BPD – Are You Alright?

“Are you alright?”

I had been leaving class and was half way down the super long hallway, when I spotted one of my professors, Professor K, at the end of the hallway. He was the one who had delivered the knife cutting question to me. Prior to making that remark, he had suddenly appeared from the opposite end and was preparing to enter a classroom, but before he could enter he had to unlock the door.

I had been walking in his direction and watched him struggle to find the correct key on a key ring of about thirty keys. As I approached him, I felt a pang of anxiety in my heart, because he was one of my favorite professors that I really liked and I wanted him to have a good impression of me. The last thing I wanted to do was have his opinion of me waver negatively. For the sake of my attendance at school, I was under the impression that I needed to be perfect in his eyes.

The closer I moved towards him, the heavier the anxiety in my heart grew. I knew that I had to maintain my act of the sweet, kind hearted, friendly, normal student, but I didn’t have time to prepare myself mentally or emotionally because his presence had caught me off guard. He was the last person I was expected to see at the end of that hallway. I was so scared that I didn’t even have the courage to look at him.

I was about ten feet away from him, when I felt his eyes look up from the key ring that he had lodged in the door, and then I felt his stare locked on me.

“Are you alright?”

His words cut through my heart. His overall tone was calm and he seemed curious, but the words he chose sliced through my soul, causing all my insecurities and fears to bleed out.

I forced myself to make eye contact with him and he was smiling politely, his eyes showing that he appeared a little concerned.

I forced an obvious fake smile, but even I could tell that I looked offended when I said. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m alright.”

I quickly walked away with thoughts of a strong desire to cut myself throbbing through my ears.

As I walked away, I felt extremely broken and began to think. “Am I alright? I’m fine. I’m okay. Why did he ask me am I alright? I was just walking normally and he asked me that. That means there’s something wrong with me. He thinks I’m strange and weird, that’s why he asked that. What’s wrong with me? Why would he ask me that? Is there something wrong with my hair? Is there something on my face? What did I do? What’s wrong with me? There has to be something wrong with me. That’s why he asked that.”

A moment later, I found myself in a bathroom stall, clutching a very tiny razor blade that I kept stored in my bag for emergency situations such as that one. I clutched it with shaky hands, and despite the strong urge to cut myself, I allowed myself to debate whether or not this occurrence was worthy of self-harm. If it had been anyone else, then I probably would have brushed it off, without even considering cutting myself, but instead, it was Professor K that had asked me that. He was the teacher that I liked the most and wanted so badly to like me. I could only be happy at school if my interactions with him were good. Otherwise, I’d consider transferring to a new school, or even dropping out all together. I had met him barely two months ago and yet his presence had already had that much of an effect on me.

His opinion of me was extremely important to my sanity and well-being. I needed to always be on good terms with him and always feel as though he liked me (platonically, of course) in order to get through a school day.

Instead, I ruined that possibility by making him think that I was crazy, which would be the only reason to explain why he promoted the question, “Are you alright?”

I thought. “He must hate me. That’s why he asked that. He thinks I’m strange. I honestly feel like killing myself.”

I held the razor blade in my shaky hands, trying to calm myself down and prevent myself from making things worst. I still had to attend Professor K’s class that evening and the last thing I wanted was to show up to his class with blood stains on my clothing, especially because the outfit I was wearing was a light color and the blood was destined to leak through it, becoming visible to anyone who’d see it.

I had to wait. I couldn’t cut…yet.

Somehow I managed to calm myself down to the point where I avoided self-harming, but I wouldn’t necessary say that I was calm because I repeatedly thought about the entire event over and over for the next couple of hours. I replayed Professor K’s words and expression in my head over and over again, completely convincing myself that I had weirded him out and made him hate me. I was devastated and ended up skipping his class that evening because I didn’t have the heart to face him.

I had been alright…that was until he asked me was I alright. That’s the question I hate the most in the world, “Are you alright?”/ “Are you okay?”. It’s a very dangerous question, especially when you feel perfectly fine, because it indicates that there’s something wrong with you, when there might not be anything at all.


BPD – Black and White Thinking

Awhile ago, thanks to a recommendation by my cousin, Suzy, I transferred to a new university in a prestigious area. Although I was severely anxious about leaving my former school where I had grown comfortable enough to be myself – which is a process that takes years for me to successful accomplish – I felt an unhealthy mixture of excitement and fear, after I enrolled into the new school.

