The Price is Too High

My mental health has been all over the place lately. I’ve wondered if I have rapid cycling bipolar. But then it’s like… no, this is definitely the BPD. And then it dawned on me… I’m splitting on myself. And suddenly everything makes sense right now.

I’ve talked about BPD splitting before… it’s this stupid symptom where you see people in black and white… they’re either all good, or all bad. You put them on a pedestal one day, only to see them as horrible the next. Sometimes there’s a reason, but often there’s not a clear reason. I’ve gotten really good at recognizing and acknowledging when I split on people. This is usually when I ask for space, because I logically know they probably didn’t do anything wrong, they’re not trying to hurt me, and I’m just taking things personally and being oversensitive because things didn’t go the way I thought they would.

Which brings me back to… I split on myself. Some days I feel like I am the epitome of love and light. Everything is wonderful, I’m happy, I feel like things are good. I’m content, secure, safe, loved. And I’m deserving of those things. And then… something will happen, oftentimes something small… a change in the frequency someone texts me, or the tone of our conversations, realizing I idealized someone or a situation with them that simply isn’t true. And I spiral. I split on myself.

I become the monster. The one who is demanding, controlling, delusional, and most of all… unworthy. I am unworthy of people reciprocating my feelings, of wanting what I want with them, with me. How dare I project onto them and believe, even for a moment, that things will work out the way I’d like for them to. And so… I take space. Or I run. Because if I am unworthy of their love… they are better off without me. I am better off without them.

It’s not love if you have to demand it, or even ask for it. I don’t want love that’s not given freely, because the price is too high. And I feel the same of those who would demand or expect my love. The price is too high. And the only way I can take space when I can’t love myself is… permanent.

Uncomfortably Numb

I’ve kinda reached a point where I’ve been so broken this entire last year I can’t really feel much of anything except emptiness and numbness. And my brain now autopilots to that by default to protect me from further harm every time something goes wrong.

Except… I can’t feel anything and that also means I don’t feel most of the good stuff. I feel like I’ve just been going through the motions since December, faking it until I eventually make it… except the making it never comes. And the weight of the darkness and feeling like a hollowed out shell all the time, even when I try to MAKE myself feel something… anything… is becoming too much to bear. The last couple of weeks I’ve purposely been thinking about all the things that were going on last year to try to process them. And I’ve cried so many tears, and I logically know I’m in pain … but I can’t even FEEL the pain the process it and move past it. Purposely triggering memories, good and bad, to try to feel something and I can’t.

It’s very reminiscent of when I lost my sense of taste during covid. I could still taste to a certain degree… but everything tasted flat. When you’re used to having a very delicate taste palate and everything tastes rich and full of flavor… you notice when that stops or changes. And that is where I am emotionally right now. I have always been “sensitive” in so many ways. So when I lose sensitivity… in any way… it’s extremely noticeable and distressing. Being used to having so many BIG emotions all of the time… feeling next to nothing feels like death. Everything is flat. It’s like only being able to see in monochrome after a lifetime of seeing every color in all its vibrant glory, often to the point that it’s overwhelming.