quietborderlineinfo:

The best thing about being a quiet borderline is the ongoing battle in your head on whether you actually have bpd or not… as if you didn’t already have enough to worry about with a wobbly sense of self.



You are a perpetual doormat personified. You lack the white hot rage that serves the average borderline, the gusto that would give you the strength to rip your enemies a part.



Instead you are an open wound. Your only defense is your tolerance to salt and the only true enemy is you.



But your resilience and desolation can’t protect you from the sting of invalidation every time you work up the courage to tell someone about your disorder.



“Are you sure? You don’t seem crazy…,” the sharp pain of unabashed skepticism, more questioning for not fitting the criteria of the stigmatized.



If they wanna start with questions, why didn’t they ask how you’re coping? how you’re feeling? what can they do to help???



Then comes the nauseating shame, your urge to wear the laundry list of addictions and destructive behavioral patterns as a badge of honor for your fuckedupedness so that for once someone can validate your pain. So that for once you could feel whole. Complete. A fucked up person, but a person nonetheless.



The best part of being a quiet borderline is so badly wanting to be heard and living your whole life building a tolerance to feeling ignored.



-K

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