My cousin constantly reassured me the entire time, from the moment I filled out the application in order to apply to the second I first stepped foot onto the campus to attend my first day of classes.

She repetitiously stated. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll show you everything and help you along the way until you get the hang of it.”

My cousin sounded completely confident as she reassured me and that was enough for me to let my guard down and trust her. I think as a result of her presence, the anxiety I suffered from on my first day was halved thanks to her guiding me and showing me everything that I needed to know. She gave me an informative tour around the school (even revealing popular meeting places that students went to when they weren’t in class), walked with me from class to class to make sure that I didn’t get lost, and even introduced me to several of her peers so that I could establish my own social circle.

I was extremely grateful and thankful to my cousin because I don’t think I could have survived the first day without her and I mean that sincerely. Knowing myself, I’d mostly been overwhelmed and panicking to the point where I’d end up hiding out in the restroom cutting myself. The point I’m trying to make is that I’m truly thankful for everything she did for me.

Though, upon the entire process of transferring and integrating into the new school, one of the best and worst things she could have possibly have done was when she was presenting me to her clique of friends and she introduced me to her friend named Carter.

Carter caught my attention the second I saw him. He was a super tall, buffed up, athletic, guy with shoulder length, brown hair. Carter was an extremely jovial, affable person, who had a habit of finding humor in just about every single situation, always triggering laughter from everyone around him.

I was the complete opposite of him, which is the reason why when I first met him I was extremely intimidated by him and didn’t say much except for occasionally smiling and laughing on cue whenever he spoke. Even though he caught my attention, I wanted nothing to do with him at first.

As anyone could probably guess, my avoidance of him didn’t last long, because I was not socially and mentally prepared to venture out and establish my own social clique amongst strangers, so I practically shadowed my cousin just about everywhere that she went. She’d always invite me to go out with her and for some odd reason (maybe because I had nothing else to do), I agreed and she usually went to popular places in the area with the same four friends, which included Carter. Often my cousin Suzy and Carter would be leading the group in both conversation and laughter, and every now and then I’d add a comment or two in order to remain relevant.

The more I hung out with her group of friends the more I grew to like them, but of all the friends, the one I began to like the most was Carter. His personality grew on me and it didn’t take long before I began to notice everything about him, including the small things. It also didn’t take long for him to become the topic of my thoughts whenever he wasn’t around and I’d often miss his presence whenever he wasn’t there and my cousin went out with her other friends. I wasn’t in love with him…but I was definitely taking the road to getting there.

Being the borderline chameleon that I am, I began to take interest in everything that he enjoyed and began to participate in his hobbies, even though deep down I didn’t care about them, and I just wanted to please him. Though, I was never alone with him and each of our interactions were always witnessed by the other friends in our group, including my cousin.

The more time I spent with him, the more I grew attached to him, and before I knew I had painted him as this perfect, flawless person in my mind.

To understand this phenomenon, it’s best to understand Black and White Thinking in BPD. Black and White Thinking (also known as Splitting) is a cognitive distortion, where borderlines only see either the positive attributes (White) of an individual, or only that individual’s negative attributes (Black). The average healthy individual is able to clearly discern that other people have a mixture of good and bad qualities and they understand that along with the positive traits, every single person has bad ones too. This allows them to see the gray area in others. However, Borderlines are unable to use discernment in this regard. They will either focus on all of someone’s positive qualities and completely forget everything bad they’ve ever done, or vice versa.

Here’s an example, let’s say a husband is usually on time coming home for work to have dinner with his wife, however one day he calls and tells his wife he’ll be late. A normal reaction would consist of understanding the husband’s situation, however a borderline might react harshly, believing that the husband is intentionally arriving home late because he doesn’t want to have dinner, or perhaps even worst, because he’s having an affair!

Another example would be, let’s say every single day a student is greeted by their teacher in a friendly manner with a warm smile. The teacher has a history of doing this, however one day the student comes to class and the teacher doesn’t say anything and doesn’t smile when the student comes in. A healthy individual would be under the impression that there must be something wrong in the teacher’s personal life and as a result they’re not feeling well on that day. Unfortunately, a borderline would take the teacher’s new reaction personally, and think something along the lines of, “That teacher never liked me in the first place. All those other times that they greeted me, they were being fake. They truly hate me.” Then the borderline would begin to scrutinize every single interaction that they had with that teacher and completely forget all the happy ones, and instead zero in on the negative ones, painting that teacher as all bad.

