valah bluelove joon

I hate this thing in my heart, in my head. A deep, penetrating doubt. I mean, yeah, it's probably saved my tail more than a few times, but I also know it enables my self-sabotage. I get into a great relationship, and all I can think is that it doesn't feel right. What's right? Will anything ever be right enough? Is it because it's not a blatantly unhealthy, codependent, needy, icky shitfight masquerading as a relationship? Because it's remotely normal and functional, I have to have a problem with it?

BPD + 1

and Cathy would know that, and she might consider giving me a formal diagnosis or something if she actually read this blog like I asked her to, or if she'd even tried to ring me in the past four-five weeks, she'd know, and she might also know that I'm going fucking insane. Also nothing makes you feel cooler than realising that you are, ultimately, just a name on file, a manilla folder, to someone who you kinda connected with. Fuck that. It's just her job. I hate that about seeing psychiatrists, therapists, all my counsellors. I give an inch, they take a mile, and I feel vulnerable and it doesn't mean anything to anyone.
Letting no one in is better than that.