I was never born.
There is no me.
It lives because the idea created it.
Nothing more and nothing less.
Just light and mind.
Mind of a person that never existed.
And now
It wants to be an art.
It wants to be itself.
It wants to be seen as something.
Never someone.
And in the end you will always be the problem.
It is being in prison of itself own mind, and every single attempt to escape it, to be treated differently will end up in nothing more than others reminding you (not directly) that "those people like you" are toxic and worst ones.
Seeing jokes, stigmatisation, or overall pure hate towards people with BPD is really painful. Seeing it in place you consider safe space is not only painful but also heartbreaking.
It is sad reminder that everywhere you go, you will notice that nobody treats you as more than that
Dreams are the closest we will get to being in heaven.
However those slight touches of things that only exist in the minds make this life not worth living.
Let it dream and in dreams it wants to die.