Let Everything happen to you: Beauty and Terror.

Just Keep Going. No Feeling Is Final.

A blog that's less of a blog and more of an open letter to my own misery.

Four years ago, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, and every day since has been a paradox. I live as though I’m unaware of my illness while simultaneously tethering myself to it like it’s my identity. I talk about it with friends as if I’m presenting at a third-grade show-and-tell. I’ve memorized every symptom, studied every subtype, and know that mine—Quiet BPD—isn't even exist recognized in the DSM-5. I can map the logic behind every destructive habit I have, pinpoint the reasons for my behavior, and understand exactly how pitiful it all is. And yet, for four years, I’ve done nothing but worship my misery as though it were a religion.

I get high on my own torment. I don’t drink water, eat vegetables, or take care of myself. I abuse Adderall, am incapable of having "just one drink", and barely brush my teeth or shower. I have episodes at work, blow through my money, forget to pay my bills, lie to my friends, and hide from my family. I choke on my pain. I throw plates at the fridge and cut myself with the broken shards. I make strange faces at my reflection like I’m trying to recognize the person staring back.

None of this is human. None of this is normal.

It has to end, I know it does. But this idea of remission, of recovery, has always felt unfathomable. Borderlines don’t recover—we adapt.

I will never be untethered from this. So, what’s left? What can I do?

I can change the narrative.

For so long, melancholy convinced me I wasn’t worthy of a better life. But now, I see that my melancholy might actually be the only thing capable of creating one. I have to use it, respect it, and learn to control it.

My misery IS a god... cruel and demanding.

But even gods can serve a purpose.

There is discipline in taking something ugly and turning it to gold.

Even if it’s something as simple as my emo-tumblr-girl coded poetry.

There is value in creating.

There is purpose in finding beauty in the terror.

It's expression.

It's strength in vulnerability.

It's power.

(It's a blog)

Welcome to Beauty and Terror.

-Rilke