By Kenzie Farnell

God, I feel amazing. As I walk down the street, I feel like I'm in a movie. My fit is fire, my hair is done and I'm strutting my stuff. There’s even music! 

Except the music that I’m hearing is the music that plays on a loop in my brain, and it sounds like three different songs of different genres all playing over the top of each other. It reminds me that I haven’t eaten yet today, that I spent all morning throwing up and smoking joint after joint so I could just go back to sleep. 

It reminds me that even though I’ve lost almost 30lbs this past month, and I know that I need to eat something, the thought of chewing food makes me nauseous. If I do get brave enough to eat, the feeling of food going down my throat makes me gag. 

It reminds me that a week has somehow gone by. I thought it was Tuesday, still. It reminds me that I haven’t felt anything in many, many months. That I don’t know what my favourite colour or food is, that I don’t know what I like to do in my spare time. It reminds me that I have absolutely no idea who I am. I look at the reflection of myself in the storefront window as I walk by and have no idea who I'm looking at. 

Borderline Personality Disorder is like a never-ending battle with your brain. I have constant feelings that are excruciating and full of hopelessness. But I feel completely empty, void of all feeling, at the same time. Where’s the balance? Please. Make the music stop. 

Suddenly, I feel eyes on me from every angle. My heart rate starts to pick up and my head starts spinning. Great, now I’m sweating. I’ve convinced myself that everyone can hear my thoughts and are judging me. Maybe there’s something on my face, my hair has blown out of place or my outfit looks frumpy? My breaths are shorter now, and I’m walking back to my car to go home. By the time I’m in my car, I feel like I’m suffocating. The tears start rolling. 

Don’t you dare. I hear this in my head. Don’t you dare do it. Do not cry right now. With that, a switch is flipped and everything goes blank. No thoughts, no music. I’m not aware of anything around me. 

Suddenly I’m back home, safe, after closing the door behind me. That’s when I start to feel it. That tickle in my chest that grows and grows. It feels almost like excitement, but with some dark undertones. It feels like I’m going to erupt. Erupt with what, I have no idea. 

What is wrong with you? You couldn’t even do this small task. See, that’s what your problem is: you’re weak, incapable. And don’t even think about asking anyone for help because you’re already enough of a burden. Don’t make it worse, or people are going to start walking out of your life.

Everything looks blurry. I’m walking, but I have no idea where I’m going. I feel rage. Rage so intense that I want to scream until I feel my throat swell. I want to rip my chest open, rip the skin off my body, hit myself in the head to make it stop spiralling. It’ll make me feel better. It’s the only thing. I have to do it. And I do. 

The next morning, I don’t remember anything. I’m overcome with numbness, and the music is back. Give it a few hours and I’ll be back on my bullshit. 

A few more hours, and I’m having another episode. I’m so tired. Please just pause the music for a minute so I can catch my breath. 

When I try to think back to my childhood, it’s blank. All of my memories are hidden somewhere deep in my brain. Whether I’ll get them all back or not, I have no idea. I have no plan for what I want to do with my life because I have no sense of identity. I’ve gathered bits and pieces of other people’s personalities and curated this version of myself that’s just been surviving for years. I want to live. 

I want a life that’s content. I say content instead of full of happiness because happiness is an emotion I’ve come to treasure. Those moments when I do feel genuine happiness are intoxicating. It grows to astonishing rates. But it always fades away. I’ve made peace with that because I would rather live a life with moments of that intoxicating happiness than live in that feeling and grow used to it. 

I’m trapped in purgatory. There is never any balance. Ever. Everything is either black or white. It feels like being torn in two different directions and I want both sides. So I think, maybe just hang out in the middle for a bit. That’s just not possible. Everything is too much. 

My heart aches for connection but that connection is just out of reach. Looking for companionship is met with an influx of reasons why I don’t deserve to have that. My brain is constantly thinking out every possible scenario so that I’m prepared when the person leaves. It’s inevitable. 

No matter how hard you prepare, when the inevitable does happen, it feels like there was a death. There is a blinding pain stemming from abandonment issues and childhood trauma. It is something I have no control over. I was never taught how to regulate my emotions. Losing control or shutting down completely feels natural and normal. Safe. 

I sit here, listening to the music playing in my head. Just for a second. I’m begging you to make the music stop. 

As I said before, BPD is like a never-ending battle with your brain. At any given moment, I’m feeling everything at once and nothing at all. When emotions come up, they’re strong and scary. Foreign. So my brain, thinking it’s protecting me, shuts itself down. 

My mind is racing, spinning and spinning, but I feel nothing. Have you ever tried to control your thoughts before? You tell yourself not to think of something – so what’s the first thing you think? That exact thought. Battling your mind is like throwing punches in the dark, especially if you don’t know why your brain works the way it does. 

People are so quick to say that mental illness is all in your head. Blah, blah blah. Yes, you’re absolutely right, gold star for you. You figured it out! OF COURSE IT’S IN MY HEAD. THAT’S WHAT MAKES IT SO DIFFICULT. Do you think I like being like this? 

Have you ever had to try to rewire your brain? No? Then keep your mouth shut about it. I seriously need to find out how to make the music stop. 

We’re not monsters, those of us with BPD. We’re just scared, lost little kids who are wondering why everything feels like so much. We are just looking to be listened to and loved.