i spend my days waiting for a love you will never give me, why can’t i let the thought of you go.. it’s never going to happen yet i can’t fucking get it through my thick skull that i’m not the one you want. look at me, i never will be.
living with bpd is like god someone please love me because i physically can’t love myself. i need the validation of someone thinking i’m a good person; that i’m worthy of love because the only thing i can think about right now is how much i deserve to be run over by a semi truck
when i imagine happiness, it’s always with you. when i imagine comfort it’s in your arms. when i imagine security, it’s you taking care and protecting me. you are the one that sees every part of me and doesn’t run away, please keep me forever.
i’m turning 18 in two days and the fact that thirteen year old me thought i would be dead by now, i think is one of the saddest things about mental illness. i never thought id make it to 18, eight-fucking-teen because of how fucked i am as a person and all the bad shit that happened to me as a child. this is one of the worst parts of mental illness, having to explain how it’s a miracle you’re still alive. after so many attempts i’m still here.
i’m only loved by you when i’m useful and lately you don’t need me
i ask you to do one fucking thing for me. one. do you know how much i put on the line for you every single fucking day? you can’t show up for the thing that i have rehearsed six months for? one fucking thing i ask of you. to show up on my fucking birthday and watch the show i’m in. one fucking thing i ask of you and you tell me you can’t because it’s not important. fuck you. i fucking hate you. and the worst fucking part is i’ll be having a panic attack in the dressing room on my eighteenth birthday with no one to calm me because the only one who can is you and you fucking know that. i hate you so so much. why can’t i just get over the fact you’re never gonna want me or even care about anything that is important to me. why. why do i have to be so fucking in love with you. you’re the worst and best thing that has ever happened to me and i just fucking hate it.
when the abilify kicks in i’m like @_@
i hate how i always come running back to you
when i say i miss you— it means i miss when you used me for your own benefit, because then you at least gave me the love i wanted. i miss when you held me against you and held my hands, when you gave me the love i longed for. when you ended it, i swear i’ve never seen myself as more useless and vile as i have before. you ruined how i view my body, my insecurities that you told me i was nothing to be ashamed of. every time someone has loved me like this they’ve always left after they got what they wanted. i thought you were different. nothing has ever been about me, and the worst part of all of this is that i should be so upset and hate you for all of this. but it just makes me love you more. i’m absolutely vile. i crave the toxicity of you, even though you ruin the way i think and act. i can never get enough of you.