Sometimes I wonder if my suicide attempt actually worked and this is just hell i'm living in now.
Like I’m just another part of the statistic.
Research has shown that around 70 percent of people with BPD will have at least one suicide attempt in their lifetime, and many will make multiple suicide attempts, and people with BPD are more likely to complete suicide.
Sometimes I stand and everything goes black, and the static in my head gets louder and louder.
Sometimes I cry, sobbing between heaving- but not often because it’s hard for me to display emotions normally.
We’re supposed to be constantly feeling things at an intensified level than neurotypicals.
Sometimes I get distant. I disassociate from myself and exist somewhere in between reality and the void.
It’s hard for me to say sorry to those I hurt in the process of me hurting myself.
I can’t sit still.
My mind’s moving 100 mph and it’s almost impossible to slow it down.
Countless flashbacks play in the back of my mind on a reel. Like a horror flick I can’t get out of.
Like I’m in a nightmare and everything in me is saying run but my legs won’t move.
When you have BPD you can’t really control your emotions.
It’s an emotional switch that flips. Like the breaker box is shot and all the wires are frayed.
I wear his T-shirt’s when he’s gone to remind me that he still exists. His smell on the pillowcase is the only reminder that he was even here, that it was real.
When you have BPD nothing seems real. You often question if you really do exist.
A friend asked me why I write everything down and turn it into a poem. The only way I can assure myself it really happened is to let it live on through my art.
Everyday I wake up and ask myself if I can just be normal today. Be a normal sister, a normal girlfriend, a normal human being. I always set my expectations far too high.
It may not mean much to him but his slightly different demeanor has me in a state of panic fueled by my overwhelming fear of rejection and abandonment.
I live with this everyday and some days it’s harder to push all the fears to my subconscious.
It’s like I’m falling rapidly down a mountainside and the sudden occurrence of fear in overwhelming quantities is crushing my chest. Clogging my windpipe, making it seemingly impossible to breathe.
Living with BPD is the equivalent of constantly being at war with yourself. You don’t get quiet moments.
But I sustain myself on the idea that everything will be okay.
Everything’s okay.
I’m okay.  
And people ask me why I can’t just shut it off, as if it is that easy.
I’m doing everything I can to stop the voices in my head from screaming over his whisper in my ear.
I find comfort in the fact that he loves me despite the chaos. I sustain myself on the fact that he loves me. That’s all the justification needed.
I know he’s probably sick of always putting me back together, but his touch makes all the sharp edges fit perfectly together.
I have no impulse control.
But I am slowly accepting my disease, and I remember to not let it define me.
I’m learning to cope, and I have to remember to be kind to myself.
If you’re struggling with mental illness, please remember to be kind to yourself.
If some days you need to stay in bed, that’s okay.
If some days you forget to take your medication, that’s okay.
If some days you act on your impulses, that is okay.
Don’t hide yourself from the world because you are different.
You are radiant, you are celestial, you are loved.
Always remember you matter.
May is BPD awareness month and my only goal is to speak to other through my story.
If you or someone you know is struggling with BPD, educate yourself on the symptoms and traits.
Let’s raise awareness for Borderline Personality Disorder

Warning: Use dis list in context.*

You decide on which side you fall.

disappear
disregard
disaster
displace
disqualify
disrepair­
disturb
dissipate
disability
dispose
dismal
distribute
distrust
­disturb
discriminate
discuss
disdain
disguise
dishearten
disinher­it
disown
disparage
disagree
disgruntle
disclose
discolour
disput­e
disarm
discover
disassemble
disadvantage
disallow
dispossess
di­scontent
discontinue
disrespect
disincline
discomfort
disrepute
d­ishonest
disillusion
dishonor
dismiss
disobey
disjoin
disappoint
­discipline
discord
discern
discrete
disfigure
disconnect
disappro­ve
discharge
disbar
disease
discord
disfavor
disengage
disassocia­te
discipline
discount
disembody
displace
dissaray
disembowel
dis­combobulate
discredit
discourse
disentangle
disenfranchise
disemb­ark
discard
disburse
disbelief
discover
disable
disagree
disinteg­rate
dismay
dispense
dislodge
disclaimer
disapprove
dissatisfy
di­srupt
dispel
dislike
dismantle
disloyal
disbatch
disrobe
disperse­
display
disaprove
disciple
disavow
disconcert
disinfect
disorder­
dismal
dismember
displease
dissemble
disunity
dislocate
distort
­distrust
distress
dissolute
disassociate
distill
discect (?)
distemper
distain
distasteful
distraught
dissolve
dissonant
d­issuade

And dis isn't de end.

