The more I learn about Borderline Personality Disorder, the more I become convinced that if I had gone to a psychiatrist anytime before 2014 and sincerely pursued treatment, I would've been diagnosed as such. The trail of destruction for ten years prior, the intense fear of abandonment, the drug abuse, the unhealthy relationships, the idealization-devaluation cycle - it all fits.
For the longest time I thought I was manic-depressive, but now it's becoming clear that, while I do experience bouts of severe depression, what I thought was mania was really just a brief period of no depression.
It doesn't matter how much responsibility I take for my previous actions; the damage has already been done. My victims aren't interested, and rightfully so, in giving me the time of day let alone a moment to express my genuine regret.
I'm at a crossroads. I have no idea where to go. No plans. Don't need one - ambition is philosophically impotent. I just want to be, come what may - leader, follower, or diogenean outlier. I just want to be.
