Periods of stress-related paranoia and loss of contact with reality, lasting from a few minutes to a few hours.
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I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy.
No matter how many times I say it, no matter how many times my therapists say it, I can't seem to make myself believe it.
Plenty of children are afraid of the dark, right? That's nothing unheard of. Children who are worried that the boogeyman is hiding under their bed. Children who sleep with a light on to chase the darkness way. Many of us were that child, or knew someone like that.
What about an adult? An adult who can't sleep in total darkness, because of what might be lurking in the shadows?
No, I'm not talking about the boogeyman or the Grim Reaper. I'm talking about... actually, I've never had a name for it.
Paranoia. It sets in whenever I'm shrouded in darkness. The fear that someone or something is going to find me.
I can't move.
I can't speak.
I can't breathe.
Because any of those actions could put my life in danger.
I never knew what I was afraid of. It didn't have a name. My pastors said I feared demons, but it didn't feel like a demon. My parents said I feared the monsters from scary movies, but I had never seen a creature in a movie that scared me like this. A faceless entity of darkness that hovered over me constantly, sucking away my ability to sleep peacefully.
Nothing would feel real. Reality and fiction would become muddled together as I laid there, unmoving. Almost like a nightmare, but I was awake. Still, the world felt like a dreamscape around me, moving at a slower pace than the rest of humanity.
Tears would silently roll down my cheeks as I willed myself to close my eyes. But closing my eyes would leave me defenseless to whatever darkness was lurking. What did it matter anyway? It's not like I possessed the skills to defend myself. I used to sleep with a knife under my pillow until my mother found out. She was concerned I would use the knife to hurt myself.
Which was understandable. I had a history of harming myself whenever I got too overwhelmed. My mind would become clouded with fear and paranoia, and I would result in self-harm to center myself.
I didn't do it because I wanted to die. No, the pain brought me back to reality. The pain was real, the darkness was not. The pain was real, the darkness was... not.
The darkness wasn't real.
The darkness isn't real.
The darkness... never seems to go away.
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MEMOIR OF THE SPLINTERED
Non-Fiction"Borderline personality disorder (BPD) is a serious mental illness that centers on the inability to manage emotions effectively. While some persons with BPD are high functioning in certain settings, their private lives may be in turmoil." ~~~ They s...
