Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality.
So I’m a naughty girl. It seems that when I feel shit, and that impulsive part of me kicks in, I turn into a fuckboy. I’ts partly because I feel so fucking unwanted by the people I want, but I know I can manipulate people who do like me to get what I want. I don’t mean to be manipulative, a lot of people assume bpd sufferers are all manipulative fucks. I can be. Just not all the time. I seem to be able to make a boot call quite easily, what man is going to turn down a fuck? Thing is, I don’t want these guys, at the time, I just want sex, and most of all, escape.
I’m not doing it to purposefully hurt them, to mess them about. They just happen to be convenient at times when my world is falling apart and I need to feel wanted. I’m a whore, but why should that be a bad thing? I know what I want, and I go for it, it’s just that I’m usually in self destruct mode when this happens. Either I message a lad for sex, or I cut, or I drink, or search (usually unsuccessfully) for drugs, or I go sit by the bridge and wonder if jumping off it would be the best option.
My mood fluctuates so much, but a pattern has emerged that between 4-8pm, I want to do something stupid. As night draws in, my plans happen. Do I go to the pub? Is there a band on? Where’s pound a pint? Who’s out? Can I find someone to fuck? Can I find drugs? Can anything fill this black hole in my chest? What if I see “him” out? I need a man to cling to, will that make him jealous? It probably won’t. He hates me, he doesn’t care. Shall I do it just in case? If “he’s” not out, what do I do with the guy?
I feel disgusting. I feel like filth, dirt. I’m just a slag. I have no self respect. Hold the fuck on yes I do. Why should I feel guilty for enjoying myself? If my fp (favorite person) doesn’t even want to talk to me, I may as well enjoy myself, who knows, I may find my new fp. Wait. What if he decides to come back, and finds out I’ve been whoring, he won’t want me then for sure. He hates me anyway, hes never coming back. Fuck him, I’m a fucking catch, look at me, I’m a mother fucking goddess.
Welcome to my mind. It changes that fast, constantly, one thought to the next. In the end, all I want is to escape my own mind. To escape the hurt I feel. The intensity of emotion, and the crippling fear of failure and abandonment. Truth is, I just want to be loved, but only on the condition that it’s by my fp.