When I was diagnosed, as having B.P.D, I didn't know if I was lost or found, or who I was meant to be.
I thought it was like bi- polar, the constant ups and downs, a new name for manic depression, one of my many crowns.
Was this to be my liberation? Would this knowledge ease my mind?
A fool to think, was I, that life would now be kind.
So came the psychotherapy, the psychotherapists, psychoanalysing, taking med's and seeing shrinks.
Now I was tarnished with a label, shared with just 2% of the earth, at least with those upon it, afflicted, like me, from birth.
So now I had my label, and with it I'd be free?
Oh no, nothing is so simple, now hated by society.
I'd worked, and I was pretty good, at all to which I'd turn my hand, but the whirlpool of emotions, no boss could understand.
And so they burdened me with solitude, and hid me from the earth. After a life of torment, is this all that I deserved?
The madness and the mayhem, the pain and the despair, the deep feelings of abandonment, for my lifetime would be there.
Insane, deranged, manic highs and manic lows, sometimes it hides, sometimes it shows.
Sometimes it bursts, and all flows out, sometimes it freezes into drought
No more a psycho than you, am I, but the internal frustration always asks why?
Why live?
Why bother?
Why love?
Why die?
Why hope?
Why mercy?
Why tears?
Why guilt?
Upon such questions, my Sanity built.
All it takes is a rumble, all it takes is a nudge. I can go from standing, to suddenly shoved.
I teeter, I stumble, I stagger, I fall, but if I don't let me get me, again I'll stand tall.
It's a pleasure sometimes, but most often a pain,
Living through life, bordering insane.
So often I wonder how life could be, if I did not have to share it with B.P.D.
The great misconception of Me.
Want to join the conversation? Sign in to leave a comment.