Anyways, I hadn’t known Carter for long, but I was quickly under the impression that he was the most perfect person in the whole world. I thought about every wonderful quality that he had. I thought about how funny he was, how he cool he was, how helpful and kind he was, and the list goes on and on, basically presenting him as a prince charming. I was so intoxicated by this euphoric thought process that I even once thought, “I am so fortunate to know Carter. He could have been born anywhere in the world and yet, he’s in the same city as me, and we’re friends.”

Unfortunately….that glossy, idolized opinion of Carter didn’t last long, as it never does in borderlines.

I was obsessed with this guy and wanted so desperately to make him like me. I was willing to do anything for him. That’s how devoted I was.

Who knows how long it could have lasted? I’m not sure, but I knew it came to an abrupt end when my other friend, who I’ll call Sarah just to avoid any confusion, told me that Carter liked my cousin, not in a romantic way, but in a best friend kind of way.

Sarah and I were in my apartment, working on a school assignment, casually chatting about various topics when somehow Carter and my cousin’s name came up.

“Oh yeah, and I have to tell you something that is just too cute.” said Sarah. “The other day I was talking to Carter and he said ‘Suzy is definitely my favorite friend’. Isn’t that just the cutest thing ever? He really likes her.”

As Sarah told me this, she began to repeat his words, and from her summary, he went through each friend he had and began to state his opinion of them, and when he got to me he stated. “‘She’s nice and all, but I don’t really know her that well yet.’”

As Sarah told me this, I laughed casually and brushed it aside, even managing to shift the conversation, but internally her words were burning me. I felt extremely hurt and my entire fragile world began to shatter into tiny fragments.

Carter was no longer the person that I thought he was. In that brief conversation, the person that I once thought was a gift to my life, had become a monster. The war inside my mind began and I began to criticize and insult every single thing about him. The once “kind, athletic, sweet, guy” had quickly turned into a “cocky, arrogant, smug, bastard” who I hated so much and wished I had never met.

With a dark state of mind, I began to think. “He likes my cousin best? So that means he must hate me. Since he likes my cousin, he can’t possibly like me. There’s not enough room in his heart for more friends. He said he doesn’t know me that well…what more does he need to know? I’ve taken the time to learn everything single thing about him and he doesn’t even know one thing about me? Everything he likes, I make myself like. I’m just like him in a sense. So all those times he chatted with me and we made small talk…that was nothing. He was just pretending to be kind to me to mask his hatred for me.”

I began to scrutinize every single interaction I had with him, even the tiniest gestures, and I enlarged and rewrote them to the point where they seemed like acts of pure evil. There was no love left in my heart for him…only hatred and anger.

Somehow, and I have no idea how, I managed to mask my insanity until Sarah left. The second she stepped outside of my apartment, I was in the bathroom with blood gushing down both my legs as I cut myself. After I made a decent number of lacerations, I pressed the blade to my left wrist and began to debate whether or not I should kill myself.

“I lived this long because of him…he was the reason why I smiled each day.” I thought. “Now I know the truth. He secretly hates me. I don’t understand, what am I doing wrong? Why does he like my cousin so much and hates me? I don’t have a reason to live anymore… ”

During that critical twenty minutes, my thoughts were at war with one another, constantly battling back and forth with each other, one side, angry and desperately urging me to end it all, while the other side was equally desperate and slightly more afraid, coaching me into waiting a few more days and not ending it all so easily, especially over a guy who was a complete monster.

After much deliberation and taking into account both sides, I came to the conclusion that I would wait. I put my blade away for another time, but I was so angry at that moment, at both Carter and myself for being a fool thinking I could be friends with a jerk like that.

A Borderline’s Thought Process #1

Hey guys~~!!

While researching BPD, trying to understand the cognitive aspect of this illness a little better, I came across an article with a check list of the thought process that the minds of many borderlines go through (BPD Central). As I read through that article, I quickly found it to be relatable because I identified with eight out of the eleven thought processes that were listed. Therefore, I decided to create a blog series for each one so that I could focus on the ones that I identified with and elaborate on them. Although they’re all listed in numerical order on the website, I decided to skip around for each one that I’m writing about since it really depends on my mood when I write.

