The Poem That Helps Me Cope With the Challenges of BPD

For so many years I have struggled, as have so many others, but what I find works best for me as a daily affirmation to myself to keep on moving forward is the poem below. I don’t always get to write daily, and when I cannot, I do see a difference in my emotional health, so now I carry a notebook and pen so the possibility is never far.

Written only three years ago, I started to travel a different path as I recognize — and accept — myself. There is no perfect person, so that should never be the aspiration. However, the goal should be to discover yourself. Find a new hobby, get out in the sun, go for a swim, reflect the thoughts in your head on paper, for then they are out of your head for you to see. For me, the written word is the most powerful tool for healing, and I find comfort in my daily reflections, whatever the emotions may be that flood out through the ink.

“In the Eyes of Borderline”

Tonight here I sit; slowly brush away tears
The house eerily silent as I devalue my fears
My world always changing, hope ebbs as it flows
Weaving around through blurred lines and shadows
How much time has now passed as I refuse to take aim
But when faced with the barrel, who can say who’s to blame?
I can know “it gets better” or “just give it some time”
But when faced with the past, what’s today’s paradigm?
The struggle through panic, self-loathing and doubt
A joke’s dime-a-dozen; Sarcasm’s my out
Flipping and tripping, floundering against pain
Metaphorical, physical, emotional, insane?
Reflecting, perfecting but never quite “real”
A chameleon alone who cannot truly feel.
In retrospect maybe, empathy none surpassed
But amidst human beings, wholly viewed an outcast.
Creative and boundless, an unyielding force freed
By the smile of another viewing the particulate me.
But what becomes of the soul, limited by the strain
Of the wholehearted desire for the beautifully mundane?
Life constantly changing; my poetical illusions
I can’t handle the darkness, but I’ve healed the contusions
As words becomes weapons; addictions conceal
No one knows ‘til the end; death a great reveal
An emotional martyr; a history of silence
Tumultuous energy in lieu of the violence
My rendition within lies inescapably clear:
If I continue this route, implosion is near.
So how to move forward; recreate my design?
I accept that I am who I am; Borderline.

Sometimes we need to realize the only person who can truly accept who we are — the only person that matters — is ourself.

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Thinkstock photo by clown business