One of the most dangerous ways to react to someone with BPD who is asking for help when they are suicidal or self-harming

This is another horrendous example of how we are treated ( Mental health patients)
This made me weep x


TRIGGER WARNING: fairly massive warning on this one that this post discusses suicide and self harm and issues around getting care in crisis…

Yesterday I was met with one of the most punitive, ignorant and dangerous reactions I have had from a medical professional. I wonder if people who react like this actually do not realise the genuine danger patients are in and how much further into danger this kind of reaction pushes us.

As I write this post I want to be clear that I am now safe and have received help and I am not posting this to alarm or worry readers about me. I’ve been seen in emergency services and eventually had very supportive care, which I will post about in due course. Please don’t panic about me. I am now safe and have had help. I just think what I experienced earlier is a massively dangerous…

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Gotta Get Through This…

No,not the cheesy Daniel Beddingfield song.. 

Me, I’ve got to get through this, dark, tight chest ,can’t breathe, can’t focus on anything but the futility of this crap…’existence’ In this vastly over populated world, I am a waste.

Flashbacks rip me to shreds. Annihilate. What chance did I ever really have? This path was chosen for me before I could even speak.Nights of strangers that visited my bed.Took things, things that were never really mine.Rage bubbles inside WHY!!!!????? Why can’t I not care ? Not allow those evil sad men any more of my time or energy,Heaven knows they have taken enough for a lifetime. Why do I have to care? It was just my body…that’s all. It doesn’t matter. It does not matter. Snap out of this .Stop. Stop…but I feel in my body what my mind does not want to think about…Why did it have to hurt so,so much. His hand,fingers coiled in my hair pulling,pulling me like a rag doll,pulling hard,smashes my face into the floor.Stop. it doesn’t matter. God,why don’t I just down me a bottle with some Valium & sleepers ? I cannot let this screw up my sobriety. They can’t have that,that is mine. But sober this is agony. I feel a hand at my throat as he curled up his fist & punched me in between my legs. I can feel it.Still.Now.Where is my God to take this away ? I barely made it to school in the mornings after the visits that consumed those nights. No one saw through the silence…No one sees through it still. Alone with my paralyzing memories. Its OK ,It does Not matter.It does Not matter.

My Feet Will Want To March To Where You Are Sleeping..

As you my love ❤lay in hospital,your body withering away under the shadow of death….You are my Everything, you see my light & even love my dark.You gave me the greatest gift in our baby girl. So, for you…My feet will want to march to Where You Are Sleeping, But I Shall Go On Living … ”
I would have followed you anywhere ,and did. Others remember drunken fumbling,nights & even days of a kind of mad stalking desire where I magically made you submit to my whims & forced change of a cataclysmic measure upon you, Changed you, took away your power & ruthlessly left you in a dark black maze where there was no hope, just madness.
Truthfully I have no such power, magical or other.
And in that maze of hopelessness you were not alone…Helpless & beaten we clung desperately to each other.
Eighteen years on, after everything & everybody we fought & I AM SCARED…My fear that this time I cannot follow you to where you are destined – & you my beautiful, kind, honourable, moral Husband are going into the light of Heaven. There is no darkness waiting for you now.

This Is Your Relationship On Drugs

Wow, This has blown me away !
Such courage and honesty in amongst desperate tragedy

Misfit Spirit

You meet a person. They’re funny, they’re cute, they make you smile. You love the way they get excited when they tell a story. You love their dimples, their bright eyes, their passion for the things they love. You find yourself attracted to them, missing their presence when they’re gone. You like them. You develop a friendship and get to know each other. Maybe they socially drink or occasionally smoke a bowl, but they maintain control and can put it down whenever they want to. But you know, deep in your core, you know, that you’re different from them. The drugs you do control you; not the other way around. You’re an addict. But this person, they’re intoxicating and attractive and everything you ever wanted in a partner. You’re afraid if they find out you’re an addict that they won’t want to be around you anymore. So you hide it…

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