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kurokojin

Dad, Writer, Nerd, Chef, Awakened, Empath, INFJ.

I have BPD

This is very hard to write. Even though I need, I’ve thought about it a lot, and I am trying to write from a place of love for myself.
     I have BPD. Borderline Personality Disorder. I’ve had it for a long time, and for some of you that may explain a few things.
     Things like why is this guy so awkward? Why does it seem like there’s a wall once you start getting close? Why doesn’t he make new friends, even though everyone likes him? Or even why has he been single forever and never shows interest in anyone? These things all seem simple to most people, but for me they’re all very complicated issues that I have a hard time dealing with everyday.
     When I’m myself things are fine. I am that kind, intelligent, caring person, who gets along with anyone who most people know me as. The problem is that when I trigger that can change, rapidly, back and forth. Many of the symptoms, or behaviours, associated with this interact in ways that build upon each other.
     A good example would be how I experience emotional empathy versus cognitive empathy. Emotionally I cry at movies, I write poetry, and I love romance. I react to emotions, both good and bad, excessively compared to other people. So yes, I love harder than anyone, but I’ll also react to bad emotions just as much. Feelings of anger, depression, and loneliness are common. Cognitively my empathy is lower than most. I can end up coming across as blunt, or disrespectful, in arguments. If someone insults me in an argument, or treats me badly in a discussion, I’ll cut them off. I’ve lost friendships over the years by removing those who unknowingly hurt me in arguments.
     People with BPD tend to have risky, and rather eccentric behaviours. This can be as simple as wasting money things or as complicated as substance abuse. I’ve definitely had issues with spending and I’ve always tended to pick up and drop hobbies. Moving from one interest to the next and never really holding onto much.
     We also tend to have a very low, and somewhat unstable, image of ourselves. I’ve never had self confidence. I’ve always been insecure on self worth and anxious about interacting with others. Especially after I have an episode. I feel like it’s my fault, I’m damaged, no one understands me, and because of whatever I did that’s okay because I’m not worth their time anyway.
     But where it has effected me the most is on my personal life. As a friend, husband, and most importantly as a father. There’s been events in my life that I struggle with, everyday, things I cannot forgive myself for. Like my failed marriage, or the fact that my son isn’t talking to me at the moment.
     I was married for almost twelve years. I married in my early twenties. At the time I had no idea that I had these issues. When I started having problems, like anger, or making bad choices my ex wife didn’t know what to do with me. Rather than realizing I needed help she reacted by withdrawing or staying away to spend time with her friends. Over time this led me to start building up feelings of resentment and loneliness. Which led to my disassociating my feelings for her and our family. We had many fights and neither one of us were happy. In many ways I will never forgive myself for that time in my life.
     This also led to self isolation and relationship avoidance. I’m trying hard to control my triggers, to understand myself, and figure out how to live with these issues. But in the meantime I don’t feel like anyone else deserves to deal with it. So I keep to myself. More importantly, in order to open up, I need to feel safe with someone. In my previous relationship I never felt safe, valued, loved, needed, or wanted. So if I feel like someone is interested in me, in that way, she becomes unsafe for me.
     My son is trans. Accepting that side of him and loving him anyway was easy for me. His well being, health, and happiness are more important than my own. But when he started showing signs of depression I didn’t see them. We got in some arguments about school, poor performance, and other things. My anger came out and I hurt him with things I said. He’s currently not talking to me because of it. I’ll probably never forgive myself for that. There’s a special kind of pain reserved for parents who accidently hurt their children. I feel that pain all the harder, all day, everyday. There’s many times, while driving or at work, that my eyes tear up because I’m thinking of him. Currently I am staying at a distance, helping his mom, letting him become who he is, and working on myself.
     There are things going right. I have a wonderful job. I’m allowed to be myself, I work primarily on my own, and I am treated with trust and respect. For the most part, besides the occasional awkward moment, my coworkers just let me be be, and work with me. I love them for that.
     Things are still a struggle though. I hope that whoever is reading this never has to experience what it’s like. To fight a war between your own mind and heart every waking moment. If there’s one thing it has all taught me though it’s that I’m strong and I can make it.
    
