This is a short piece I wrote to my psychologist a few weeks ago.


Do you think I could actually do it? I fantasise about it all the time, but do you think I could turn that fantasy into a reality? Like when a dream bleeds into real life, no longer confined inside of us. We find ourselves screaming into the dark, still house. Or we can no longer distinguish a dream from real life, stumbling through the fog which is our familiar surrounds, unable to feel our body or the floor, not knowing whether we are awake or asleep. There is a certain loneliness that comes when our thoughts and urges remain just that: bolted to the chamber of our minds, never translating into behaviour. 1 in 10 people with Borderline Personality Disorder die by suicide, it’s said. Will I be that 1 in 10? Can I bring myself to swallow a pill, and another, and another, until the whole pack’s gone, then follow it down with a bottle of alcohol? Or will it remain a lonely thought, bright yet distant as the stars? Burning for expression… A fire that only I can see.