Empty Me: Life With BPD

Empty Me, by Chris Sligh is my ring tone on my phone for some time. I have the right idea, it's just getting back there when I struggle everyday to want to live. Anyone that doesn't have BPD sees someone like me as dramatic, self centered, attention seeking, unstable. All of those are correct. We have so much love to give, yet can never quite seem to love ourselves. We push people away, when we really want to draw them close. My happiness comes solely from my environment- a friend, man, the sun, a pretty tree, ocean. I have so little self worth I build a magical world in essence that I present to the outside world because I can't imagine anyone liking me otherwise. I adapt and become what I think people want or need me to be. Children are the only ones that free me from this vicious cycle. It's really too bad I never had kids of my own. MP was the first and only person that took me out of my own head and made me really feel beautiful. Others had tried, but because of the mere fact of who he is it was achieved. Unfortunately he took everything from me too and gave me a world full of facts that are public. No where to hide. No way to adapt. Nothing that makes me feel safe. The attention now is overwhelming. Still desired, but toxic and empty. I live in a world where I desire to not be here anymore 24/7. No matter what my friends do to try to snap me out if it, nothing works. The rawness of being desired, wanted and protected by a man does it, but thanks to MP leaving me exposed to the world, men see and desire me in ugly, dishonest and not long term ways. I'm back to where I was almost two years ago, wanting to be medicated, numb, not here. I truly thought I was strong and in a better place then I was almost two years ago, but as I see more stories about or including me in them I feel broken all over again. The power, fun and life high I feel in doing an interview is quickly replaced with anxiety of wondering what people will think of me, more so will they like me. After doing the Juicy Scoop with Heather McDonald and seeing the ugly. vicious comments of strangers. I am quickly brought back to that child that was 10 in red knee high socks, always feeling different, and knowing when people smiled at me it was an ugly, not right, you are different, weird, not one of us smile. I don't know how to get back to love in a world that thinks I am a liar and a real liar has pulled the wool over so many eyes. Not only fooled them, but convinced them I am a fool, not to be trusted. He is a joker that has convinced the world to reward him and give him the keys to the city. He makes my mental illness unbearable in the neatly packaged bundle of lies he has sold a nation. BPD is hard enough without having to live it out on a world stage. Imagine knowing the truth and shouting it from the roof tops and no one believes you. They willingly believe a lie because he is normal looking and acting and not a freak that makes them feel uncomfortable. He is apple pie and baseball and I am darkness and the boogeyman. It's easier to believe the lie of an Olympian than the truth of a gender bending freak.

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