On the Borderline - Life With BPD

Inner Monologue # 2.

Condensed for attention span and length. And sadly almost verbatim.

[Setting: Cleaning the bathtub.]
[Me (E) and my inner!Laia (I), who Sucks At the Therapees]

E: La dee dah, cleaning the tub~

I: …Why?

E: What?

I: Why are you cleaning the tub? Make roommates do it.

E: Why am I talking to myself inside my own head?

I: Make the roommates do it.

E: Well, no. V's usually pretty clean and N claims she does it but it's still gross.

I: There's dead skin in there. And dirt.

E: I'm wearing gloves and this Windex kills germs. It smells like oranges!

I: …You inhaled too much of it and now you're going to get cancer.

E: I smoke. Windex won't kill me. Can't breathe though.

I: Told you.

E: Shut up. I'm opening the door.

I: You forgot to call the bank about the missing money.

E: I can see it now. "Why are you calling us at 2am?" Well sir, I'm a college student and I'm awake at two in the morning, scrubbing the bathtub, so why not? ...Ugh, this stuff is stronger than I thought. Bathroom fan isn't very good is it.

I: Cancer.

E: At least it'll be citrus scented cancer.

I: Reeeally.

E: Yes, really. I don't remember my inner!Laia being such a condescending bitch.

I: I'm not her. And you should stop having your little OCD moment, you have homework to do.

E: Shut up. You're a horrible inner voice.

I: FIne.

[Silence]

I: You missed a spot. And you picked up the gross old sponge by accident.

E: Shit! Okay, that's fine. I have Windex.

I: Cancer.

[Sulking silence]

I: Don't think about the number four.

E: Fuck you! You suck at this!

I: I thought you liked me.

E: I like Laia. At least she's real. And she's good at this.

[Silence]

E: …hello? Helloooo? Voice in my head?

[Silence]

E: Oh. Guess you're gone then.

I am starting a new series of posts. I call them inner monologues. And they will also be inner dialogues. And inner ramblings. So there.

Inner Monologue # 1.

[Setting: Bridge, stairs, dorm.]
[Me.]


The number 4 is conspiring against me.

So I'm sitting on the bridge that goes from my dorm to two others, and there's a sign across from me. I can't recount my steps completely, but it amounts to 54 pen-strokes if I count the name of the dorm plus the writing under it, including spaces. Then you count the board itself, the steel frame, and the two posts holding it up, and after a long and complex 20 minutes or so, you end up with the number four.

Is Adderall a good idea tonight? I need to concentrate, I haven't gotten any homework done tonight, but there's only two of them left, and is it really the number four? (Coincidentally, there are four letters in the number four.) and I kind of want to try the pasta at the dorm pizza place but O said it wasn't very good, not surprising since it's dorm food, and anyway the last time I had dorm food I had to tell them to use all meal plans cos they ended using my laundry money and is it really four or is it 54, which adds up to 9, and I guess it is the number four, and I still can't find E, I think she's hiding from me.

Oh God why am I in art school I don't fit in here either and do I want to, does it really bother me?

Okay, so I can accept that it's the number four, and suddenly everything equals four- don't count the steps going upstairs, they aren't the same on every floor and I can't remember if the number ends up being 9 condensed (different from uncondensed but still the same) and okay, it's four, and now I'm at my floor. I live on the fourth floor.

Fuck.

+Edit: Four blog views today. See? Proof.