Entries of a Wrist Cutter

These are the entries of a wrist cutter. A self harmer suffering from BPD, borderline personality disorder. The entries include prose and poetry, and are semi-autobiographical.

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10. Borderline Personality Disorder

 

So I’ve been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder… I know it’s just a name for my symptoms, but just the name itself depresses me. I knew I had depression, anxiety, borderline psychosis… but I didn’t realise one day all this would have a name. Borderline personality disorder… I feel trapped, as if these few words are caging in on me, surrounding me and tightening claws around me. I’m suffocating at the thought of having this mental illness inside me all these years, and will always have it lurking deep beneath my flesh.

The psychiatrist I went to told me that as a girl who reads a lot, I must have knowledge of borderline personality disorder. I described it briefly for him, and he expanded for me. It was the first time he saw me, and he was sure about this diagnosis, as I have all the symptoms relating to this disorder. It shocked me so much that after hearing those words leave his lips I started drifting away from reality. I called my psychiatrist that I’ve been going to for over a year and told her what happened. She told me that she didn’t want to diagnose me with this disorder because I’m still at a young age and that my personality is still developing. But she said that it is evident that I show signs and symptoms of this disorder…

I feel betrayed. What was she going to do? Wait four-five more years and then tell me, oh by the way, you have borderline personality disorder. Well yeah, thanks! I’m so angry. I’m upset, confused. I don’t know what to do, what to say, where to go, how to do anything anymore. I just keep chain smoking. Maybe that will kill me before I kill myself. My ex-psychologist told me I have a split personality, but I didn’t ever think I’d have borderline personality disorder. I don’t even know if I believe it or not. It just won’t sink in at all. I can’t think of anything else, and when I’m not thinking I just feel pain, anger. The pills can’t help me; they can’t raise my mood in any way. I feel so low that I don’t know if there could be any lower than this.

I want to cut myself. I feel like I’m not letting out my own feelings, they’re just stuck inside me screaming. I need to let them out. I don’t care if it’s not good for me to cut myself. I just need to do it. But I can’t. I can’t because Jamie took my blades away from me. And I know that if I find them and cut myself she’ll be mad at me, and that’s the last thing I need right now. I tried getting hold of the psychiatrist that diagnosed me with BPD but he hasn’t called me back yet… I don’t think he will.

But he did call. And he stuck to what he had originally told me. And that made me feel worse. So I was waiting for Jamie to get ready so that we could go to the mall… that never happened. She decided she wanted to stay in bed. Then when she finally got up she wanted us to go to the cinema. As if I would go to the cinema after everything that happened and after the fact that she didn’t even bother to make the effort to go out with me when I really needed it. Now we’re not talking. I tried to talk to her, she was indifferent. So I took my razor blade from where she hid it and cut myself several times.

Now there’s just silence. She doesn’t want to talk to me. I don’t know if I even want to talk to her. So I’m alone again. I just want to die. For real though, not just another fantasy, for real. I want to take all my pills and sleep forever.

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