People with borderline personality disorder tend to feel emotions in the extremes, but I know for me, sometimes I struggle to identify the emotion that I’m feeling. However, I never fail to find a song that I identify with. I’m a huge music lover. I love all types of genre’s and I’ve used music as […]
My BPD Playlist
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“You know all that sympathy that you feel for an abused child who suffers without a good mom or dad to love and care for them? Well, they don’t stay children forever. No one magically becomes an adult the day they turn eighteen. Some people grow up sooner, many grow up later. Some never really do. But just remember that some people in this world are older versions of those same kids we cry for.”
Ashly Lorenzana
My entire life, you have chosen yourself, your feelings, your wants over anything even slightly relevant to me.
I am turning thirty fucking five years old, & you still REFUSE to put me first.
Three & a half decades. Of you casting me aside, invalidating my existence, proving over again that your first born, unwanted & resented daughter holds absolutely no fucking value to you whatsoever.
From you abandoning me as a child, every single time I just wanted you to comfort me, to play with me, to spend quality time with me right up until this – choosing not to attend my engagement party, one of the most wonderful experiences I’ve had over the fucking HORROR STORY that my life has been.
Mum, you don’t love me, you never have, you quite literally are incapable of loving me. And it’s OK, I understand.
Unfortunately, I have to withdraw from contact with you once again.
You’ve repeatedly refused to connect with me since we began talking again. You did make the effort to see me twice & I am so grateful for those moments with you. I will cherish those for a long time, like a fucking stray dog digging for scraps in a fucking alleyway.
It’s silly that, as grown women – woman to woman – you still don’t want to have a relationship with me. I will respect your wishes.
I will go back to protecting my peace, because even after all this time, the hours of therapy where I’ve ruminated over every interaction we have ever had, every time you have turned on me, chosen a boyfriend, your husband, your other children, your friends, fucking strangers you brought home for one night stands, chosen everyone & anyone but me; your decision not to take the white flag of surrender that I’ve been waving for the past two years, you not showing up to my engagement party broke my inner child down like I was six fucking years old again & you couldn’t get further enough away from me.
Please, don’t interpret this as an attack. This is the final time that I will ever pour myself out in front of you.I’m sorry that it couldn’t be different, I would have given it all up just to have my mum want to be my mum.
It is again up to me to comfort little Lexi, to pick her body up from the bedroom floor, to hold her, soothe her hurt, and acknowledge her yearning.
And work with my inner child who is heartbroken, my inner teenager who is riddled with rage & the woman I am today, who is full to the brim with love, empathy & a strange sadness that is the accumulation of all of the colours, of all of the violence that I have ever known.
I’ll save the rest for my writing, my poetry & my therapist.
Goodbye, Debbie. Majahbear. I’ll see you in the next lifetime, I’ll pray for you.My mother wound is so fucking deep that it has driven me to the deepest darkest parts of myself, but I found light in them.
You have always been worth it to me, Mum. But I wasn’t worth it to you.Mum, you’ve never shown me unconditional love.I didn’t expect you to love me, I just thought maybe you’d want me around.
I should have known better than to contact you. I have to protect my inner self.It’s easier right? Just pretend you don’t care but let it eat you up inside. Your self pity fuels you, it makes you feel good because you hate yourself so deeply.You are such a special thing.
Our matriarch & all the light in my life has died.
As I prepared to celebrate my 35th birthday, I got the call to say my Nan had been taken by the hand of Fate on the day I entered this world.
Nan sacrificed every ounce of herself to her children & grandchildren. She is the reason I’m the woman I’ve become today, the only place of safety for myself & my cousins in a home of quicksand & riptides.
My shining light, my first love & my reason to fight.
She left us suddenly, unexpectedly. We spoke two days before. Her loud & hearty laugh is still ringing in my ears. Her promise to call me for my birthday, our playful teasing, the depth of love in her voice as she recalled the joy she felt at my engagement party, seeing me so happy, reconnecting with our long lost love Kayla, how they spoke earlier that day & made plans for quality time together when Kayla visits again in 2025.
