Please Come Back

His look of love makes me feel secure.

He softly, slowly kisses my forehead.

His gentle caress leaves me wanting more.

My happiest day was the day we wed.


Suddenly, he’s cruelly ripped from my arms.

The Monkey drags him, kicking and screaming.

Happened so fast, guess I missed the alarms.

Watching him go, I feel tears streaming.


My love’s gone.  Here’s a stranger with his face.

His heart now dark, his anger rends my soul.

His nasty words I wish I could erase.

This vile Monkey is out of control.


I ache for my husband and miss him so.

He’ll come back, but he’ll leave again, I know.

Categories: Borderline Personality Disorder, BPD, Family, Healing, Marriage, Poetry | Tags: , | Leave a comment


I don’t know how to love with my whole heart.

How could I?  Raised in an uncaring home,

Affection was foreign.  Coldness I knew.

I learned to be critical and hate-filled.

I lived on anger and disappointment.

Resentment and hurt were my company.

Loving touches, hugs, kisses, “I love you”

Were not what I knew.  Harsh words, angry stares –

These were my normal.  A life lacking warmth.

I felt like a stranger in my own home.

The child who could not understand love

Grew to the woman who could not show love.

I stay withdrawn and reserved.  Scared.  Hiding.

Even if I wanted to venture out,

I’m ignorant of how to show I care.

Unsure of what to do or how to act.

I sit to the side.  Alienated.

I ache to reach out from behind this wall.

I long to show you the love I feel.

Categories: Abuse, Anxiety, Borderline Personality Disorder, BPD, Child Abuse, Family, Life, Mental Illness, Poetry, Relationships | 2 Comments

She is Not Me – With Picture

Who is this girl in the photo?  Not me.
She looks ahead.  Innocent eyes.  Wide grin.
She is ignorant of events to come.
She has not been broken.  Used.  Defiled.
She does not yet know the world hates her.
Still so full of hope and expectations.
Wide open.  Still trusting those in her life.
Not knowing the hurt and pain they will cause.
They wouldn’t do that.  They say they love her.
She hasn’t yet learned the horrors of love.
She will soon find that love morphs to evil.
Everyone uses love as a weapon.
Trying to beat her down.  To make her bleed.
She will soon feel worthless.  She is trash.
She won’t recover.  Her soul feels dead.
She’s condemned to a life trapped by her past.
But not yet.  Today still carefree.  Happy.
She’s not me.  I’m not her.  Impossible.


Categories: Abuse, Anger, Borderline Personality Disorder, BPD, Depression, Dissociation, Life, Mental Illness, Poetry, PTSD | 6 Comments

The First Cut

The feelings were overwhelming inside.

Building up till I couldn’t contain them.

My emotions warred and my skin prickled.

My flesh was prostrate, begging to be cut.

I couldn’t understand this compulsion.

Never experienced this urge before.

Options appeared to be slice up or die.

Took the first step.  Placed the glass to my skin.

Started off timid, than pushed harder still.

Dragged the shard on my thigh and watched blood bloom.

Blood left my body, as did bad feelings.

My flesh was sacrificed for emotions.

The feelings rushed out.  I found my reprieve.

Relief was temporary, I soon learned.

Shame hit me so hard I couldn’t stand up.

The guilt grabbed my lungs to restrict my breath.

Regret.  Remorse.  Unmarred never again.

Thought it was a one-time thing.  I was wrong.

This desire is holding me captive.

Just when I think it’s gone, it’s back again.

This is to be my albatross for life.

Categories: Anger, Anxiety, Borderline Personality Disorder, BPD, Depression, Mental Illness, Poetry, Self Harm, Self-Injury, Thoughts | 8 Comments

About My Next Post

My next post is going to be something completely different from what I usually do.  I am going to post a poem.  On the way into work, I was pondering the first time I engaged in cutting as a way of self harm.  I am posting this FIRST so that no one reads it unless they want to.  I don’t want anyone to be shocked when they open their email.

Also, a little about the format:  I enjoy writing sonnets, but have a hard time writing much else.  Today when starting the upcoming poem, I just wrote sentences that had ten beats, like in a sonnet.  Sorry, I’m not sure what the proper terms are.  Anyway, my thought was that after I got the main sentences out, I could manipulate them so they would rhyme using the form of Shakespearian Sonnets.  After I typed up the sentences, I decided not to worry about rhyming, since that would affect what I was trying to say.

It’s been a looooong time since I’ve written something other than a sonnet.  Quick side notes – I used to write Shakespearian Sonnets in SPANISH.  They rhymed (in Spanish – not when translated) and everything.  Anyway, please be kind if you decide to read my next post.  Please DO NOT READ if you think this will put your safety at risk.

Categories: Anger, Anxiety, Borderline Personality Disorder, BPD, Depression, Mental Illness, Poetry, Self Harm, Self-Injury, Thoughts | Leave a comment

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