BPD Talks

  Hey,  Good news.  I have abandoned the idea of suicide for now. The weight on my chest is still there, pressing down as always. The financial mess, the loneliness, the uncertainty—none of it has magically disappeared. But something inside me has shifted. The same reasons I once had for wanting to leave it all behind are now the very reasons pushing me to stay. I see now that life, however painful, is still full of possibilities. And death? Death is final. Unchangeable. It offers no second chances, no unexpected joys, no moments of peace after the storms. We’re all going to die eventually—so why not live until then? So, I am not going to kill myself on the appointed day. Instead, I will live. I will live fully, even with the weight. I will carry it differently. I don't know how long this feeling will last. I’ve climbed out of this pit before, only to slip and fall back in. But this time, I want to believe I can hold on a little longer. Maybe even climb higher. I just hop...

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...