BPD Talks

Today, after a long, long time, I felt something unfamiliar—hope. It wasn’t overwhelming or blinding. It didn’t flood me like a revelation. It was quiet, fragile, like the first hint of light before dawn. A whisper rather than a roar. But it was there.  For the first time in what felt like ages, I want to try again. I’ve done this before—started over, rebuilt myself from the wreckage, only to collapse again. But today, something feels different. There’s a shift, a new kind of energy stirring inside me. I am taking baby steps into a world where I am not a burden. Where my presence doesn’t force the people I love to walk on eggshells. Where I don’t have to shrink myself to make room for their comfort. At the end of the day, I feel determined. Not healed. Not whole. But ready. I have a vision now—a clearer one. I know what matters and what doesn’t. What deserves my energy and what I can let go of. I refuse to let my impulses dictate my story. I refuse to give in to the temptation of s...

Last night, sleep eluded me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw angry faces. Their mouths moved, but I couldn’t understand the words—only the rage, the contempt, the dismissal. The sounds were worse. Screams. Accusations. They filled my head, growing louder, twisting into something monstrous. I turned on my side, then the other, pulling the blanket over me, then kicking it off. The air felt too thick, the silence too heavy. My mind was racing, spiraling into memories I wanted to forget but couldn’t. I reached for my phone. The screen glowed in the darkness. 2:47 AM. Too late to text anyone. Too early for morning peace. I opened YouTube and searched for Surah As-Saffat . I pressed play, letting the recitation fill the empty spaces around me. The voice was soothing, each word washing over me like a tide pulling me away from my thoughts. I lowered the volume to a whisper, just enough to keep the darkness at bay. And then I did something I hadn’t done before. I whispered their names. One b...

  Okay. It’s broken. The normal spell is shattered, and everything is chaos again. It happened today—sudden, sharp, like a switch flipping without warning. One moment, I was holding it together. The next, I wasn’t. Words were spoken, actions followed, and just like that, I was unraveling. I tried to contain it. Swallow it down. But the weight of it pressed against my ribs, lodged in my throat like something jagged and unrelenting. I was at a friend’s room for Iftar, surrounded by people, playing my part. For the most part, it felt as normal as things could get for me. But then it happened. Someone said something—offhand, derisive, laced with accusation. They called me nagging when all I had done was confirm something that involved them. A small fracture. I told myself to ignore it. But then came the second blow. I asked the same friend to bring something. Something simple. They refused. I thought they were joking because why wouldn’t they be? It wasn’t as if I had asked them to bri...

  In the last fifteen years I have died countless times. Not in the way that leaves a body cold, but in the way that leaves a soul empty. I have attempted suicide more times than I can count, more times than I care to admit. And yet, here I am, still breathing, still trapped in this relentless cycle of trying and failing, of hoping and breaking. I have tried everything—tried to fix my life, tried to simply exist without expectation, without attachment, without hope. I have tried to make peace with this life, tried to convince myself that I can endure it. But nothing—nothing—has worked. No matter what I do, I keep circling back to square one, back to the same dark place I have always known. It’s true, there are moments of genuine happiness. Small, fleeting moments where the weight lifts just enough for me to breathe. But they are rare. And they never last. And honestly, this isn’t even about happiness or sadness anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time. Because at some point, it stop...

  How do I navigate life? I don’t know anymore. Today was the worst day of the month. What triggered it, I can't say for certain. Maybe it was a culmination of things, a slow build-up of unspoken words and unseen wounds. Maybe it was nothing at all. You are a very bad person. My wife said this to my face. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard those words. They’ve been thrown at me before—by the very people I once thought would stand by me. By those I’ve given everything to, sacrificed for, tried endlessly to please. And every time, a part of me wonders: Are they right? Am I really a bad person? I try to look at my life rationally. On paper, it should be enough. I have a job that pays well, one I actually enjoy on most days. I have a family—caring, loving, present. I have an adorable daughter who fills my heart with immense love. Objectively, I have everything a person needs to be happy. There are people who would trade places with me in an instant. I know that much. And yet—this feeli...

  If I look back and trace the timeline of my life, I can say with certainty that something went terribly wrong when I was 14. That’s when I first started noticing the symptoms—not fully formed, not yet consuming, but present. Back then, it wasn’t a storm, just a whisper in the wind, a quiet sense that something was… off. At first, it was subtle. The way I felt things too deeply, or sometimes not at all. The way I could be laughing one moment and feel hollow the next, as if the world had drained of all color. The way certain words or actions from others stung me in ways I couldn’t explain. I didn’t know what it was, only that my emotions felt like a foreign language no one had taught me how to speak. But as I interacted with the world, as I endured the things that shaped me, the disorder began to take form. It solidified, like wet cement hardening around my mind, until it became impossible to separate myself from it. Now, I’m about to turn 30. Sixteen years have passed since the fi...