Content to be slightly forlorn in The Devil Beneath My Feet

Been a minute, I’m just gonna dive in again.

There’s been a lot on my mind lately, more than usual but the one thing that scares me above everything else is the realization that I might have BPD. Maybe?

I’m not even entirely sure what BPD entails because I’m too much of a fucking loser coward to find out. But recently I stumbled across a piece of media that showcased a psychological phenomena referred to as, “splitting,” and the response in the comments was largely positive concerning how it was portrayed in that it was portrayed accurately.

I’ll leave..idk whoever is reading this, if anyone, to Google what “splitting” is but after reading the comments from people that experience it I was able to deduce what scene they were referring to and to say I was shocked and horrified would be the understatement of the century.

I do that. I do that all the time. I’ve done that my entire life. I never knew that had a name. I never knew. Once I connected the dots all I could taste was vomit.

I always thought it was mood swings, some residual bi polar disorder bullshit left over from my own mother, nothing that warranted too much thought beyond trying to control it better and not be such a cunt. I’ve always failed at that but I tried, I still try.

Fucking splitting. All or nothing, black or white, changing on a dime.

I loathe this information, I hate that I’m 33 and just learning this now. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this now? What’s the strat here, I don’t fuckin know. I hate this. Is this gonna get worse? Has it been getting worse?

I also flew a little too close to the sun recently and got a little too personal with my best friend, I think I worried her which makes me PHYSICALLY ILL to even think about, i feel terrible. I told her about this, all this splitting shit, because honest to fuck it really did - does - freak me out a lot, and I needed it out.

Off the cuff I was ranting and raving while driving too fast down the thruway (not unusual), probably sounding like a fuckin maniac because I just lost control of what I was saying in favor of vomiting it all out just to get it out of my head, and I think it freaked her out. I realized it after saying something to the tune of “…so now on top of the fact that I wake up every morning and talk myself out of eating a 9mm for breakfast I got this horseshit to think about,” and she interrupted me to ask, “wait, really?” I must’ve sounded sincere enough for her to notice.

Like an air raid siren going off in my head. All I could think was “fuck.” I feel like shit about it. Part of me screams “ADMIT IT” because lying is exhausting but the much larger part of me leans heavily in favor of shrugging it off as dark millennial humor so that’s what I did. Idk if she bought it, I’m hoping she did, she doesn’t need to think about that, I don’t ever want to burden anybody with that shit. I won’t, anyway, I just want to. Haven’t reached that level of desperation just yet but it’s kind of comforting to know that when I do, it’s on my terms. I dunno, it makes sense to me.

I know I should see a therapist. I know I should, I even have insurance that would cover it. But every time I pick up my phone to look one up I wanna throw it across the room. I’m afraid, stupid as that is. I know it’s stupid, it’s fucking ridiculous. Too much of a coward to hear what they have to say, too afraid that the honesty required to avoid wasting everyone’s time will earn me a grippy sock vacation and medication that I don’t want. But isn’t that the point? To listen to them and let them help you? Part of me wants help but I’ve been too closed off and walled up for too long to accept any kind of help unless it’s on my terms which is counterproductive because MY TERMS ARE PROBABLY THE TERMS OF A CRAZY PERSON.

The whole thing makes me wanna dunk my head in a bucket of ice water and scream until my lungs freeze. I should probably do some proper research into BPD. One symptom doesn’t guarantee an illness, right? There has to be more in order to necessarily diagnose something like that?

Christ on a pole what if there are more I don’t even know about yet? Groan.