Words

I have two friends with BPD and one with severe anxiety along with some other shit thrown in. All four of us are going through a rough patch at the moment, somehow that makes it feel so much worse. I’m glad I have friends with the same or similar diagnoses – I wish none of us had them, but it is good to have people who understand exactly what you mean without having to use every descriptive word known to man plus a few non-words.

I had a good five minutes of silence trying to come up with an adequate description for my psychologist today about how I feel 95% of the time and what the extremely bad and mildly good which takes up the other 5% sometimes feels like. The best I could do was a less wordy version of the following; Mostly hollow, as though all I have is a ribcage covered in skin, there are things floating around in there which occasionally slap me with a (bad) memory, or providing a little oomph to get out of bed. But a few times a day there is a cold, stabbing feeling and something icy, but hot at the same time fills the void, it hurts, it takes my voice, I feel it not only in my abdomen, but also my spine, my breasts, my shoulders, but for less than a second. The next two hours are spent recovering. But that’s only 2.5% of the non empty time; Happiness, or what I liken to happiness is not much better than the void, it’s just like someone has blown a few small bubbles into me, unlike the other things floating around in there these bang on my ribcage with a pleasant feeling, they might rise to my throat, induce a few words, and then depart.

I don’t need to go to this extent to communicate with my fellow sufferers, no one else can get it like they do. I know that a “bad day” coming from one of these girls is not a bit of stress over a looming deadline, it’s the icy-hot knife lodged in tight.

I’m having a bad week.