What is forever? Something that is there all the time, right? That’s how this feel, never ending cycles. I try and I try. After many diagnoses they finally got it right. I felt relieved but at the same time I asked myself why? When I got to the root of it all one event had the power to change my life. I hate that I gotta live with this. I’ll never see sunshine. That’s a lie. BPD can be manageable if you really want to. I learn something new about myself, and I love that. Only I can change and make things right. Only time can tell when I'll be alright. Forever is not always a terrible thing. I stopped looking at it that way to find peace. I give myself credit for putting up with myself and not giving up so easily. It’s not an easy thing to do, it becomes a lifestyle. It’s like battling concrete. You get a lot of ****** knuckles, always made sure I won. I can always forgive; I forgive myself forever I wouldn't want to live with this pain for eternity. Don’t allow yourself to let it take over. Don’t allow it to choose your world. In the end it’ll be all worth it. Forever is true, forever upgrading never knew what prime is.

Twenty-one was the age I put everything at rest. It felt like a mess. I finally realized it was time I chose success. I went cold turkey. It was hard, it’s not something I suggest. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. When I got the chance to catch some z’s, the nightmares I would see. I would wake up from my own scream. Cold sweats down to my feet. I couldn’t believe how much I had lost; it was as though I had left my soul in the streets. It never helped me just made me 10 times crazy. Before I even picked up this evil thing, another symptom that comes with BPD is paranoia. I have this thing that I always thought about. The people out in the world are here to wish for my downfall. Ever since I was a kid, I always had to prove some. It felt like I was never enough, it was always I was doing too much. Twenty-one and I couldn’t enjoy the very first bar hop. I was fifteen yrs. old with a fake ID card. It was nothing new, but something I never got tired of. I know no one will ever understand why I act so impulsively, why am I always compulsive. I was glad I was able to see the way that I acted and the way people perceived me. It’s nothing normal but what is normal? All I wanted was a healthy mind and body. I asked myself please forgive me, I was left alone, no one could hear me. Excuse my language but it’s ****** up the way we raise these children. We become ****** up adults with ****** up mind sets. That our parents gave us. With no good role models to guide me I landed myself in an asylum. Stuck in an ongoing cycle, it was vicious. And that’s how I knew I have the power of resilience. To have a BPD mind it’s confusing I don’t even understand myself I know I can be obnoxious, if I don’t get my way, I throw tantrums I’m **** near 30 acting like I need a change of diapers. The anger that I display at very inappropriate times. One of the best years I loved is twenty-one; I officially started my journey of recovery and mental healing.

I'm not done, I'm not finished.

There’s three parts within these three sections.

I like odd numbers; my favorite is three.

I’m only half evil; I try to be nice.

Occasionally.

I don’t get even, I get mad. I also live with shame and guilt.

It’s rooted deep inside.

The technique to this is to be immortal,

I flow, I row, someday I’ll grow.

It came in different forms; it ate away at my soul.

I cried, never laughed, I lost hope, I couldn’t sleep.

Crystal wouldn’t leave me alone, I hated her. She also scared me.  

I chose her and that made me weak. I wished at some point to get into heaven. 11:11 make a wish, I wished I hadn’t met her. I stayed with her; I did things like... I’m no criminal!

I just gambled with my life, you dared me, I abide. Those sleepless nights. Didn’t think twice.

I hated my mind. Crazy to know after I got caught, no one questioned, no one thought, they forgot.

**** it.

They say be careful, it might last you forever.

That’s not what I cared about, I cared about my two-steps, my moves.

I cared to not make myself look like a fool. I heard he’s handsome. Heard he’s a mood.

He didn’t care about me, but he had me weak at my knees. I extended my hand,

They will all say...

‘What’s her face’ became my best friend; I tried to see her every day. I met her through a mutual homegirl, about a year ago.

I asked her, why are you out here for? I guess she wondered too.

She had told me once If I am ever too much, just drink some *****.

It stuck with me. ‘What’s her face’ always knew what to do.

What attracted me about her was that she never judged, she never lied, never gave me a reason to start a fight.

I escaped home to go see her, we painted all day and all night. I scraped up change! At this point, I really needed her.

She was home! She didn’t make me feel crazy. I was never alone. She held me. She helped me.

**** PAINTING!

She kept me... She kept me whole. I thought so. ‘What’s her face,’ what’s her name, I can’t remember for the life of me!

