Hoping that it will maybe help someone here. I was diagnosed (as/with?) BPD back in June, after years of mental health issues, and a breakdown that involved a couple weeks in an outpatient mental health program. She has been a trooper for years, and has stood by me through some seriously trying times. We have three kids under 5, and are just trying to do the best we can to provide them the stability that I wasn't given as a child. Forgive the grammatical shit. I know I overuse commas...

Tonight I am struggling. I’m struggling with a feeling that is so familiar to me at this point that you think I’d be used to it, but I’m still not. It’s emptiness.

Except, you probably think of this in the metaphorical sense. Feeling unfulfilled, un-rewarded, sad. Emptiness for me though isn’t just a sensation of discontentment in my situation. It’s an actual physical feeling. One that feels as if I have a massive black hole right in my chest. Like I am a massive vacuum, built to take any positive energy and destroy it. I take those around me that are encouraging, and rip them to shreds. I’m constantly self-sabotaging. I don’t understand why though. I’ve heard them say it’s BPD. Why though?

I just feel like, why me? I know that sounds so goddamn ridiculous, as if we can pick the situations we grow up in or are raised into. We’re made into these people that are only as emotionally capable as those that raised us. I’m tired of filling my life with lies. I want to live a life of truth, of being true to myself. True to what I want, true to who I want to be. But I don’t even know what my truth is. What my real life’s truth is. I have spent so much time conforming to what those around me want from me that I have never truly cultivated a personality for myself. I’ve never been Julian \*for\* Julian.

Right now; my truth is, I’d rather not be here. I wish I was being dramatic, or trying to over emphasize how I feel, but I’m honestly not sure how much longer I can continue to feel like this. I know that therapy is supposed to help, but am I even going to be strong enough to get through it? I’ve fucked up everything in my life so far, so why should I suddenly start making good choices that would improve things? And if I do, Will I forever live with the discontentment, and sadness of a life lived never truly fulfilled?

It’s true. I am never fulfilled. I’ve had the “perfect” house, the “perfect” marriages (one that I destroyed, and one that is on its way due to my actions) I have beautiful children, I’ve had jobs that people have dreamed of having, cars, computers, things. None of it matters though. It’s never enough. 

I’ve had nothing. I’ve had less than nothing, and I’ve been living homeless for two years with three kids. Yes, I’ve had a roof over my head, but it’s not one that I put there, or that I kept there. That was the doing of others. I put myself, and my family in that situation because I couldn’t control the demons in my head. Why do I think that I can tame them? I am so scared of this whole process.

I don’t know if I am strong enough to beat this, and it scares me to death. Because it’s like living with brain cancer that only I can cure. And right now either I kill it, or it kills me, and I haven’t done nearly enough work to learn how to rid my brain of this plague. I’ve cried, I’ve screamed, I’ve cried more. I’ve analyzed the garbage that’s in my head, and I don’t see how I possibly could have come out normal with my home life being what it was.

My whole childhood, It was my job to be there and follow along. I wasn’t able to step out of line, because my parents were always so busy with work, baseball, and my brothers and sister’s nonsense that they didn’t have any time for me to fuck around. So I couldn’t. If I did, I was met with swift and sometimes physically violent or worse, emotionally violent reprisal. I was told what I would do, where I would go, and what I should grow up to be. I was pushed to be successful, and feel that because my brothers were failures, and my sister is disabled that I am the only one that could possibly succeed, and I’ve let them down. How can I ever be enough for anyone else, when I am not even enough for me?