On the Borderline - Life With BPD

Feel free to scroll down to the end for a summary.

So I feel.... awesome. (Note the sarcasm.) I've been crying, I feel trapped and suffocated, I'm playing with daydreams of suicide and self-mutilation again. I'm tired of Lamictal and doctors and workbooks that offer suggestions such as "buy a CD of bird sounds and light pretty candles!"

I prefer drawing dead birds and burning things.

I made the mistake of reading about horrific child-crimes in China- there's been a wave of crazy people murdering elementary schoolers while they're in class, or hacking children to death with meat cleavers- and it reminded me that I hate people. No wonder I'm a shut-in, for every nice stranger I meet there's a creepy stalker (of which I've had more than my fair share), a spoiled brat teenager, a stereotype...

One of my friends is driving me nuts, I can't decide if I love my parents or I want to run away, money troubles are stressing me out, I juuust came out of a made-up reality bubble I built oh so carefully as a child and I've been thrust unwillingly, kicking and screaming, into a horrible "real world" against my will by well-meaning therapists and medications.

The Lamictal, which I thought was my wonder-drug, seems to just be masking my actual anger under the pretense of getting rid of "irrational mood swings" and it seems to be taking away my ability to be myself or stand up for myself when my parents, who I know love me very much, irritate me or treat me like a five-year-old.

I'm too scared to tell them I started smoking (as I've mentioned 13432 times already on here). I feel like they make too many of my decisions, despite my being 21. They tell me I'm just rebelling or trying to spite them whenever I'm in a bad mood or do something they don't like, like when I was planning to move in with my girlfriend this year (which fell through because of changing school plans and money issues) or to stay in a hotel because her parents refused to let me stay in any of their spare rooms.

I want to go see my girlfriend again for our anniversary (only 6 months, but it feels like it's been so much longer) and instead of being happy that I'm so excited about it, they think it's too soon for a second visit (a month later, and the only time I can see her before college), or start in on how I need to earn money for books and art supplies and don't have much room for plane tickets. And on and on...

I know other people are worse off than I am, I really do. But I can't feel guilty or unreasonable when I realize that it's MY life and it's affecting ME.

I used to draw and paint and make jewelry and write stories and poetry. Now I sit in my room and cry and avoid people.

It's this place I guess. I live in a huge city but there's nothing to do without money and I hate the people around here. I was so, so happy when I was with my girlfriend and her friends, or even just by myself there while everyone was busy. I got back here and within two days was back to my depressed self. Now that I've had a taste of real happiness, the pure, unadulterated LIFE IS AMAZING feeling, I can't be satisfied with settling for "not as depressed as usual."

tl;dr: I am depressed.