BPD, Mental health

Paranoia or reality?

Paranoia. It’s getting worse. Or is it? How do I know? For I am no longer a person, my mind is a muddled, confused space where reality is becoming increasingly clouded. I simply do not trust myself. I am thought. I am emotion. But I cannot make decisions. I struggle to comprehend so much of what goes on around me.

I wanted this blog to be positive; to help; to educate; to motivate. I have been silent for a while for I now reside in a never-ending spiral of darkness and confusion. Then I remember I said I would share the ups and downs, so I am writing again. Not well, but words dragged from the congealed black treacle between my ears.

Noise, movement, shadows, changes in voice tones, eye movements, eye aversions, body language. A part of me, the ever-decreasing part tells me that people are not reacting to me, that they are going about their daily business, their minds are on their troubles or tasks, that it is not personal, threatening, or rejection. But I don’t know. I cannot tell. One safe place, one group of unchanging and welcoming people. The store. When there are no customers. Customers. Sometimes strangers passing through, working in the area, others local, known faces but closed. I am unsure. I do not know whether to greet people or hide behind the shelves or retreat into the office and breathe.

Faces, once upon a time oh so long ago in the far distant past, I remembered faces. I could see someone on a train and remember the city street or building they worked in. I remembered passing them. I would recognise them 1, 2 or even five years hence. Indelibly imprinted. Faces were never forgotten. Names, I have never remembered and have to apply mental nicknames to people I meet. They must be linked to jobs, or hobbies, or the colour of their house, or an item of clothing they regularly wear.

But now faces are blurs of people; dark; closed; potentially hostile. Groups shade and congeal and become shadows with unfriendly eyes.

I even doubt those previously trusted, watching, waiting for a clue of betrayal.

Layers of clothing to keep me warm; but although I’m sweating, I am not warm. A cold envelope of moisture seems to enclose me.

Some things don’t change. The googling of places to go in advance. Checking the route, using the satellite view to check how many approaches and escapes. Using the little yellow man on street view to check doors, marking points, proximity to things I may not like. My dislike of buildings with only one exit. My tendency to be near a doorway with a wall behind me. Learned behaviour. Carried through life from high school. That level is my norm. This raised level. I don’t know.

I have left on-line support groups too. Even those once safe places where my differences were like others have become places where I lack confidence and no longer have trust.

There is one improvement. I now refer to people as “people”. For years they were “humans.”

But overall this is not good. I know this is not a good space to be in. But I don’t know how to get out of this blackened maze in my mind.

And I withdraw further from what I perceive as an increasingly hostile world.

Is it just my paranoia, or is it reality?

I no longer know.

But I will make it. Somehow. Somewhere there is someone who can hear my scream.

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