It's the blend of black and white
The collapsing of good and evil
Like parallel universes becoming one
Like the pull of an angel to the dark side
Or of a devil redeemed
Or like two children at play
rolling down opposite sided hills
Until they meet in the middle of a valley
But gray is not just two colors combined
It is a feeling too
Like an uninvited dark cloud
Looming over head
Crowding you in an empty room
Gray can even be a sensation
A feeling of breathlessness
Despite knowing that your lungs work perfectly
It is the color of numbness
Of no personality and "I don't care"
Its the color of not having an appetite
And a lack of social interaction
Gray is the black and white feeling of a panic attack
When the lights start to blend together
But that slowly turn black as you start to disassociate from the world around you
And you only hear your ears ringing and your heart beat

Heart beat...

The one thing that makes us real
The one thing that we all have in common.

BUT we have more than just hearts
We have minds

Minds that make the human race diverse

Gray is the color of diversity
It represents the complete blend of black and white

To think of the world in black and white would be a crime
Not because there is never a right or a wrong
But because when you see the world in gray,
You witness a world of beauty, pain, error
Emotions that don't exist in clean margins

I love the world that I see in gray.

Can you see it too?

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Let me explain.
This poem is about sleeping, dreaming,
the failure of my inadequacies in poetry to heal.

Three years after its birth, it is exactly what I am feeling this day.
It is long rambling and you won't stay for the whole movie.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Erudition is perdition,
dreaming in words, accursed,
death to the visionaries,
release from visitations
of over-staying, unwelcome guests,
Johnny Cash, Jesus,
Forefather Jacob, Bobby Dylan
and their whiny,
smug-smiled missives
on behalf of the
all knowing, dream invader powers,
who
just-happens-to-be-know-it-alls.

These guys,
sub rosa angels,
electioneering,
hand shaking  
you into dreams
that make you wonder              
unceasingly  

I have renounced chants n'
dreams that
wander                              
meaninglessly

so if there is no
repeal of the stupification
of the human condition,
just invent words that  fool
willful and mostly please
nobody

don't ask and don't tell,
then we can agree
that a life,
its peculiar
Hallmark Card of grief,
cannot be
disambiguated

yours is yours,
different from mine,
single poems cannot solve
multivariate equations,  
un-blow mind sensations
that circumnavigate my mind    
as I edge along the
borderline tween the
United States of self-realization,
and a State of Mexico
drug-induced, seductive and
self-administered pat down,
a colorless, tasteless, dreamless
evening in the company of
a rest-once-and-for-all,
sleeping pill

Repudiate yourself,  
privately you
hyperventilate,
but others willing to borrow
those surfeit of rapid
misunderstood breathes,
stored in brown paper bags,
that will be divided
most ingeniously by the
Misappropriation Committee
for wordy oxygen tanks,
desperate for refilling

Recant, Renege,
Renounce, Repeal,
Repudiate, Retract,
I herby foreswear
all previous poems, please
Return them

Back, send them,
so, I can end them,
desist any new arrival of vaniloquence,
direct 'em to  the trash box of inconsequence

My wrongful w-rightings
are now cashiered,
my cool is in mourning,
my plateau is flat but
upsided downded,
words drownded,
both sides now, spring silent

Tried to swim to safety,
to Spanish Harlem
but no hablo espanol,

In Miami, they done me in
for the crime of
insufficiently thin,

In Ghiradelli Square
they deemed me too blond
not 'ciscan enough
yet, in Frisco fairness,  
done deported me,
making me to choose
tween Los Angeles and/or
Orange County

So, poet poseur, where you gonna run too?

