty I’ve always been plagued with can be front and fucking center. It’s fine. I’m just off and blah and yucky. I can’t focus, either. Which doesn’t fucking help. But anyway.

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I don’t want to be lonely I don’t want to sit at home and stare at my wall and cry I don’t want to not hold hands and laugh and walk foot by foot by foot by side I don’t want to be by myself all the time but

I don’t want to be with anyone I don’t want to be known I don’t want to touch someone until they shatter and kill a helpless thing who wants love they’re not like me, not a drain, not a screaming sidewalk

2 notes

I’ve decided I’m going to take my antidepressants again. I’ve been feeling blue for a while now and I wanna do something before I’m spiraling even more

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·̩̩̥͙**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*·̩̩̥͙

Wishing love and happiness on everyone who’s struggling today, feeling better than before, facing their demons, meeting their goals, or waking up at 3pm with a hangover. No matter what you’ve done or will do today, you deserve happiness! productivity ≠ self worth.

·̩̩̥͙**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*·̩̩̥͙

10 notes

I randomly told my boyfriend I was going to the shop and caught a train miles away instead but I came back and now I don’t want to do that but he’s now convinced I’m going to leave him? Like why would you now think that I’m going to leave you after I literally just did that and don’t have an explanation for even myself

3 notes

I’m having a 3am meltdown. I love my partner so much. We’ve been “seeing” each other for two years and there’s never been any talk of labels or anything of the sort. Up until the pandemic, we had a sexual relationship as well as just a really rad friendship with lots of fun times spent together. We haven’t had sex since March or April 2020 though.

And he tells me it’s him, it’s not me. But I think it is me. I think he’s not physically attracted to me.

I told him I love him for the first time a few months ago and I’ve said it a handful of times since but he’s never reciprocated. And I know I sound delusional but I know he loves me; it’s only now that I’m really processing that he just loves me differently than I love him. He doesn’t want to lose our friendship, the understanding, having someone who can make him feel better about himself. So he fills this space in my life. And while I’m in love with him, he simply loves me - and I am spending all my time investing in someone who won’t love me how I love them.

1 notes

I really think I’m going to be alone forever at this point

7 notes

does anyone else become really really obsessed with

someone? like it began as mild interest then they

started to become worthy of your time and then

boom! obsession to the point of actually hurting

others to keep them to yourself?? like genuinely


6 notes

Ngl Jesus seems like a pretty neat dude. His friends were lower class immigrants and prostitutes and his whole deal was peace love and acceptance and then the ruling class killed him cause he was too radical

But DAMN the fucking people who “follow him” are assholes who’ve given me a bunch of trauma and super use his name in vain

11 notes

When I have to reschedule plans or let someone know that I’m not feeling well or in a good place mentally, it would be really nice to hear them say, “I understand.” Instead of, “I thought so, you looked off, I expected you to say that.”

6 notes