I’m angry-oh no, another rageful borderline. I have a lot to say, there she goes, crying wolf again.
I am angry because of people like you, I have to worry about being compared to an abusive person that I cannot relate to. And because of you, I have to explain in further detail, what my illness entails. I have to explain so that I am not immediately labeled as the manipulative woman that “cries wolf”, or “plays victim”, or plays a “princess role”.
Having this illness is exhausting, stigma removed. But how further exhausting it is to have to educate people, because of people like you; people like you that should be educated. And how exhausting it is to say, “I have this thing, it’s called BPD”, oh and how exhausting it will be to hear, “isn’t that what Amber Heard has?”. Because of people like you, I cannot simply have an illness. I have an illness that warrants an explanation, better yet, clarification. Because of your careless words, I will correct people. I will explain, no, aggression is not a symptom of BPD, not even a debatable symptom in question, and we don’t have a tendency to use the legal system as manipulation. Oh, how exhausting it is to have an exhausting illness. But that exhaustion, is no one’s fault. The exhaustion that comes from correcting people like you, that is the exhaustion I have difficulty tolerating-I do not want to have to correct people, but because of you, I have a lot of explaining to do.
I could sit down and shut up, but I’ve grown too exhausted of sitting down when every bone in my body tells me to stand up. I’m exhausted of staying small and god, I am so exhausted looking at this ugly portrait that you helped paint. Who are the artists? Well, that is what is most exhausting. The people that are supposed to protect us, to paint an accurate picture, they paint the ugliest one of all. How twisted, how backwards. God, I am so exhausted of this story. Why is it that people like you cast shame onto the vulnerable, but people like you should be the ones that are ashamed.
You don’t know what borderline personality disorder looks like, that is clear. In that courtroom, that is not what it looks like. Not even close, not even a little. Not at all. Oh, if you only knew what it really looked like. If you only knew, it does not consist of princess cries and calculated behavioral tactics. Oh, if you only knew what it really looked like; that the illness is in fact the monster, not the body hostaging it. The 10% does not simply exist because of desperate, reckless interpersonal behaviors. And it does not exist because the devil in a dress just needed to prove the ultimate point or that her attention seeking just went too far. The 10% exists because of deep, deep suffering. Suffering that you minimized through your misrepresentation and uneducated words in that courtroom. How responsibly clinical of you to use words of judgment and to do so recklessly. It is not me that should be ashamed for my scarlet letters. It is you; shame on you. Because that painting, cannot be destroyed. It can only be rebuilt and managed. And because of you, we have a lot of work to do. This case is closed.
But don’t take my word for it, I’m just a self victimized borderline crying wolf.