My better half sleeps,
my left half weeps,
so conditions normal.

Satan laughs,
offers me ***** or poetry,
knowing full well that having
foresworn, addictive wordmongering, liscentiousness
that a single letter
would stupor me into a
drunken poetry slam at
St. Paul's Church,
into Satan's collection box
of wordy sinners,
where lost souls, ex-poets,
prevaricate
vainly, in hopes
that anyone will let them
transubstantiate
in order to avoid their
expiration date
on Stub Hub

surrendered the master key,
turned in my ID badge,
opened inner sanctum no more,
poetry boy is ratiocinated,
peril dispatched, swear that I've
excommunicated the voices
determined to disintermediate

the compromise I've reached,
help is contraindicated,
ex-officio is my new grace state

please, devices decontaminate,
otherwise, poems disintegrate,
excoriate them, don't wait,
to disassociate'em, insufficient,
remove them from hard drives,
yank'em one and all!

let the diet begin,
no more food for thought,
no more dreams
wrought and recorded,
permit the ambient calm
of the still of the night
that engulfs,
to harmonize with the flatline
dreamless sleep that the
mind monitor machine
etchingly, quietly records

let hours of research
be rewarded,
by my imbibing the product of
laboratory pharmacological
fine tuning

***** S.,
what outrageous ego
let me suppose that in
mine own words,
I could improve upon
your lovelies,
with now bland homilies,
recitations of my anomalies

What id sexed my brain,
was I completely insane,
to imagine that I could
improve upon:

"and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the
thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,
'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd.
To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream:
ay, there's the rub"

Finished: Nov 27, 2010 4:44 AM

I am an African,
Just like you are,
Here I am in Africa,
From Africa,
I may speak,
Not your African language,
But a cataclysmic African,
Who speaks my African language,
I am.
An inferior African,
You may as you do,
Regard me,
But still,
African I am,
African I cry,
African I laugh,
African I sing,
African I live.


You have made me feel ashamed,
To be in this part of Africa,
But never,
Will you make me feel ashamed,
To be African,
Whatever derogatory labels,
You may stick on me,
No matter how unAfrican,
Kwerekwere, Grigamba or whatever,
But still,
I will be an African,
Even a much better one.


African,
Like my father,
His fore fathers,
And their forefathers,
African,
Just like I was yesterday,
African,
Just like I am now,
African,
That is what I will always be,
And African,
Forever.


According to the author, we are all foreigners in any country on this earth, more like tenants. No one has any claim to any portion of this earth for it belongs to God. The barbaric, self-centered and intolerant demeanor we have recently witnessed in South Africa tells the story of mindless teaks on a dog that are claiming to own the dog and solidifies the myth that Africa is a dark continent and Africans are still stuck in the animal kingdom. How do we dispute what is becoming more of a fact that “you can take Africans from the bush but you can never take the bush out of Africans”. Fellow South Africans (the perpetrators), you have proved to be more disgusting than ***** and the most befitting place for you is the sewage dump that is far away from Africa. If there was another Africa that is not this Africa, I would have done the obvious and most logical thing – to completely disassociate my dignified African self from the brainless, destructive, inhuman thugs that you are. Today, I am an African who is dead ashamed to be African!

Repeat.
Rinse your hair
Is this (your) hair

My eyes big
     my vision small

Breathing lumpy
Like my mother's mashed potatoes

Dreaming
         Too bad you're not asleep.

This.
Stimuli.
It depletes me.
Turn, turn around.
And complete me.

I, lost all control.
And this sense of lament is visceral.
I bleed, from the outside.
Numb death, turning, becoming inside.

I.
Just need one thing.
A child’s toy, nostalgic and stuffed.
A somnambulant hymn.
To remove me.
Disassociate, please.

Your hand is soft.
Placed places that comfort.
I miss your scent, that congeals.
I wish I didn’t have to feel nothing.
Emptiness is so guttural and potent.

