She sits perfectly still and is willing the thoughts in her head to go away. Urging and nagging thoughts accompanied by emotions so raw and fierce. She looks about to see whether anyone is looking. She is certain that others can see her heart pounding through her shirt. It’s rapid and intense. With each beat and thought and feeling, her skin begins to crawl. Her breathing is labored as she struggles to both inhale and hold her breath at the same time.
Pain! It feels like a vice grip! She can feel it throughout her body. She feels like the center of a crack in a broken window. It radiates and reaches the outermost appendages. Her stomach is heavy. It as though the contents have been replaced with concrete. A wet, heavy and rough mixture. It doesn’t move or go away. It sits at the bottom and weighs her down even more. She doesn’t dare move, not a muscle or a twitch.
Her senses are heightened. As she sits aware of every sound around her, she’s certain she can hear the voices in her head. Are they real or are there conversations nearby? Everything is so loud! Eliminating the noise only allows other sounds to be heard. Even complete silence is too loud!
Her hands are cold and stiff. They feel like icicles hanging from her body. She doesn’t move them for fear of losing them as they break and splinter. She sits perfectly still, almost statue like. Her body can’t decipher the differences between what is real and what is imagined.
She wants to cry, but she can’t. The tears won’t come. She wants to scream, but she can’t move her mouth to make the sounds. She wants to run as fast as she can, but she knows her feet won’t hold her body upright. And then, without any thought or consideration, her mind goes to what she knows. It’s hard to argue with history, with what is familiar and with what has worked.
She knows what she needs to do. But more than that, she knows that she has to do it. She stands from her seated position and walks to the cupboard. A brand new box of razor blades lays there waiting and ready for use.
In the last few moments of some clarity, her head is dizzy with a torrential storm of thoughts and feelings. They seem to run into one another. It becomes difficult to know where one begins and the other ends.
All consuming sadness seeps into her heart and soul. She is overwhelmed by the heaviness. She can’t face it. She can’t manage it. She can’t deal with it. With every part of her being, she has to get away from it. She has to place distance away from this part of herself that feels so much, so deeply, and so intensely.
And within the final second, before it ends, she thinks about how much she cares and how much she loves. She wants the hate, destruction, and sadness all around her to cease. She feels so much at once that it takes her breath away. She feels powerless, unable to help those in need, including herself.
“Why God?” She exclaims inquisitively. “Why can’t things be different?”
This is a reflection of someone who lives with BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder). This is her explanation of what it’s like to feel too much. This is the ongoing struggle of living with heightened feelings and emotions. It is both a blessing and a burden.
When you see someone with scars that traverse their limbs in all directions, don’t ask them what they’re from, how they got there, and what they did. First off, it’s just rude. You don’t need to know.
Just know the person you have encountered reflects upon the world and its people in a way most people can’t even fathom. Their scars show their strengths. They are the warriors amongst us.
©2018 Julie Corbett
If, after reading this post, you have found it to be triggering, please reach out for help that is available to you.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline – 1-800-273-9255
Veteran’s Suicide Prevention Lifeline – 1-800-273-9255, press 1
Teenline – (310) 855-4673 or text 839863