My Nan changed my diapers, bathed, fed, housed & spoiled me relentlessly as a child. She taught me values, manners & respect. She shared her love of music, of Elvis, of gardening with me.
When I relapsed, she was the first person I called, & she acted immediately; she had me pack my bags & into a car on my way to her home within half an hour of my first call. I detoxed at her home while she baked me date loaf. I slept in her bed beside her like I was a small child again. I have always been her youngest child, her youngest daughter. She stepped in to save my life from my birth up until that time.
I want to honour the woman who shaped me into who I am. The woman who chose to raise me as her own to ensure I didn’t end up in the foster system, which was the only other place for me to go.
She loved all of me, encouraging my gifts, talking at length about the intricacies of our broken family. She answered every question I’ve ever had with grace, honesty & the good old “We can’t help these things sometimes Lexi, we just have to let it go.”
I’ve never been able to let anything go, Nan. I refuse to start with you.
This world is made of wooden caskets & blackness. I can’t feel you here anymore.
Vale Pamela.
I scamper behind the fridge to die;
Parasites devour my body // glass bulbs warm the room with light
salvation distorted
OCBA’s all-encompassing rage consumes our lives.
Part human – Mostly Plague.
Possessing, haunting – Orchestrated – Deranged, as I –
Expose my veins, (vulnerability), INDIFFERENT to the opposing polarities –
Will he kiss me? Or will he hit me?
My face – bloody
Head, unbowed,
Chin, quivering // Lips trembling
Indifference turned out.
Cheeks black, lips blue, eyes swollen shut –
End scene.
Script cut.
Flash! Forward & suddenly –
Men. Tall. Uniform, shades of blue.
“What happened to you?”
Five entire years.
Tears shed, Flood wet.
Blood cleanse -Holy Water, heal, help.
Cop shop turns confessional // I spill my entrails out to Pigs.
Evidence – ten hours on tape//fingerprints embedded into flesh//cracked ribs//missing teeth//Death threats//Rape
Like a prize fighter I took every one hundred kilogram fucking FIST.
The hardest part? Giving him up.
Safe houses. Support workers. Victim impact statements. Only eight months sentenced? Fuck this justice system!
Six years sacrificed. Bastard son banished.
Another tale of the Borderline who defeated the Narcissist. Game over. I win.
Kate.
I am grieving.
I am sitting with my sadness-I am sitting with your suicide.
With what is coming after your death.
It’s life. Life keeps coming, the Sun keeps rising, the Moon glowing, and your daughter keeps growing.
Life continues after someone you love takes their life. I know you knew that. You were alive when Sarah died. You sat how I am. You grieved how I am.
The sitting -with these feelings. I’m not counting hours -I know it’s been days -weeks -months.
I’ve a copy of your Note. The blackened vitriol you said your last Fuck You with.
Before you hung yourself in the courtyard.
I hate you; I love you, I’m sorry you did this, I’m sorry that you saw no other option. I miss you, deep in my flesh, my blood, my nerves, my bones.
You will never write another poem, Katie nor have a coffee and cigarette in your dressing gown, in your courtyard. That same courtyard they found you hanging in.
You won’t hear Lana’s new country album, “Lasso” or Taylor’s Tortured Poet’s Department. You would have loved that. I didn’t get to share my experience of the Eras Tour Sydney N2, I cried so fucking hard. Thinking of you as Taylor sang All Too Well live. Looked up at the sky as 82,000 of us screamed the lyric, “Fuck the Patriarchy!”. I pretended, in the sky, it was you I could see.
At my wedding, I’ll place your photo on a chair. Like that makes a difference. You still won’t be there.
After someone you love kills themselves, life continues, and the days go on. And on some of those days feel so gross.
You killed yourself, but I’ve bills to pay, a cat to feed, plants to water and FUCK EVERYTHING.
Katie, you asshole. You knew how this felt. I’m angry, I’m sad, I’ve all this love that’s only meant for you but you’re dead. Time doesn’t care. And I hate how far forward I am moving from the day that you left.
Mugshot Memoirs 
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