wasntmeanttobe64

Where are my friends, where are my fellow aliens.

The people that understand me.

I’m a drunk, I’m a borderline, she doesn’t remember me.

Have you seen her, where did she go? Did she find someone?

I’ve scared her off.

Tell her to find me again.

Tell her I hurt her, and I might hurt her again.

`` ``

She muttered happy to see me, my heart weary, gleamy, but she still rhymed so gently to me. And to resent her, I was told.

`` ``

Her soul looked down at mine. my heart ashamed, unkind, she smiled so gaily at me And her smile I faced with cold.

`` ``

I couldn’t take my evil heart. I muttered of love, romance, spark she found my words crazy, empty, And I’ve broken to her scold.

`` ``

An evil was in the making. my soul still unawaken, and her rhymes she has faintly taken away from the love I hold.

`` ``

I now lay in deep lost sorrow imagining rhymes of tomorrow my words too clumsy to follow follow stories never told.

`` ``

The evil still lays in me, empties me, eats me, and the guilt never forgiven, as my desperate words unfold.

`` ``

I loved her so sweetly, so dreamly, but I was so selfish, so needy, and forever I will hold these words, for no one to behold.

`` ``

No way to speak to her fondly, clearly My heart was lying, greedy, Good memories have grown tired, And to forget her, my heart imposed.

`` ``

My evil heart always tapping, the one speaking, And I was somewhere else, begging, weeping, There is no forgiveness for my own trapping. Trapping of my heart’s hold.

But the only selfless thing I could do is suicide.

What a shame, what a pity

I could’ve been kinder to friends, kinder to me.

I blame my first heartbreak, for showing me that I can’t love.

I blame embarrassment, for clamoring onto me since childhood.

I blame my words, for never rhyming, for never singing, for never describing my soul.

I blame the cold, for reminding me of the baldness in my head.

I blame my nose, my saggy eyes, and the darkness of my colors.

I blame the sun, for all the times it hid behind clouds, not holding my face in warmth when I needed it so much.

I blame depression, I blame anxiety.

I blame all the things that killed me, that tormented me.

I blame the friends that wouldn’t think highly of life after they hear about my death.

I blame my parents, for trapping me in inaction so as to not resent themselves.

I blame the noise of cars for disturbing my sleep.

I blame my room for its safety to complain and weep.

I blame the languages I chose to speak.

I blame the friends that abandoned me.

I blame the people I talked to, for never reconciling me.

I love you.

I love you.

The way you held my arm.

The honesty you brew.

I stood on the shoulders of giants.

But my inability to sink into your waves.

My lack of air.

I responded with chokes.

I’ve said no.

I love you.

I love you.

And my heart breaks.

If only I knew to talk.

If only I knew to be quiet.

To stop the waves from jumping through.

And filling my lungs.

With waters that break.

I kept my legs still.

And I said no.

I said no to the person that breaks my heart.

To the person that made it real.

My heart comes and goes, and I can only see it in the rays of the sun.

When my eyes exist in the spaces in between.

When I commute on the train.

Or hear the laughs of children in the noons of summer.

I can long and pursue, to study and work, to let it sparkle and fleet.

The universe expands and we try to keep up with it.

I wish you held my arm forever.

I can feel the expansion of the world, and the waves in my heart that try to catch up to it.

The gravity of the moon moves away, but the earth walks away with it.

The expansion is to no avail.

I never said yes.

Even if I said the first I love you.

And you know the worst thing is, that I fucking love you.

I loved you till the waves stopped running.

When you held my arm, I wanted to live with you in the in-betweens.

In the man-made spaces that are abandoned.

In the skips of classes.

In the empty tennis fields.

And walk the streets watching offices.

And live in the void.

In the dark matter between stars.

I sank into the gravity that pulls us apart.

I loved your hurt.

And I loved mine.

I loved to long.

Sometimes, I don’t want to get out of bed.

