For me, it's my weight, it's the times I thought giving up was a real option, and it's the times I hid my true self because I thought I wasn't good enough.
Some people may glow on the outside and rot on the inside; I feel sometimes as though I rot on both sides. I see the neglect in the mirror and I feel lost and decrepit inside, too.
I feel like a half-person, as though I was made with all the parts but they were rushed and everything's rough around the edges and doesn't quite fit right.
I hate sitting next to people because I feel like they are aware I'm taking up a little too much room or that they can tell I'm anxious and getting a little sweaty; all from worrying what they are thinking of me. I hate eating in public, especially alone. If I eat an apple I imagine people are thinking 'bit late for that, isn't it?' If I eat something a little unhealthy or just 'normal' I feel like people assume it's the seventh today, or something worse. I hate clothes shopping and fumbling through the rack wondering/hoping they have my size while I skim past the many, many size 10's available and feeling people's eyes on me, probably wondering if I'm lost.
I hate that I once thought ending my life was the answer to everything. That it was the only possible outcome that would make things better. I hate that I didn't care what it would do to me if I failed or worse; what it would do to everyone else if I succeeded. I know it's an illness, but I'm still somewhat ashamed I almost let it win.
I hate that I allowed myself, for too long, to be told what I liked and didn't like. I might not have known exactly who I was; having BPD makes sense of self difficult, admittedly, but I should have allowed myself time to find out instead of blindly following the leader because I wanted to fit in. I know now that I will never fit in and I'm starting to become okay with that. I'm working on telling people to 'f' off when they tell me how to act or what I enjoy doing.
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