This is “Borderland,” a poem I wrote in 2016 about my borderline personality disorder (BPD) diagnosis. I honestly believe BPD is most often a misdiagnosis of complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD), but more on that later!
Read the full poem below:
Lamictal, speed, Citalopram,
I love my crook psychiatrist.
$160 for five minutes,
a white slip,
and a glance at his green class ring,
the gaudy prick.
I’m fused with him.
One day of missed doses means
and a cross carved on my stomach.
Doc says I’m Satan incarnate
and he is my gas-masked angel
wielding a morphine syringe.
He is my hero,
my watering hole.
And I am his Kool-Aid drinker.
Doc adds it to the list:
dysthymia, PTSD, majorly depressing
outlook on everything.
A razorblading, sex-fiending, self-sabotaging Eris
with a sad boy complex,
leaving chemtrails of
hip hopping hypocricist
spitting dip drip from cracked lips.
hyperventilating she-beast with tattoos and Timberlands,
they see right through me.
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