And sometimes, I can’t imagine getting wed.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m losing my mind.

And sometimes, I think people are too kind.

Sometimes, my retainer gets lost.

And sometimes, my skin sweats lots.

Sometimes, I have jokes I can’t tell.

“I’m abandoning everything! everything! and that way I won’t be abandoned-”

“I’m so afraid of losing something I love that I refuse to love anything.”

“I crave touch, yet I flinch every time someone is close enough. I have become rather fearful I suppose.”

“I had two longings and one was fighting the other. I wanted to be loved and I wanted to be always alone.”

“The way sometimes I want both to be looked at and disappear.”

/media/28c6269f26e7a875dbfe35e5fe3a6271

The intersection of racism and borderline personality disorder is not discussed at it should. In this article, I try to explore how racism affects people with a borderline personality disorder. In my opinion, being a racial minority with borderline personality disorder creates the biggest emotional pain in humanity. Already, Borderline Personality Disorder is known as the disorder that causes the most intense emotional pain, as they sabotage the very relationships they fear losing so intensely, and they are known to feel like having an exposed nerve ending, or having skin that’s flipped inside out. As a people with intense feelings of abandonment, rejection, and judgment, and existing in a society that’s judgmental and isolating to darker skin colors, it creates intense daily emotional pain, and it is made worse by the fact that we can be evil human beings too, but we are aware of it and feel the guilt in the same extent, making us hate ourselves, others and the cruelty of the “natural way of things.”

Racial splitting

As a brown person with borderline personality disorder, I have found myself “splitting” on white people. I became very distrustful and a bad person toward people with white skin color as I expect rejection and abandonment by them. Especially as I self-isolate, I forget that, during my high school years, skin color was never in my mind as I communicate with people. My best friends were white, and I never noticed or observed it. At the time, I didn’t split on them as a race as of yet. I had white “favorite persons” and I felt very comfortable with them. There were moments when white people acknowledged that I am brown, through jokes, or observations, but I never fully “split” on all white people until I became 21. I come from a racially diverse family. My grandad from my father's side is brown, and his wife was white. My mom is white. My family is racially diverse, two of my brothers are white, and me and another are brown.

/media/24e231bf6a958e817857041e06f3f8a8Splitting.

I sometimes experience anxiety in my own household, as I notice that my oldest brother is white while I’m talking to him, and it triggers my anxiety at that moment. I become awkward because I don’t trust him all of a sudden, but I cannot split on him out loud as I cannot comprehend why I’m being technically racist, and mean, and I don’t want to ruin things in my family. So, I become awkward, I try to end the conversation and go to my room as soon as possible, it can be quite alarming, and it sounds crazy.

I am afraid of white people, I’m afraid of their rejection and judgment. I’ve “split” on all of them.

Falling in love with a white person

…

…

…

…

…

/media/a10cd3e071e8714e83782ee3a0316803

I fell in love with a white person, but I didn’t trust them because they’re white, because I already feel that they don’t like me as much because of my skin color. They think I’m ugly. So, I cannot fully express my vulnerability. So I become mean to them, I tell them I love them, but I try to hurt them, I try to pretend that I don’t need them, I don’t want them. I, cruelly, try to convince them that they are flawed too, as I think they know I am. And it probably increases the stigma on both borderline and my skin color, and it further makes me hate myself.

As I navigate in the world with racial splitting, it becomes difficult. People with my skin color become all good, and people from different skin colors become all bad. For me, with quiet BPD, my distrust manifests in awkwardness, and sometimes seething sarcasm and meanness in interpersonal communication. Obviously, I hate myself for it, and I try to resist it, but I can’t.

The stigma of racism and how it doesn’t help me

Talking about this out loud made me realize how many intense feelings I could not word out loud because they are racist. I am technically racist, as I try to protect myself from my intense feelings, I become a mean person to a skin color. “Hurt people hurt people,” etc, etc. I “hate them” because I’m afraid of them, I don’t feel emotionally comfortable.

