Having the ability to write in a comprehensible manners makes people assume I'm okay. but I'm not.
I've been sitting staring at this forum for a day trying to find the courage to write about my life. I'm ashamed of it. Writing about it makes it real. It's hard for me to accept that it's all real.

I come from what people might call a 'typical' BPD background. Upon reflection I believe many things planted this condition within me. And I'm furious.
I think about my parents and all I feel in contempt. I'm rushed with memories from my childhood, flash-backs, humiliation, fear, and constant grief.
My father was a bully. He beat my mother for whatever he saw fit to blame her for. When I was barely four years old he tried to smother her with a pillow. I was in the bed.
She had black-eyes every month, bruises on her throat. She was strong though, but only because she made herself cold. I remember thinking that she seemed dead. In my living memory I've never been hugged by her. When I fell from my bike, split my forehead and my chin wide open, she was there and she took me to the hospital. But she wasn't really there. She's soldiered on raising me and my siblings and I admire her for it. But I resent her, because clothes, food and shelter were not the only things I needed. When I cried I cried alone. My father beat us, my mother ignored us. I'm still angry. Because they assumed I was a stupid kid, but I saw things for what they really were. I understood.

When I was 8 my older cousin had an unhealthy interest in me. One summer's day, just before my birthday, he took me to an abandoned lane and he anally raped me. But I couldn't tell anyone. I blamed myself. I don't understand why.
This is one of the singular most devastating events of my life. I went from spending every day in the sun to sitting in front of the television like a zombie. No one mentioned the change. I don't think they cared.
I lost my virginity when I was 12 because my boyfriend told me he loved me. Very time I had sex I felt close to someone, and then humiliated and disgusted after. I spent my teen years sleeping with whoever wanted me. I could barely look at myself in the mirror.
I found my first love at 16. He was the greatest thing I had ever been around. I loved every part of him. Even when he changed after a while. When he cheated on me, and tried to convince me I was crazy and paranoid, I stuck with him. The emotional abuse and rough handling felt normal to me. When he was angry he would shake me hard. But I loved him. I was pathetic. He broke up with me and it took me over 2 years to feel stable again.
There are other things, smaller things. But those are the events that stick clear in my mind. I could never hold a stable relationship. I was never comfortable. They always ended terribly.

Right now in my life, after a failed attempt at university, a failed suicide attempt, a bout of drinking, a bout of casual sex and eating myself 3 stone heavier in a couple of months I found a new relationship.
This is my current boyfriend. We work because he accepts me as I am. He knows I'll become irrational and emotional if triggered. He knows I'll be unpredictable. But I do love him. And he loves me. I'm just terrified that I'll sabotage this, because I've never been able to function with another person so close. I'm constantly suspicious that he's cheating, I even feel emotional when he goes out on a drinking binge without me. I get jealous when he spends too much time with his friends. I'm spiraling here...

I still live at home. My relationship is still the same with my mother. She has a new partner, they've been together 12 years. He's decent. She hasn't changed much. My little brother has ADHD and spends time with me trying to make me cry. I think he genuinely finds it amusing. I'm too old to be bothered by petty names but it hurts. He leaves stuff lying around, demands I clean it, or cook, or iron this or that for him. And when I don't he threatens to hit me, or smash my belongings. It's frightening...
That is who I live with.

I don't have a job, I never got experience. I have no money, though all I want is my own house. I never learned to drive.

I've drifted away from most of my friends and spend weeks alone sometimes.

This year I promised myself I would try and change, but every time I think of it I'm convinced I'll fail.
I've been writing a novel for about a year and all I want is to finish it and be published. I want to be an author so bad. It's my dream, and I'm terrified of chasing it because failure would kill me.
I want to spend time with my friends and feel secure. To not be convinced that suddenly they don't like me, or they have something against me or they're going to hurt me.
I want to feel more secure with my boyfriend. I want to lose weight. I want to be more active, travel, start living a life instead of sitting here waiting for something to trigger all of the madness at once.
I sit and I pray for the irrationality to come in an avalanche, because then, I'm convinced, I would be able to end it all and be at peace.
And at the same time as I want that, I want to be alive and chase my dream and live.

I don't understand any of it. I just want to be okay. Therapy didn't work. And I'm too ashamed to go back and admit I can't live on my own.
I just need someone to care about this and get in this effort for me. I can't survive it alone. My family don't care. 'It's all in your head' they say. My boyfriend is involved enough. I won't put that burden on him.

Someone help me, please.
I've never used those words before but I think I have to.

I admit it. I need help. I can't survive this alone. I can't hold off the pressure by myself. I can't self-soothe after every upset. I can't function without a hand in the right direction.

I need someone.

Thank you if you've read this far...
I appreciate it..

Korana