I want to use this first blog post of this series to write about two of the abnormal thought processes that were mentioned in the article. I have to remind whoever is reading this, that these thoughts are distorted and often deluded, therefore they shouldn’t be seen as an accurate reflection of what’s happening in actual reality, but instead what is seen through the eyes of a borderline’s reality.

The first one I want to write about is this one:

“If people love me, there must be something wrong with them.”

Those words literally jumped off my computer screen at me when I first read them. I suffer from this line of thinking a lot. I’ll explain. As a borderline, I have a very fragile sense of self-worth along with a shaky amount of low self-esteem. These two mental attributes aren’t necessarily the best combination. It’s one of the reasons why I never really trust that people actual like, care about, or love me. I’ll give you an example.

A few months ago, I was at work, and one of my customers started flirting with me. He seemed genuinely interested in me and, in the most subtle way possible, he even asked me out on a date. Naturally reserved and not ready for dating yet, I was internally panicking and freaking out, trying to think of the best way to evade him. Thankfully, one of my co-workers quickly brushed him aside, preventing me from having to decline his offer.

Shortly after that encounter, I began to think along these lines. “That guy…he was so beautiful. But why would he be interested in me? I can’t believe someone like him would love someone like me. It’s not possible…Of course it’s not possible, I’m so ugly. It was probably a joke. His friends probably dared him to ask me out on a date, or maybe he even made a bet with them. Now they’re probably laughing their heads off at me. He probably just wanted to use me anyways. No one could ever be interested in me. I don’t know why I even thought for a second that someone could ever want to date me.”

He returned a few days later asking about me to one of my co-workers, but I was so scared that I hid in the employee break room until he left.

I had convinced myself that the only reason that he could possibly be interested in me was because he had bad intentions. I didn’t even talk to him or get to know him, but my thoughts had so passionately convinced me that he was a player in the form of prince charming, that I didn’t give myself a chance to get to know him.

An individual with a healthy sense of self-worth and a stable cognitive process, most likely would have been flattered by the intention, accepted the offer, and if they contained any suspicions at all, may have still accepted, but been slightly vigilant and on guard, until they got to know the person a little better. However, in my case, I immediately came to the conclusion that there was something wrong with that person and I didn’t even give them a chance.

When I read, “If people love me, there must be something wrong with them.”, that experience was the first thing that came to mind.

Moving on, the second distorted thought process from that website that I wanted to write about was this:

“If anyone really knew me, they would hate me.”

This can actually fall under so many different umbrellas and fit into a various amount of different categories, however I’m going to write about the one that exclusively relates to me.

I have an extremely hard time being myself. Depending on the environment I’m in, I often look at those around me for the correct social cues on how to conduct myself and then once I observe what’s accepted by the majority, I quickly conformed myself to what’s popular. I think the best way to describe it is that I’m very chameleon like, and often change who I am depending on who I’m with.

Borderlines have a very unstable self-image. The average person has core beliefs that they stick to and abide by, regardless of other’s thoughts and opinions, therefore they can relatively maintain the same core values and beliefs without having them hindered by outside forces. For example, if someone’s core belief is “stealing is bad” then one day they meet someone who makes fun of them for believing that, then they’re most likely to ignore that person and stick to their original belief. On the other hand, if this would have happened to a borderline, they’d be undergoing a full identity crisis, thinking, “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe stealing isn’t so bad. There must be something wrong with me. He’s probably right.” Then they’d easily have their opinion swayed, as a desperate attempt to fit in a please the person they’re talking to.

Borderlines fear any type of rejection, therefore they often change everything about themselves depending on their environment. For example, if they’re in a class full of students who enjoy studying, they quickly pick up on this and exhibit similar qualities of these students making it appear as though they enjoy studying too, even if in reality they have no interest in it. Another example would be, if they make a new friend who has a deep interest in punk rock music, they’ll pretend that they like punk rock music as well, even if they secretly hate or have never even listened to it. This is one of the reasons why calling a borderline a chameleon is almost the perfect metaphor.

Getting back on track now, as I stated earlier, “If anyone really knew me, they would hate me.”

This is something I struggle with a lot. I am indeed a chameleon and often change who I am depending who I’m around or where I’m at. I have so many examples from my life that can explain this, but I’ll pick just a few to demonstrate this point.

