I’m Happy Let’s Kill Myself


I wasn’t intending to write today, but a moment prior to this one something happened that I feel needs talking about.
So I’m in the Tav for the first time in weeks, I’ve glammed myself up a little for the same amount of time. I’m listening to music I love, while drinking vodka and I feel happy, maybe even a little euphoric.


Why is my brain telling me to kill myself?

This is why I always say that euphoria is more dangerous for me than misery. Because this happens every single time.

It feels like this is the happiest I’m ever going to be, that it is only a fleeting emotion before the eventual rock bottom. I feel this way every time. It almost feels like my belly is full of butterflies but they are heavy. Although my rational self understands that there are always peaks and troughs, I can’t believe it, and so I wonder about walking in front of traffic when I’m at my happiest.

This is what BPD does to me. It is crippling. A fight every single day to cope with emotions that neurotypical people find wonderful or at least straightforward.

Sorry, just a short one today.

Please let me know if you want to contribute.