    
    
    

Performance

We dance upon stage
All our hopes
All our dreams
Held within gestures and movements
They watch, cheer, jeer
The curtain
It falls
And then… And then… And then…

We are birds
Beautiful yet fragile
We break, under this curtain
Fractured dreams and lost hopes
Our own music
Rythm, lyrics, words
Hurts us like we are deaf
And then… And then… And then…

We wonder
Lost in minds become nightmares
If we write our names in the sky
Will they remember?
Our truths
Our hearts
Will the rain bring us joy?
Drowning us
In what we have lost
And then… And then… And then…

Will they lift us?
In gentle hands?
Will we persevere?
All that remains of our hearts
A fragile, broken, beauty
Can their love teach us to dance again?
And then… And then… And then…

The real curtain falls
Silence now
Applause
Our caracatures can finally die
And then… And then… And then…

A Sadness, A Truth, A Love 

My heart has no home 

No safe place in this world 

It’s beats are a rythmic and loving chaos

Torturous and beautiful 
A wandering soul 

Made of dust and stone 

A hunger, a craving, a need

In its hidden emotional depths 
What beauty can be found 

Is drank from too deeply

With needful tendrils of compassion

The shallow flee in desperation 

The craving returns 
Deeper still lies a strength 

Though lacking a home 

This heart has enough 

To love, to give, to endure 

Because this heart has a child 
A child needs a home 

Deserves a love 

Even in the greatest chaos 

Everything a soul knows 

How to give 

The Game of Hope and Dispair 

​Rain washing on pavement

Footsteps echo like thunder

In this small place
Even shadows hold beauty

Cracks along uneven stone and brick

Iron wrought stairs to the places of heaven above
Moonlight through a dusty window

Night creeps silently on wings

Whispers of the city float upon threads of hope
Grand bedchambers constructed of paper

Burn in the heat of their own beginnings

Peace settles upon a bottle of dreams
Despair waits silently

Cobwebs of failure teasing the mind

Nightmares of a non-existent world
Dawn comes brightly

On the shining wings of an angel

Bright and blinding as the sun
Psalms raise hope again

Pasts leak away like water

Bottles no longer hold dreams
Pride walks into the world

Holding salvation’s gift

A weak hand becomes a fist
Into the sky calls

The voice of new promise

A soul has been born again

Wings 

Loving a damaged girl 

Is like holding a bird with broken wings
She’s gentle but hurt

Wants comfort but is anxious

Her plumage is beautiful but stained
You want to hug away all the hurt

But it will suffocate her

You want to caress her scars 

but they’re still bleeding
She’s fearful of her past 

But those old scars are what you love

Her eyes are deep 

Yet guarded
As she heals she screams

Too much and she will break again

Too little and she won’t heal
But if you’re persistent, reticent. Kind, compassionate

Her wings will soar again
Even if it breaks you before it’s ending.

A Soft Chaos 

I have always existed in this small place

Walls like cracked conch

That reflect my emotions

Revealing the most intimately dangerous  vulnerable parts of me

I have never been alone here

In this place beats a rythm

Wild and dangerous 

Her heart

It’s soft beats echo off the walls

Gentle, loving, soothing

It has a power over my soul 

An unknown ephemeral thing

That can elevate my greater self 

Or shatter everything I am like glass 

Yet still I kneel 

Still I love and give in

Because in that weakness

Within those things that hold my destiny captive

Sleeps the greatest strength I have

Someday this small place will break 

Through the cracks a light

Will bathe our world 

In those things we have kept most private

Yet given to each other

It is a soft, beautiful, and strong, hard hurricane 

That type of wild depth that so few can even dream of

Mother 

Do you hear the music? 

It’s playing softly 

ever so softly 

like feathers floating on the wind 

rustles of beauty shadowed in the dark 
Nighttime 

sleep now my child 

be peaceful in your dreams 

imagine yourself in a place 

a better life 
Listen to my voice 

I’m here now my child 

ignore my pain 

I love you and I am here now 
Wake my dearest one 

It’s morning and the night is gone 

go play now 

and be happy 

and smile with joy 
You are my dreams now 

My child…

You are my dreams now.