Splitting isn’t necessarily going from intense like to intense hate, rather, for me, when I split on someone, sometimes I still love them and respect them, I’m just so afraid of them, I expect them to hurt me and leave me, or not like me as much as I did. So I hurt them and leave first.

/media/ac7c0e1514a249c2d799b23f5c8df2bc

How racial splitting has impacted my life

Avoiding T.V. shows and gifs with white main characters.

Avoiding relating to white friends.

Acting small when dealing with same-age white cooks and shop keepers.

Afraid of opening up to someone because they are white.

P.S. These feelings go away as I interact with more white-skin people in my community, and, hopefully, feel that they oversee my skin color as well. Even more hopefully, feel they they oversee my skin color even when I don’t oversee theirs.

I am 21 and all I had were crushes.

The girl I first ever loved, I talked to while she was loving someone else.

The girl I first ever loved, I didn’t touch.

Everyone I meet has their heart belong to someone.

Their first lover that they never forget.

I haven’t had my first kiss.

I haven’t loved anyone that loved me.

Is my first lover out there.

Who can I love, that can say I loved them.

The first person I loved I treated like shit.

She thinks I’m crazy, delusional.

I couldn’t take how she talked to me.

and one can try to cut the distance between souls

but one is forever alone

Why is my body such hard company

why is it so uncomfortable.

I can’t stay in one position for more than an hour

I must sit in a chair, lay on my stomach, lay on my back

my laptop has been everywhere

I lost the ability to truly connect

And I feel forever doomed

Because this solitude is so comforting

Maybe this is what artists talk about

How it’s a myth that pain is the source of their art

But maybe it’s not a myth

Art is another way to express feelings and emotions that go unheard.

When you have words, when you have language, your emotions are heard differently

To different people

To people who are also artists in their words

In their speech

In their improvisational conversations.

But some people can’t love

Some people can’t talk

Some people are doomed to blog to no one

Some people are doomed to find comfort in how they are special

Some people are doomed to ask for more from the world

And those spaces where they can get more love

That dreamed of a girl.

That would hear him sing.

And write her poetry.

What happened to that little boy.

With long hair down to his eyes.

Who would watch over the garden wall,

and think of all he ways he would make someone happy.

Some people let the ugliness seep in.

But is it really their fault?

I am tired, and so devoid of love.

I cannot give love to myself.

And no one wants to give love to me.

How I cherish the back rubs of my dad.

The caresses to my hair.

But I don’t trust him.

I don’t trust anyone.

Because I know how I ugly I am.

And how they will hurt me.

What happened to that skinny little kid.

Who did not care what he looks like.

And loved without limits.

What happened to that little boy.

Please hug him and care for him.

Whenever I feel sad.

That’s when they feel comfortable talking to me.

When I don’t talk back.

I am tired of human inhumanity.

I can not unsee it.

For the color of my skin.

For the way my nose twists.

My face is a combination of generations loved back to back.

But I have ruined it.

I chose to speak a different language than my parents.

I was raised to be quiet.

To be nothing.

My anxiety can not be loved.

My fear can not be loved.

I am afraid of different skin colors.

I am afraid of men.

I am racist, but I hate the racist.

I am selfish, but I have nothing to give.

I pity the sad, but I’m ready to take advantage.

If heaven is real, let it open up.

I was not good enough for man.

The never loved.

The never kissed.

The never requited.

The evil.

The lonely.

Do they write poetry?

Do they write to one another?

Where are the bitter incels

That welcome one another.

I have never felt so lonely,

“No.” She said.

“I feel like you are telling people about me, bonding over how much of a piece of shit I am.” I said.

“Keep thinking whatever you want.” She said.

“Do you still care about me?” I said.

