The Line

More depressing s**t idk

Wander wander, brain falls into dark
with harsher conclusions, relationships stark
and barren as my feet out retch to push away,
singing in my head let the chatter play.
Tuneless hitting pounds on distorted notes.
Self doubt misrecalls on every anecdote,
because now I am so wrong and they were right
as my cluttered brain loses any semblance of sight.

Sudden crash. Hit's hard and I am awake
full if choices on impulse, mistakes to make.
Make them I do. Heavy heart pumps ethanol
throughout my skin cage and neurosis is small,
I am good, maybe in a minute not,
but I pay that no mind, because this is a lot
and now it's so great that I'm a living blur,
because tomorrow's not my problem till it occurs.

Dehydration. Awake, but not alive.
I am not here, I left myself last night, strive
to feel a feeling other than to opt out
of today, of it. Throat closed. Don't shout. Can't shout.
Full circle, life on the borderline
between what and what? Fleeting thoughts aren't mine
from one day, one hour, one second to next.
I am not here. Identity without real context.

There is no me. Distinct states and variables
and this feeling if not being constantly pulls
at me, grabbing my throat.
Telling me I don't exist.

Author's Note

Please ignore my whiney feelings oops

Reviews

[s]

I was saddened but oddly at ease with how this made me feel. Beautifully written, and I hope you are doing ok now. I was recently diagnosed with BPD myself, so this poem was painful in some ways, but you managed to articulate the ongoing struggle of identity so coherently. All the best. x