A Day in the Park (part one)

Her eyes shoot open. Wide awake yet still very tired. A sleep, a sadness, that has seemingly settled into her bones. She blinks, exhausted, from trying to find sleep again for what seemed like hours. 

She runs her hand listlessly along the smooth cold sheets. On the now empty side of her bed. How could he do this to her? Leave her? Betray her? Hurt her, and their son, so much? Reverie.

The alarm from her phone sounds. Startling her out of such thoughts. She rolls to her other side and swipes the annoying sound away. 

Slowly she rises. Stretching pained and beaten muscles. Sitting up on her side of the bed. Throwing away her warm and rumpled sheets. Warmth escaping into the morning air.

With a tired sigh she stands. Picks up her phone and walks down the cold hallway to her bathroom. The light flickers a few times, after she hits the switch, before finally staying on. Yet another small thing added onto her list of responsibilities and expenses to endure.

She looks into the cracked mirror. Red rimmed green eyes stare back at her. Deep with pain. Crying. Quiet reflection. She shakes herself. Conscious thought coming back to the surface. Sighs. Examines her bruises and pains. Still healing. Still reminding her of violence and sadness.

Again she shakes herself. Finally coming out of those moments of quiet despair. She looks down and touches the button on her phone. 6:30 am. Still enough time to clean her face. Do her hair. Put her makeup on. Before her son wakes up. She doesn’t want him to see.
 

Verses in Beauty 

Verse 7: Book of Hearts 

An old wooden door. Ornate glass. A gentle creaking. The ring of an old bell. The busy hectic world retreating for a time. The scent of old paper.

A greeting. An offer. The clerk smiles gently. She mumbles a reply. Something about just looking and coming in from the cold and rain.

She begins to wander. Eyes exploring this new strange environment. Fingers tracing titles upon paper spines. Each a world onto their own.

Searching. For a thing unfamiliar. Reading the words of others. Wondering. Is there more? 

The distant sound of an old bell. The clerk’s greeting. A reply. That voice. Calm. Kind. Subtlety demanding. 

She turns. A swoosh of butterflies in her stomach. Like driving too fast over a hill. Him.

The sound of footsteps. An end to anticipation. A moment. Brief. Heart pounding. A simple and complicated thing.

Deep blue eyes. Depth. Regarding her quietly. She backs up a step. Places her hand on the shelf behind her. A subtle. Secret. Plea for support.

Slowly. He walks towards her. Long measured strides. Heart beats. Mere moments. A quickening of breath. 

He stops in front of her. Deep blues look directly into hers. The world fades away. She feels a pressure on her skin. A craving. No. A need. For his touch.

He leans in closer. His right hand gently runs along the woolen grey and white leaves around her neck. He smiles gently. Grabs hold of it. Pulls her towards him. 

Her skin tingles. Her leg touches his. A warm sort of itch spreads along her skin there. Her neck heats. As he touches it. With his other hand. Sending a warm pulsation through her. His hand settles upon holding her chin. 

He stares into her. Deeply. Like before. She can’t look away. She wants to. But also doesn’t. Emotion. Physical demand. Confusion. A play of contradictions. 

She looks into his eyes. Sees in them a hunger. Something primal. He wants her. All that she is. This scares her. Thrills her. Dare she say no to this man?

He leans in even closer. She can feel his breath again her neck. Against her ear. She feels a warm wetness between her legs. He whispers. Ever so softly. “Not yet.”

He pulls away. No. She thinks. I want you. He’s already turned. Walks away from her.

A weakness betrays her. She sighs. Leans against the solid wooden shelf for support. 

Deep. Measured breathing. An eventual regaining of composure. She rises. Finally. Slowly walks to leave.

A sympathetic and friendly smile. The clerk holds out a small paper back book. “He left this for you.”

She takes it. Turns it over in her hands. Reads the title.

Book of Hearts.

 

 

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