It’s Crystal!

Yeah...

Crystal last name Methamphetamine.

I should've listened to Gucci Mane, I’m stubborn I get it. I was a dummy and got lost in the sauce. **** the paint, I was in agony pain! **** these feelings and **** healing.

Crystal was dope, she helped me cope. How does that slogan go?

DRUGS, NOT HUGS!

You know which one, the one they had you pledge you’ll stay “drug free,” they had you wear a red ribbon on your wrist for a ******* week.

I’m so angry, why did I feel so lonely? I missed my sixteenth birthday. I was grounded cuz my mom found my piece.

It was pink.

I hate pink.

It didn’t matter, not for crystal, not for me. I was at peace, twisting the pookie!

The smell of aerosol flowing through my brain,
I like to paint,
Spraying on the walls,
Was the only thing to keep me from falling apart.
I walked in the rain; I walked in the heatwaves.
I don’t play, I splattered on pavements.
I have no crew, they call those, the ones.
BIG.A oner
It was never about street cred.
I am an artist, that's what I repped.
Rode the 460 bus, all the way to LA.
That’s where I met, ‘what's her face’?
Anyways, forget her.
You ever had a dream you didn’t wanna wake up from?
Ever felt like you were up in the sky, on cloud nine?
Maybe it’s just me; I’ve been working on this piece since 12:03?
I think???
The one part I hated, getting high off these paintings.
Trust me, never intentionally
I love that about me thank you borderline, for the personality of creativity!
Don’t get lost in the sauce.
‘What’s her face’ called; she said she’ll meet me at the same spot.
I like to paint,
I loved getting lost...

I’m actin’ out.
Throwing fits.
I thought I was cool,
I know I'm the ****!
Punching holes,
I hear the neighbors  
Shoutin’ out they windows.
Here I go,
Busting down doors.
“Shes crazy!”  
It never phased me,
It's what they called me,
I promise,
I wasn’t trynna die.
I know I can lie,
These thoughts on my mind,
Be talkn’ bout, yous’ crazy
Yous' outcho mind!
So, I indulge in slicing through them pies.
Wear my emotions outside.
I got red on my mind.
Fifty-one fifty,
What are the odds?
Don't ask me how I'm feeling inside.
When I told y'all more than twice.
Let me hit up one of my guys!
Riding down the blvds,
DND on.
I toss my hospital robe,
I'm bouta get lost!
I’m gone; the streets of Bakersfield, here I come!
I was under a gazebo,
Sippin’ wine.
Now, I'm catching the metro lines.
It was cold at night,
But I was happy inside.
Having the time of my life, running on pop tarts and forty ounce,
Strangers were my family.
Telling them my stories.
They don't know me,
They don't call me crazy tho.
Eventually I get home,
Three days later.
Yeah,
I was fifteen years old.
My momma doesn't even know,
I took a train,
Rode the bus,
Walked for miles.
I was tired,
Of course, I took the offer
I was another man's passenger.
Was it good luck?
Who knows but I made it home,
Call me crazy,
Call me insane,
I call it,
It was a way to escape home and these thoughts runnin’ round’ my brain....

I cannot remember the first time I had a crush on a boy. It is better that way... Oh wait, I am trying to change, that phrase was a lie. I was in seventh grade and his name was, Everardo, Julian, Andrew, Brandon, Bryan, Anthony, Jamal, Christian, Kevin, some twins named Daniel and Austin, I can’t forget my favorite Jackson. One thing they don’t tell you is, when your molested you either hate men or you become promiscuous. I found comfort in talking to all kinds of boys, before I met ‘what’s her face.’ Even after high school boys turned into men. I wanted to be loved; I wanted to feel appreciated. I hate love because for me, I feel love so intensely. Sometimes I just can’t, I don’t know how to deal with this. I have read a lot of articles and gone to therapy. They say borderlines struggle with relationships; or you can google How to Get Away from Someone with BPD. Is it wrong for me to think, to be loved, I had to give up some parts of my body? Maybe... Yet, I curve these men like no other day. Sometimes I'm mean to my men, I hate them, but I love ALL my men, very deeply. Older men, some call it a fetish. I am also into ****. Why is a thirteen-year-old thinking like a grown woman? I am not sure but my therapist at that time thought it was obscured. I can be clingy, maybe that’s why they leave me? I attract a certain kind of demon, a B cluster member. I hate you, but please don’t leave me!