Blog, I’m A Terrible Sister

I’m a terrible sister

My sister and I both suffer from bpd and bipolar. Anxiety , depression and whatever else you want to throw in there. For several years now I’ve had to be stronger for her. Handle her with kid gloves you might say. We both have suicidal tendencies. I have attempted twice.

She is my best friend in the whole world. I’ve had a few bad days this week. So she was pointing out to me my bad behavior and my words were,”You have got to be fucking kidding me, you can go 8 months in a row all fucked up and no one says a word because you might go kill yourself and I have a bad two days and you are on me like a fly on shit.”.

And thank God the camera was off at the shop so she couldn’t replay every word I said over and over, she would have killed herself. Was what I said true? Yes! Did I know it would hurt her? Yes! Do I love her? Yes!

I hate these fucking diseases. I told myself over and over in my head to not say anything, there was no stopping me. I was hurting so I wanted to hurt her. She had been doing better, I’m afraid that this might make her progress go backwards. She will play what I said in her head until it makes her feel like a waste of space or a complete failure. How do I know this? We have the same disease. I would do the same thing. All I know is my sister and I have not been over 5 miles away from each other our entire lives. We survived some terrible experiences as children together. We even get sick when either of us goes on trips away from the other. What the hell is wrong with me?

She deserves better than she gets!
bpd, Poetry

Borderline Personality Disorder

You are a true bitch, changing things at the drop of a hat.

Then the flip of a switch, everything is okay just like that.

When you love it is to the extreme, changing in an instant becoming hateful and mean.

Then you finally feel you belong, only to find you were wrong.

Approval you will always seek, I believe it makes you weak.

Open wounds do not scar, you just want to be loved for who you are.

The pain of the past doesn’t have to last. Talk about it hand it to the savior, the fire is lit changing your behavior.

You may not be as good as before, but a bitch you will be no more.

Jill L. Ware

Poetry

Or Not!

Questioning every thought and decision. I must be exact, have precision.

Does my illness have me thinking the wrong thought? Or am I thinking normal? I bet not.

Did I embarrass myself or do oaky? Did they look at me in a strange way?

I wish I didn’t talk so much, that I’d think before speaking and such.

I have never liked my face, always looking at it in disgrace.

I hope they aren’t mad at me, who is it I’m supposed to be?

When will this house get old, I move a lot I am told.

Who was on the phone? Don’t talk to me in that tone.

Did they really talk to me that way? Or is it my illness, I can’t say.

Imagine a time I didn’t think twice. Believe me, it wasn’t nice.

Am I thinking wrong or not?