“No, now you’re telling me you love me?! You became a madman, you act pretentious. I don’t recognize you anymore. I’ve always thought you were one of the few people that didn’t think of me as a girl, and while I’m going through all this hurt from you from the last time we spoke, how dare you come back to me and tell me you love me.”

“Fuck you.” I said.

“I don’t care.” She said, and left.

She finally broke me, she realized, but I really did love her.

Why is the hurt and fault all mine. I’ve dealt with things the best way I knew how. I had to hurt her. I didn’t love her sexually, I loved her soul. I asked her to love me back, the girl and everything in her. I missed her a lot. But she thought I had always been too evil. But she's been the most evil of all, I just couldn't tell her. I just kept the pain to myself, and let her talk.

So I sent her another text.

I don’t think she’s told anyone yet. She shouldn’t tell anyone about what we’ve done because everyone will know about us, and she’ll know that I have indeed gone mad.

My presence terrified her, but I had to impose it onto her, I was in love with her, and she said she loved me back.

I walked by where she lived, I looked at her until she looked at me.

What else did I know that I should’ve done.

She has to live her life thinking of me like that.

I signed up to her university to study literature.

Even if I hurt her, I was in love with her.

I took her to my car and locked the door.

I needed to talk to her again.

She pleaded to leave, she tried to scream to the people walking by, I had to shut her mouth.

There is no one like her, the way her lips are shaped over her heavy neck. She could never pay attention to things anyone said. But I want her to pay attention to mine.

I’ve never fell in love with someone as I did with her panicking body, I was in deep surrender to my chest, it felt like I could sink into my body. My baby Mabeleen, I held her lips and head.

She kept resisting, she loved me, but because of a little miscommunication, she didn’t want to talk to me again, I wanted to show her that the person she doesn’t like anymore isn't me, she loves who I really am, I’m not a madman, I’m perfect for her, and I loved her, and she loved me so much, she told me, if she didn't change her mind about me so cruelly.

I had to remind her of me, and how we have fun when we talk, how we are otherworldly.

I knew that if I let her go, she would leave and all my old friends would know what I’ve become.

I held her neck with one arm and shut her mouth with the other.

I chocked her.

She looked at me, terrified, my princess loved me.

She gave up her resistance, she shook her arm and held my crotch. She looked at me, smiling.

She wanted me to stop, and to love her.

I kept choking until she stopped moving.

At that moment, I don’t know what I’ve done. I’ve never felt so alive. My sweet lover loved me for who I am, at the last seconds of her life. I knew she would love me if she got the chance. I was chuckling, I could feel the happiness of all my past selves, I could conquer the world.

Her body laid dormetly on the other seat, my princess has finally become quiet. She was loving.

She finally could hear my words, without judgment, with full understanding, without expecting fullness, comprehension. She gave me all her attention, and she let my attention wonder somewhere else.

I’ve driven for a while. The highway was all mine, no cars were passing by, what time is it? How long has it been that I’ve committed the most lovely of crimes. I could finally notice the stars. And the coldness of the air at night. My eyes kept themselves open.

Quietly, I got my head out of my window, it was me and the world. The love of my life has loved me, the world was against us, it didn’t understand us. We were too special to communicate with words, words so clumsy, so empty, so unforgiving. But when our souls touch, when we talk with our eyes and death, we were truly in love. I could die and be happy. I loved her so much.

I started screaming.

“Look at this, look at me.” I pleaded hysterically.

I held her dormant head with one hand so she looks at the road.

The majestic night was tranquil, like her, only my headlights to light the way. I felt alive, I was the only person alive.

I had to match the scenery.

I parked on a bridge, and left the car.

Crying, happy, I looked at the passenger seat, she is still calm, not interrupting me, not selfishly taking my attention, and I jumped off.

We were in love, and my heart was requited, I had to keep my feelings for eternity. I took mabeleen’s love with me.

This person that tormented me, that haunted my thoughts and imaginations, loved all parts of me, was all mine, finally, until the end of time.

There is no better ending.