Bpd Poems Novels & Stories

I answered and I can tell he’s confused. “I understand what it means in the simplest term but please elaborate?” he asked. I chuckled. “Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is a mental disorder that is a pattern of constant unstableness of temperament, emotions, behaviour, functioning, and self-image,” I started. “BPD mostly affects self-perception and relationships either with your friends or even your family. People with BPD experience constant and deeply emotional and mental instability that typically affects everyday life which also results in irrational actions and unstable relationships, anger or constant irritability, anxiety and depression.”

It was those thoughts that made him leave the room, never looking back. For poetry was composed of letters, letters that formed complete words, and words that formed profound sentences. Poetry could be beautiful, it could be songs or texts of love. But it could also be the most accurate description of pain and lamentation. It could be written with many tears. It could be written with screams. And in that moment, all the words became poetry, and they were not yet ready to deal with the pain behind them. * When Blair finally arrived home, it was early afternoon. She was wearing the white dress from the night before, filled with memories she would never be able to erase. The woman opened the do

The poem is titled 'SPEAK TO YOURSELF' and it reads thus. ******************************************************* How often do you converse with yourself? How often do you speak to yourself? How often do you listen to yourself when no one is speaking? How often do you minister to yourself? How often do you truly embrace yourself, your pain, your flaws, your truth, your fears... SPEAK TO YOURSELF Say to yourself.... "Though I am shattered and bereaved and I might wither with the wind but like seeds, I can sprout out of the ground, new and better. "

They open the new submissions, journals, sketches, coded dreams, solar poems, sky-written vows. They place them inside. Then they bow their heads. Not in grief. But in reverence. Because they know: The fire is not in the pages. It is in the choice to write them. So I keep burning. Through drought and war. Through joy and birth. Through quiet revolutions that look like hugs, and wild ones that sound like protests. Every time someone chooses compassion over control… I spark. Every time a young girl dares to say, “I have something to say”…

I still believe That we were meant to happen Even if it weren’t meant to be I think love still can be beautiful Even if you have sift through The pain of a bitter ending To get to sweeter memories I’m glad your path crossed with mine And that once upon a time, We looked at one another Like our eyes held the answer To everything Its going to take me Some time to heal, but I know that what we had was real We changed each other’s hearts And you left an imprint on my soul Despite all that lies between us now I hope that you know That a part of me Will always be Holding you Poems were a way that I expressed my soul and vulnerability. * * *

I am made of that monster whom you saw me turn into; I am that person that you do not let your children near, not even for this five minutes that it is taking you to read this. The thing is, Clayton, I have…" And as with the time before, I pause as there starts to run a stream of unwanted tears down my face again. Only shaking my head to rid myself of the emotions, I take a sip of the water from the bottle that I have been clenching in my hand. Then… "The thing is, Clayton, I have BiPolar.

she started dressing my wound I didn't said anything after that I went back to my room but her words are still rotating in my head why no one till today said to me iam wrong is it because they are scared of me am I really beast but who cares what iam how iam and why iam like this did anyone cared about me till today did anyone cared how iam being till today no one cared but everyone judges me why what did I do can anyone say why iam like this all I want to do right now is cry and scream and let it all out because its killing me inside ""the night turns into the day the day then turns to night but my life never turns to bright from darkness there is not a single thing to do everything looks o

I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been Oh Oooh The way that things have been Oh Oooh Second things second, Don't you tell me what you thing that I can be I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my sea Oh Oooh The master of my sea Oh Oooh I was broken from a young age Taking my soul into the masses Writing my poems for the few That look at me, Took at me, Shook at me, Feel at me Singing from heart ache to the pain Taking my message from the pain Speaking my lessons from the brain Seeing the beauty through love .................................... "Mother, please! I didn't want to hurt her! I didn't cut her!" A little girl 8-year-old little girl cried, her eyes begging for

She would often hear voices and see things that weren't there, and it was heartbreaking to see her struggle to distinguish reality from her delusions. Then there was John, a former soldier who had been struggling with PTSD. He would often wake up in the middle of the night, screaming and crying, as he relived the traumatic events of his past. It was devastating to see him struggle to find peace and comfort, even in his own home. I also met Emily, a sweet and gentle soul who had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. She would often swing from extreme highs to extreme lows, and it was heartbreaking to see her struggle to find stability and balance in her life.

“What mom? How can you say that--” She gave me her phone. There was a poem he had written. “I’d love it if you read this and think that I feel anything for her-- “She was my life, she left, life left. Never had anything, even my soul has left. Being a boy was never the best thing, When the only girl I ever loved left. Do you know that feeling? When there is nothing to see? Because you just don’t know What you should be? When there is no reason to live