Confused, so confused

I have launched myself from tall places and hoped no one would catch me. I have ended relationships because suddenly I was also exposed, but isolation is not safety, it is death. If no one knows you’re alive, you aren’t.

bpd logic:

My heart swings back and forth between the need for routine, and the urge to run.

All the things I did wrong: I: I relied on someone for my happiness. II: I love people more than I love myself. III: I never asked for help. IV: I asked for help. V: I opened up. VI: I had hope.

here for mentally ill people who don’t want to go to college 

What do you do if it’s never you? If you’re never the prettier one, the better one,  the golden one that people choose and instead, you are yourself  and yourself is always second best  or third best or even possibly the very worst- the last choice, the shadow, the weak voice  of sorrow. Well if you want so badly  to be the one, the one that is picked- not overlooked and shunned, then look at yourself all honest and true and tell yourself- “I will always choose you”

I do not like the feeling of being a borderline. I do not like the feeling of abandonment. this fake abandonment, I’ve constructed in my head, this abandoned building in my chest that I beg people to live in but when they do I kick them out because nobody deserves to have to fix this poor collapsing excuse for a house. I know you haven’t left, but you havent told me you loved me in three hours, ten minutes, and 32, 33, 34 seconds so how am I supposed to know the difference? I do not like these mood swings I do not like spending hours of my night covering every mirror in a blanket and covering every tastebud in burning alcohol only to wake up loving every thing about me taking down all the fleece to realise that the happy me that decides to drop in just enough to always be missed is not the me that reflects in the mirror I do not even know who that me is I do not like the feeling of being a work in progress I’m taking traits and ideas and hobbies straight from other people’s identities and hoping they dont notice when i suddenly become exactly who they want me to be “we have so much in common” not unless you, too, sit up every night praying to a god you dont believe in to let you give up because theres no reason to live but theres no reason to die either because theres no person here at all I do not like this disorder but if someone told me there was a solution I don’t know if I would take it because this lack of identity is my only identity and this empty shelter in my chest is the only home I’ve ever known I do not like the feeling of being me

“you’ll get through this. you’ll survive.”