BPD, Mental health

Oh tortured brain!

Oh tortured brain, please my heart release! This unending torment, this torrent of unchecked emotion that roars through like a hurricane hurling me, smashing me, ripping me apart. Sometimes it is so hard to weather the storm inside, and it takes every ounce of everything to maintain control. Will I make it? Can I weather this storm? Oh god, I don’t know. I have so far, but I’m battle weary.

The pain is so intense right now I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m typing, I’m writing, I’m riding this wave like a pro-surfer but feel as though I’m about to be dashed against the rocks and smashed to smithereens.

There is so much happening; there are so many triggers, and I cannot hide from the stimuli around me; there is no one to hold me through this except myself, so hold on tight I must.

I’m breathing, I’m here but I’m also everywhere and everything and all and nothing and empty and full and roaring and screaming inside so much with nowhere to put this! I cannot express this; these feelings; these emotions, each a living, breathing, flaming monster roaring to burn outward and I can’t …

So few of us understand this; so few feel this way; this cannot be comprehended by the outside world; this pain cannot be seen. It feels beyond endurance but endure I will, I know that I do, I can, I am strong, I am resilient, and though I’m on my knees right now holding back the urge to vomit for my stomach cannot contain both food and pain I will stand up again and I will make it through another excruciating, never-ending, drawn-out day.

I still make myself smile; I still walk out and say “G’day”; I still wave at the people I know as they drive past, and they don’t know, they don’t see, they don’t hear my silent screams, and were I to scream out loud it would not invoke understanding, but confusion, for it is the smallest things, the slightest things, the things that go unnoticed by the world at large that lift me, plunge me and bounce me around. Big stuff I can handle. Little things with little triggers and enormous, supercharged, racing thoughts and imaginings and possibilities of oh everything because everything is impacted by x or y and x or y are affected by z and a and b and c, and there is so much potential for everything all of the time.

There is no simplicity. There is no sense. My reality is a conglomeration of possibilities both imagined and real, it is oh so different from yours.

I need to keep riding these waves of emotions, let them pass through, let them go but wave after wave after wave a never-ending tsunami that threatens always threatens to drown me.

My physical heart is pounding, my body shaking, sweating, soaked and salty. I am an ocean within and without. It is so cold, so very cold and tense and tight and restricted so I must breathe and breathe and circulate that breath and release each muscle, each mote, each fragmented part of me and warm it and encircle it and love it and be kind to it and keep it safe. Oh so much work to keep my body and my mind intact, but work I must. Hold on I must.

Distract, be mindful, focus, focus on the quiet place, the safe place, the imaginary place within my mind; the one I built; the one with the comfort and the softness and the sounds and smells and textures that I need; the place that although imaginary must become real, must become tangible.

And then I must draw and draw and find those shades of calm and grey for greyness and calmness only come from the graphite between my fingers. Emotions are not grey; they do not lay in grey so build and build the layers of grey. Soothing grey, calming grey, greys that are not real, not my real in a world of colours too bright to bear.

So ask me not how I am, for I will always say I am fine or ok and wish you a happy day. For this is my fine, this is my ok; this is my norm every day. This is the living hell of BPD.

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