The switch

There is this switch. In my brain. It gets flipped with a gust of wind. And when it is flipped all fucking hell breaks loose. And I’m there but not at all. I can’t break through the wall the switch is on. Then there is the part of the insanity when I am watching what I’m doing and am unable to do a fucking thing. And just as fast as it flips off and I have to live with myself and regret the rage or tears. And that’s where I’m at. And I’m not ok. I will be. I always am. But it will be a few days before I come back fully. And I’m exhausted. I hate my mother for making me into this broken asshole. I hate this broken asshole.

When the fuck does it get better? Someone please tell me.


I am sharing my story of why and how I developed BPD and what I am doing to rebuild myself.

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