I've felt for years that there was a battle being waged inside of me between good and evil. The good sees, understands, accepts, forgives and loves unconditionally. The evil sees just as well as the good, but seeks revenge. An eye for an eye, extracted slowly, purposefully, and righteously. 

I'm approaching my mid-30's, and lately I've begun to fear that the good half is losing the battle. In the past few years I've lashed out at many of those I'd considered my closest friends for perceived insults. From my early 20's up until a few months ago I drank nearly every day, and frequently engaged in unsafe and uncaring sex. I always thought that eventually I'd figure it out. One year ago I hit rock bottom. In the span of a week I fucked a stranger in the front seat of a truck parked on a not-so-quiet street and nearly fucked another in the alley behind a busy bar. This was just a few short months after I'd dramatically severed ties with 5 of my closest friends. 

I'm now living in a beautiful part of the country working a job I truly love. I'm making the best money I've ever made, enough to pay my bills on time and even start paying down the tens of thousands of dollars of debt I've accrued. I'm in regular contact with my family, and the friendships I've managed to hang on to are stronger than ever. 

And yet, the better things seem from the outside, the worse they feel on the inside. When my roommate lets the kitchen cabinets slam, a sharp pain shoots through my entire body like every blood cell from the hollows of my bones to the surface of my skin has instantaneously transformed into shards of glass, and I think about charging into the room and crushing her fingers into splinters. I overshare at work to the point that on the drive home I think about how much I'd like to be put on mood stabilizers because I'd rather be a tranquilized zombie than a manic, self-centered freak. 

I've suspected for years that I have BPD though I've never been diagnosed. I'm in the process of looking for a therapist to finally get help. One thing I fear is that if I were to finally be put on medication, I'd have this clarity like, "I should have done this years ago instead of foolishly believing I could handle it on my own. Look how much time and potential, look at how many opportunities and friendships I've wasted being an absolute raving fucking lunatic," and I'm afraid the shame will overwhelm me and I'll kill myself.