Destined for Destruction

I hold my breath.

Subconsciously, I forget to breathe

I panic,

I pay attention,

I become hyperaware.

Each breath soon becomes as deep as I can possibly inhale it

My chest rising so high that I feel my lungs have reached their full capacity.

And still, I cannot quite get a deep enough breath.

I ruminate on the thought that this will never end

I begin to hear my pulse outside of my body

My ears, so far from my chest, yet it feels like the pounding is in my head

Right there,

echoing like a kickdrum,

holding me captive to the intrusive thoughts that follow.

Am I having a heart attack?

Am I dying?

My lungs become as heavy as if I had just inhaled a vat of quick-drying cement,

and suddenly, I can feel every single organ inside my body.

I want to crawl out of my own skin.

I need to.

It feels like I am caged in my own body,

trapped in my own mind with a rabid beast.

The panic soon festers and becomes visible to every prying eye.

My leg is shaking.

Are they staring?

My hands are trembling.

Are they whispering?

I catch myself rocking back and forth and suddenly I feel my stomach drop

I hear a giggle in the distance

And I know immediately that this will deprive me of any sleep for the next two days.

But not to worry,

My brain is equipped and on standby with self-defense.

My eyes glaze over as fight or flight kicks in

It’s almost calming

Like a wave washing away all of my thoughts,

all of my feelings,

all of my me.

I numb out the world around me

Voices become jumbled,

faces become blurry

I’m here

But I’m not here

I’m holding onto reality by a thread,

terrified of seeming uninterested,

of seeming uncaring

of seeming apathetic

I want to trust that I am loved

I want to trust that I am loveable

I want to trust that I am not a burden to those I love so deeply

I am terrified all the time

Scared to say something wrong

Scared to make the wrong decision

Scared to breathe

I am terrified that the bomb will go off again.

Hell, I'm terrified that the explosion will never stop.

It may take some time, but the story always ends the same

when a corner of the wallpaper is peeled back

my soul bleeds out, and they see the real me

they see the darkness behind my eyes

the hopelessness

the rage

the addict

the self-destructive

the pain

When I tell people I have borderline personality disorder,

I am often met with fear.

People see the monster

But they will never know the creation of that monster

They will never see the scared little girl holding her sobbing brother, trying, through persistent tears of her own, to shield him from the noise

They will never bear witness to that child sitting outside her bedroom door listening to the shattered glass, the screaming, and the crying

They will never stand in the middle of every violent interaction that child had to experience

They will never know just how unsafe that little girl felt, when her own home was a war zone

They will never know the awful feeling that little girl had to endure every day

Every.

Single.

Day.

on her way to school,

with each step knowing damn well that she would be beaten up, teased, stolen from, lied to, tormented, and beaten down with no way out.

No escape.

There was only hell.

When the pain turned to numb

When the sadness turned to red-hot anger

When the shy, anxious, scared little girl turned stone-cold

She became the one thing she swore she would never be

She turned into the monster that had claimed her will to fight.

The most painful realization for a victim to accept

The agonizing truth,

what's that saying?

hurt people, hurt people? The victim becomes the abuser?

I never believed it, I never wanted to believe it.

How could I?

I could never inflict my experiences onto another living soul.

But the seed was planted and it took root inside of me.

Blackened branches, gnarled and intertwined within and around one another

Infecting me with the curse

I am fundamentally broken.

I am inherently flawed.

I am a shell of who I once was.

A little girl singing in the rain, not yet tainted by the cruelty of the world.

When the monster escapes me,

I see that little girl reflecting back at me.

Blonde ringlets dangling by her ears,

with rosy red cheeks,

big brown eyes,

and a crooked smile showing off her prominent dimples, and missing baby teeth.

So naive,

So unprepared,

So filled with joy, hope, and wonder

How could something so innocent and so pure, transform into something so devoid of life?

So cold and grey.

I watch the light leave her glossy eyes as she stares into mine.

"What has become of us?"

I hold my breath.