Let's Talk About Borderline Rage

Let’s talk about sex baby…

But actually, let’s not. Let’s talk about rage. I’m talking white noise, bright lights, can’t-see-anything-but-the-person-you-want-to-hurt rage. I’m talking the rage Jesus can feel at the Pearly Gates while he’s praying for your soul type rage. I’m talking about the rage that leaves you feeling like a never-ending pit of flames, ready to burn anyone in your path.

It’s a feeling like no other, but it’s home.

Why rage, you ask? It’s often a hallmark calling card of people with borderline personality disorder (BPD). It’s our business. I make it my personal mission to be the most angry, bitter, rage-filled bitch in the city I live in. Why? It’s what I’m good at, homies. It’s what I do. Many think I shouldn’t be proud of this. I say mind your business. I embrace what I’m good at, despite the negatives. If I embraced only the good parts of me… well, I wouldn’t have anything to embrace at all.

Ever since I was a spawn, fresh out the womb, I’ve been angry. Why am I angry? Strap in for future, cause we will get there. Let’s say Daddy was a deadbeat, Mommy wasn’t well and brother was a creep. Also, kids are cruel to the unknown and unusual. So it made me mad.

But not just mad to where I’d shed a few tears and move on.

Not mad to the point where I wanted to punch something and get over it.

No. Mad to the point where my body was on fire and I needed to destroy my target.

However, I was smart enough to know I couldn’t hurt others. So I settled and hurt myself instead. I in no way think that is a smart or healthy way to deal with rage, as we all know it isn’t. But rest assured that I am someone who understands. I get how you feel, my little wildfire. Don’t burn yourself out.

Rage is a poison. It’s a fire that burns deep from within and it grabs you by the balls and doesn’t let go until you face it head on. I have a bad habit of facing it head on. It’s gotten me into a bit of trouble, but would life be any fun without trouble? As Maurice in the Little Monsters says, “Trouble is our code of honor! It’s our raison de vivre!” That’s a guy who gets it.

Rage is something I love. It’s familiar. It’s comfort. It’s my home. I don’t know what to do without it. The medication subdued it, but God does it rear its ugly head on occasion. When it does, I embrace it like a boyfriend. You know, the imaginary boyfriend I have. I miss it, I love it, I need it. Without it, would I even feel? Would I even experience true emotion? My medication would say I’ll never experience anything again. The part of me that keeps us alive, the rational side? Says we need the medication. But the part deep down. The part that craves the rage. We will always welcome it home, and give it a fist-bump when it steps through the doorway and says hey bitch, I’m back.

Follow this journey on The Borderline.

Can you relate? Let Lauren know in the comments below.