I’ve changed my blog design. AGAIN. That is something I am very capable and very able to change. It is a change I enjoy making and it is something I find gratifying, as it challenges me creatively and allows me to feel I am somehow progressing in life because my blog is evolving, ergo so am I?

Evolution is necessary. The only constant is change. Entropy is inevitable. We integrate, disintegrate, then reintegrate many times. People change and relationships change and boundaries shift and goalposts get dug up and cemented into new positions.

I CAN change my blog. I DO know change happens, and resistance to that truism is largely futile. I AM hopeful that intended and planned psychological change is happening within me. I am undergoing psychological therapy to compensate for emotional deficits, to fill voids where emotional contentment should be, and to learn skills that I can recapitulate elsewhere in other aspects of my personal life. That is the hard bit. Changing my blog is WAY EASIER.

You want me to change my brain circuitry? Good luck.

You want me to change my behavioural responses? Good luck.

You want me to please everyone, all of the time? Good luck.

You want me to suspend my emotional protection altruistically, to the detriment of my own emotional stability? Good luck.

You want me to forever pander to you? In situations where your empathy is entirely absent for me? Good luck.

You want me to not voice my thoughts? Bloody hell. That’s a tough one.

You want me to keep my feelings under wraps? Jeez. Not easy when they’re this intense.

You want me to feel the shit and cope quietly with it? OMG. Not fucking easy.

You want me to not behave like I have BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) when I have Borderline Personality Disorder? Good luck. I may not agree with everything my previous psychiatrist said, but my psychological issues are not hidden in shame. I know why they’re there. I’m trying for these traits to not be there, but I have them, hence my diagnosis.

You want me to bit my tongue? Good luck.

You want me to never ever ruffle feathers? I’ll try. I really will try, but I can’t make promises that I know in my heart of hearts I can’t keep.

Having BPD DOES bother me. Having a personality that adapted itself to survive unrelenting childhood trauma, instead of having a regular well-adjusted childhood is shit, for me, and sometimes for you- those who cross my life path.

I’m sorry I affect you so strong.

I’m sorry I provoke you.

I’m sorry you find me hard to handle.

I’ll stay away.

I’m in my cave now, the walls have closed in and I’ve settled down into my nest of sad, until further notice.

I feel defeated, because I am defeated.

I feel sad because I am sad.

I feel angry because I am angry.

I cannot rely on external validation. Self-validation of my emotions is the only way.

Don’t try and understand me. You’ll never ever achieve it.

Don’t try and say you understand how I feel, because you don’t, and you can’t and you won’t. Not because you don’t want to, but because your life has not been my life.

Excuse me for still being affected by shit that happened years ago. PTSD doesn’t have an off switch. My brain circuitry is too fucked even for EMDR. My psychologist won’t give me EMDR. I’ll never get EMDR. It doesn’t work for everyone she said.

“I am too fucked up for it to help reprocess my past shit.” [My interpretation].

I wish I could think of the happy and grateful things in life, but right now I am not capable. I am not capable of forgiveness nor epic change right now.

All I can possible do is stay afloat and not drown.

That would be a good outcome-to not drown. Anything else is a bonus.

I am cynical. I do protect myself from negative energy and people. I am resentful. I do get angry. I am afraid. I am low. I hurt. I weep. I wince. I slink away from drama legs between my legs wishing I didn’t exist.

It’s only people summerSHINES- ‘why give away your power’ people advise.

What if you never had any power to begin with? What if you still don’t? What if you are more blindingly and acutely aware of your own faults than any particular human who has the courage to add insult to injury by blatantly pointing them out?

What if you already know?

I ask that, as I KNOW.

I have talked about this in therapy and shed many tears over the character flaw you are pointing out to me as if it is novel and unexpected news.

I fucking know. Alright?

I try and make amends whilst also explaining myself, but it falls on deaf ears.

I give up.

I rest in my nest.

I deactivate Facebook.

I hide from anyone who may want to hurt me.

I keep my sensitivity silent.



“Don’t make a scene. You’ve already embarrassed yourself enough, you pathetic piece of shit” spits out my inner critic with venom.

I hear you.

I’m backing off.

I’m healing.

I’m changing my blog but my personality changes are secondary and will take time. Bear with me.

Don’t be with me and alongside me while I’m still this messed up.


Protect YOU.

I’ll save me….alone. I don’t need you.

Leave me in my nest and don’t point out the failings that I already know are there and can’t for the life of me change.

My depression weighs heavier and heavier on my psyche with each day I am alive.

I don’t expect you to understand, and I don’t expect you to help ease it either.

I’ll take care of me. Self-soothing is the name of the game. Turning to others is dangerous and risky.

I won’t try and help anyone. I won’t try and educate anyone about mental illness. I won’t try and answer your calls for assistance. I won’t try and destigmatise openness surrounding mental health. I won’t try, because what is the point?

Fuck that. Fuck you. Fuck me. For now, let me be as I am. Don’t try to tame me.

summerSHINES ©

I’m sharing this video because I need inspiration today. “You will rise and you will fall many times, but who is counting?” Prince Ea.