I hate borderline.
I hate having the illness, I hate what it makes me do to myself, what it makes me do to others, and that others have to suffer in a similar way as I do.
Some people don't think that the illness is properly named. In fact, it is slowly being changed to emotional unstable personality disorder.
But it's more than that.
It's being ready to conquer life, take the world by storm and ace all your classes one minute, and writing your suicide letter the next.
It's deciding that you look hot as fuck in your dress, and shoving three fingers down your throat five minutes later because you ate an extra jelly bean.
It's being ready to recover and admit you need help, only to cancel all your appointments a day later.
It's pure fucking hell.
I haven't been to classes since last Thursday. It's Wednesday.
I don't know if I'm going to go today. I don't want to go because I don't want to see my prof after skipping class Monday. I want this prof to hire me.
How fucked is that.
I see my therapist today. I want to tell her that I was ready to die on Monday, but I feel good today. I feel like I got a grasp of things. I was binging 12 hrs ago but I feel as though that life is behind me. I've felt like this before. It never lasts. But my mind is playing games on me and I genuinely feel like this time will be different.
I spoke to one of my best friends for two hours this morning. And that's what swung my mood around. Do I really have a problem if talking to someone for two hours can make me feel okay?
I know I'm struggling but I don't want to admit that.
I'm in denial about being in denial.