Awhile ago, at school, I joined an extra curriculum club and one of the members of the club caught my attention. They were extremely jovial, funny, sincere, helpful, and definitely someone you’d want to spend a lot of time with. In my eyes, they were the perfect person (I didn’t know it then, but I was idolizing this person which is another BPD symptom, but I have to write about that in another post hopefully some other day). I desperately wanted to be their friend. I wanted to know everything about them.

After managing to have a few conversations with them, I learned a few things about them, such as the music and movies that they were interested in, and I also learned about a few of their hobbies. As soon as I gathered this information, the construction of my new self began. I binged watched all of the movies that they liked, I listened to every song by the groups that they loved, and I even started beginner lessons for their hobbies (They were interested in football and basketball, but I didn’t know a thing about sports, so I spent all day on the internet reading about the rules to those sports and familiarizing myself with the most popular teams). I have to admit that everything they were interested in was of no interest to me. I hated all the movies they liked, their style of music wasn’t my preferred genre, and I also wasn’t too particularly interested in their hobbies. However, none of that matter, because I wanted them to like me so badly that I was literally changing myself for them.

In the core of my heart, I didn’t care about those things, but I made sure that externally I appeared extremely passionate about those things. I would do anything in order to have their friendship.

Somehow it worked, they seemed convinced that we shared the same interests. I was so happy because the only thing I wanted with them was a friendship and I didn’t care if I obtained that friendship through deception. However, whenever they would probe me for more information about myself, I would craftily evade their questions. I couldn’t tell them about me…. If they knew the real me, then they would hate me. What if I said, “I like sci-fi movies”, and they said. “Oh, I hate sci-fi. It’s too cheesy”? Then our friendship would be ruined. They would see that one difference and then our friendship couldn’t possibly be sustained (I know, this sounds really naïve and extremely ridiculous, and even writing this out, I can see the major flaw in my line of thinking back then, but this is actually what I believed at the time). In order to avoid that from happening, I could only like what they liked and I had to hate everything they hated.

This is how most of my relationships with people were like, especially if I really liked that person. I would never freely express myself because I always feared rejection, so I’d mirror everything that they were interested in, in order to please them. I basically didn’t have a personality, that is until I found someone who could help shape my personality. It’s safe to say that once I lost contact with that person, I lost interest in everything that I had invested my attention in while I had been pursing a relationship with them (If I had really been interested in those things then it wouldn’t have matter if they had been in my life. I still would have continued with them).

Another example I wanted to use is from a bit more recent experience. One of cousins recently introduced me to her neighbor who, upon meeting, I immediately took an interest in. I desperately wanted to become his friend. However, since my cousin already knew him almost a year longer than me, they were more familiar with one another, and much more closer than I could be with him, especially after just meeting him. My cousin and her neighbor already knew a lot about each other and shared similar interests. Though, I also really wanted to have a close connection with her neighbor.

I asked my cousin what steps I could take to become good friends with him, since I don’t have any social skills. She said. “Just be yourself and tell him a little about you.”

Her advice seemed simple, but for me it was truly terrifying. I thought, “Be myself? He’ll hate me if I be myself. I can’t tell him about me because there’s nothing to tell. I don’t really…like anything.”

I quickly became aware of the problem, but I didn’t mention any of these things to my cousin. Instead, I recalled how her and her neighbor had very similar interests, so I thought that if I imitated everything she was doing, then I could possible garner the same attention and affection from her neighbor as her.

Later I asked her. “Hey, can you tell some movies I can watch that your neighbor might like, so I can talk about them with him. Oh and also, what kind of clothes should I wear too. It can be anything, just as long as it’s something you might wear.” (I’m not even joking…I literally asked her this…)

I was basically trying to copy my cousin in order to win her neighbor’s approval.

My cousins laughed when I said this to her, probably mistaking it as a joke, but I was actually very serious. She laughed and said. “Don’t copy me. Just be yourself.”

“If anyone really knew me, they would hate me.”

Therefore, I don’t feel comfortable showing people, especially those who I really, really care about and want their approval, to know who I truly am. Instead, I change myself to what they like so that they accept me and I avoid rejection.

This is just one part of this blog series that I wanted to post. I can actually relate to a many more from the article, but I’ll have to post them another time hopefully.


“BPD Central.” BPD Central. N.p., n.d. Web. 14 Mar. 2017.