I can’t help but see.
Everything slip by.

Zara, love of life,
Spake in curtled call
Allfather, lover of light,
To bestow those "ants of the earth"

And arch-bound as the sinew of bowstrings
Howling as the volley hertz roped
Along the celestial violin
Pluck souls from their bodies
In symphonic prediction

Ascende! On the wings of love's Valkyrie-- in her shining eyes will you greet the stars of the Otherworld!

________


Cleaning hide chunks from Buffalo tusks
There is a stranger, who knocks upon my door
The fire is wide and welcoming,
Borea chides the earthenwork
Outside, the stranger calls
distant through the door.

___________

A last heartsong,
The cup overflown with honey
A facsimile of symmetry
And not distinctly human
There was something to love in that,
Just the simple inclusion
Of all the other animus
Being formed in their conclusions

And following the arrowpoint
Floating by the bolt
What losses there to seek
Beyond a veiled humanity

We strike the fire one last time,
She to travel the mountain passes
Ashen eyes, holding viscous memories solidified

I to gather my quills
My thoughts and brush quickly the embers of love.
Into flame, carried deep into the hearts of the world and explored in violent disassociate
Particles red and hot

Then would Zara Spake again,

"with his eyes on the earth, will he never see but the stars."

red you’re flowing red

your words came out like an overdose

dark gray bags and rags for clothes

black and gray and tones morose

red you’re flowing red

a ravenous cavern has eaten all our time

it felt so unkind

I lost my mind

horrible expectations—

lower them

everything drains away to the riverbed

lower then

everything remains hidden until said

lower then

everything flows out to the oceanic carpet

stomach somersault sea green

red you’re flowing red

gushing down to the gulley

you-you sound in a hurry

and complexion unsullied

wait, please wait for me

love isn’t a spectacle

feelings cannot be seen

looking over the shoulder, eyes narrowed,

hips locked in place

you call to me with a look of amusement and I can’t help but cringe

my spirit jumps out of my skin

I hope you like my body

I hope you remember my mind

I hope you know that I flattened on the floor

when you flicked me off your shoulder

and looked menacingly at the door

here I am

a cosmic ant

scurrying about with my feelers hanging low

shake it all off

pretend you aren’t a demon disguised as a simple ****

pretend you aren’t a newspaper clipping in the wind

a single-day story

filler on the news

speech in a bottle

drifting on the sea

a lonely dance hall made for people

to shake off empty flesh

in flakes of gold and steel and lead

what a waste

as it falls onto the floor,

flowing into the drain directly in the center

inch long nails digging in

just like we see on TV

I have to agree

it’s disgusting

but we all have to do it sometimes

****** in the car, whorechild

three years later and I’m ****** on the floor

I’m ****** on the sofa

I’m ****** on the futon

I’m ****** in a stranger’s bed every night

****** by nameless, faceless specters

of masculinity mixed with contempt

users and abusers who love to dissect

but only when *****.

well **** me I’m so tired of being ****** by everyone else

I’m ****** on the street

I’m ****** on the stairs

I’m ****** in the bathroom

I’m ****** in the air

I hang there

a modest bauble on the Christmas tree

no fancy lights lingering on my surface

only the darkness and me

build a house in the middle of the desert and fill it with water

open the door and it all gushes out

draining in tiny valleys and pathways carved from the silent sand

used-up little fool

empty vessel for a ghost

empty vases filled with dead tulips

and a sink filled with ***** water

sunlight has long since left

it’s so simple to see—

only the darkness and me.

this is socialization,

running to work

running to the store

running straight home

running out of places to run

distrust before you disguise the beggar

lying in a pavement grave meant

to be a home

slimy fingers sticking up there—

disassociate—

break—

imagine a world without any *******

imagine a world that is free;

I am only filled more with hate

each time you penetrate

I lose a little more gold

a little more water

a little more spirit

a little more soul

each time you **** me

all I can see is red,

flowing red

draining in the stagnant pools of the narrow bed