Pinocchio, the Girl.

I don’t want to sound poetic. I don’t want to sound beautiful. I don’t want to sound likeable.

I want to sound real.

            I feel as though there are a million and one ideas of me floating around the globe. Everyone has this masterpiece of what I am (to them) painted in their minds and those masterpieces are the only things that keep “me” in existence. Some of these paintings have things in common, but they all tend to be slightly different. I think it has something to do with my lack of consistency. I am not purposely inconsistent; I just have this horrible tendency to contradict myself because I am trapped in this twisted version of living in the moment. I think it’s best to call myself “situational” as opposed to saying I live in the moment though. There is such a positive connotation to that whole idea of “living in the moment”. It suggests actually living. It suggests not taking things for granted. It suggests that one is aware and in control of “living in the moment.” I, however, have no sense of control of the moment. I have no idea how I am going to react to anything, ever. If you take the time to sit and think of how detrimental this is to one’s existence, you would understand just how difficult every day is for me. I wake up knowing I know nothing. I go to sleep knowing that even after another day, I still know nothing. I suppose I should clarify that when I say “I know nothing” I mean that I know nothing about myself mostly. I can never predict how I’m going to feel about anything from day to day. I can never tell if I truly feel the way I think I feel about anything at the end of the day or if it’s just a temporary and fleeting feeling like usual. I have grown to refrain from ever saying I am sure because I know, even if I’m unwilling to admit it, that I am never sure. The tiniest of stimuli can send one of my decisions spiraling in the opposite direction and I know, from someone else’s point of view, this seems unusual but it’s who and what I am.

            I used to pass myself off as nothing short of fickle and relatively insatiable.  I expected my mind to change because I genuinely thought of myself as being impossible to satisfy. It wasn’t that I wanted more; it was just that I thought I was refusing to settle. I realize now I was just refusing to admit something was wrong with me. I could convince any and everyone that I was simply afraid of settling or that I knew I was capable of more, but at the end of the day when it was just me and my thoughts I couldn’t lie to myself. It’s amazing how much a person can hide from an entire world for so long.

            Now that it’s out in the open (so to speak) I keep expecting things to get a little easier. It’s as though by just saying “I am a Borderline Personality” I expect people, but more so myself, to completely understand what’s going on with me. Unfortunately, that’s not how things work. In fact, I would be lying if I said things have gotten easier at all. In all honesty it’s all gotten much more difficult. Instead of wondering what’s going on with me during my mood swings I end up hating myself even more because of how overwhelmingly helpless I feel in the entire thing. Despite whether it’s one of those days where my depression gets the best of me or a good day where I’m elated and actually happy to be alive, the feeling that none of it is real is reinforced. I live my life from one mood swing to another, as opposed to one moment to another. It’s kind of pathetic to think of “living in the mood swing” but that’s all I can do and I have to keep in mind that I am nothing more than my mood swings. I think, but that does not mean I am.

            So when all is said and never done, the only question left to ask is “so what do I do now?”Obviously my “now” is completely conditional and relatively unpredictable, but I can honestly and whole-heartedly say that I am working on it. There are things in my life now that I would have never imagined myself having, doing, or experiencing. I am not one to count on, especially when talking about what I’m sure of, but I am sure that I am grateful for these things and I appreciate them more than I know how to admit. Though my mood is not so positive now I can feel somewhere in my body that I haven’t completely given up yet. Though the idea of stopping here does have its appeal, I’m not going to yet for a few good reasons I don’t want to explain. Just know that this is all much more complicated than it sounds, especially when all you are to yourself is nothing more than just another fictional character in someone else’s story.