BPD Notes

Borderline Personality Disorder (aka BPD):

The illness that your average stalker, self-harmer, person with anger issues, person who is overly-sensitive and easily offended, and very dramatic, is most likely to be afflicted with.

I just want to point out by saying that I am not a doctor, so everything you read on this site is solely based off research that pretty much anyone with an internet connect can do, and personal experience. I will acknowledge that I do suffer from BPD, but I guess with that information in mind, you can’t possibly take anything I say seriously anymore, right?

Meh….it doesn’t matter.

I made this blog for me and for me only. Somehow you inadvertently found it and by reading this post, or maybe one of my future posts, you’re choosing to come along with me on this crazy journey. I have no problem with that, but I just want you to keep in mind that everything I post on here is for me. I created this blog because I wanted to better understanding this illness, the way it makes me think, and to have a place to put all my anxieties and troubles.

Although I’ve known I’ve had BPD for three years, I’ve never told anyone about it and I refuse to let anyone know. I think the answer to the obvious follow-up question of, “Why?” is pretty clear. It’s the stigma. People treat you differently when they become aware that you’re sick, especially when they find out you have a mental illness. It doesn’t matter what it is, or what the symptoms are, the second they hear “mental illness”, you’re automatically labeled as “crazy” and your opinion doesn’t matter anymore and you’re officially branded “one-fourth” of a person in their eyes.

The last thing someone with a mental illness wants is for other people to know they have it.

I know I’m all over the place, but that’s because this is my first post. I hope in the future, I’m able to create a better chronological order when writing these posts, especially for organization purposes.

I guess I should start at the beginning.

I always knew something was wrong with me. I didn’t know what it was, but prior to being diagnosed with BPD, I had a feeling that there was something terribly wrong with me. I mean, there had to be, because three years before I discovered I had BPD, I had been self-harming and I was pretty sure that normal people didn’t cut themselves.

Once I discovered I had BPD, I researched the illness like a crazy person. I read just about every article and book I could find on the illness and I was brought to tears because I suffered from almost all of the symptoms. I spoke to a doctor and after a bunch of questions and tests, they formally diagnosed me.

The tears weren’t a product of sadness over being diagnosed with a mental illness, but instead they were tears of relief, an emblem of knowledge that I wasn’t the only person afflicted with this illness and there was research and treatments regarding it.

After learning I had BPD, I began to realize a lot of things about myself. I learned why I did most of the things I did. I understood why I self-harmed, obsessed and stalked people, why I had anger issues, why I was overly-sensitive, why often felt empty inside, I understood why I felt like I had no identity, why I swung in and out of depression, why I often felt suicidal, and I learned numerous other dark aspects of myself.

The most major thing I learned is that I don’t think like everyone else. Sure, everyone thinks differently, however there’s a healthy way to think and an unhealthy way to think.

In the future, if I ever make a separate post about “thinking”, I’d love to elaborate on it more. Though for now, I’ll just use an example to explain.

Here’s an example. Let’s say my co-worker and I agreed to go to the movies tomorrow. We spent a great deal of time talking about it, planning it out, and even arranging to travel to the movie theater together. However, the next day, while preparing to go to the movies, my friend calls and tells me they can’t make it because their sibling called at the last minute and asked for their help with something very important.

I’d probably tell them that it’s okay, I don’t mind, and we could reschedule it some other time. My friend would hang up the phone, under the impression that we were on good terms, but in reality, I would internally facing inner turmoil.

A healthy person would understand and trust their friend and then find something else to do, probably quickly forgetting it.

I, an unhealthy person, wouldn’t be able to get over it. I’d think something like this. “They’re lying…they’re not meeting their sibling. They cancelled because they don’t like me. We were never really friends. They just pretend to be my friend because they feel sorry for me. They really hate me.” Then I’d probably spend the rest of the day, trying to figure out what I did wrong to cause my friend to cancel spending time with me.

The interesting part is, for many years, I didn’t know that that line of thinking was abnormal. I guess the best way to explain it is, I trusted my feelings as facts and because of that, I caused so many misunderstandings and ruined so many relationships. Now, I acknowledge that that line of thinking is abnormal, but there was a time when I really didn’t know.

As a Borderline…I do a lot of crazy things. I can’t really talk to anyone about it, so I’m happy that I created a blog where I can just write everything that I endure as a borderline.

So I just want to use this site to help me understanding myself and this illness better.