Everyone procrastinates. We do it when we would rather watch a movie or read a book than start that work project, when we would rather go out with friends for coffee than start cleaning the house or when we would rather listen to music and relax on the couch than fixing whatever needs to be done around the house. It is human nature, but we get ourselves out of it rather quickly and tackle the task at hand with full force.
However, when I procrastinate it is not because I don’t feel like it or would rather be doing something else. It is because I simply cannot get myself to function and find inspiration to do anything. It is so much more than procrastination. It is the fact that I am too tired to exist. I’m not tired because I stayed up late working on something profound. I’m not tired because I had a great night out with friends. No, I am tired of being me.
Living with borderline personality disorder, I am in a constant love-hate relationship with myself and those I care about the most. One moment I absolute love my life and the challenges I face and the next I hate everything. I hate myself for being weak and pathetic, and I struggle to comprehend who could possible love this piece of work. I expect, no, I actually welcome, loved ones leaving me because if I can’t even live with myself how can they?
I am tired because it is a battle between good and evil every.single.day. I am constantly trying to find an equilibrium, a sanctuary for the ghosts that haunt me. I am yearning for a moment in time when the voices in my head will just stop — that they will stop saying I am worthless, I am not good enough, I am a failure, I am weak, I am alone, I am a burden, I am ugly, I am fat, I am old, I am a lost cause, I will never amount to anything… These voices tell me this is the truth about myself and there is nothing I can do to change it. The people around me will soon find out what a fraud I am and leave me. I try to act out and supply them with reasons to leave because if they do at least I know I was right and actually did them a favor. However, if they don’t leave, I have a predicament. I don’t want to be alone, but I cannot bear to put my loved ones through the upset I face every day. At this point the only way out is to eliminate the chaos and stop being a burden, and the battle in my mind continues.
How can I think about suicide if I have so much to be thankful for? If I do this how will it affect those around me (I am “so selfish!”)? “Giving up” feels like showing what a failure I am and that I cannot handle pressure. To make this turbulence stop, I reach for those pills and swallow as quickly as I can before the voices fight again.
And then I wake up in the hospital. I didn’t die. People say I “survived,” but if they knew the constant war going on inside my mind, they may not see me as a survivor. They will understand what I mean when I say, “I am tired.”