she hates my bpd, ptsd, and me

_________________________________________________________
 
 
She hates me.

She hates me.

 
 

She ignores me; she avoids me.

She hates me.
 

 
She hates me, and because of this,

I hate her back.

And that’s  not  a good thing.

That’s not good for either of us.

This is dangerous.

 
 
 
She hates me;  I no longer exist.

 
 

What happened?  
What happened in the two weeks since she invited me out of the blue to hang out?  What’s happened in the week since we did?  
 
I bombed it, yes, an epic fail.  
We never clicked.  
But we were supposed to!

 
 
She hates me.

I really don’t like this.

 

She hates me.
She hates me,
and my BPD therapist Ph.D
says I should “re-engage.”
What’s the fucking point?  
I harbor so much rage
Deep inside.
We’re not friends.  
We’re never gonna be friends.  
Why?  
Cuz it tanked;
it bombed.
It all went sideways.
 

 And it was my fault.
 
 
So why would I bother?  
I can’t change her mind.  
I can’t ask for forgiveness
or another chance.  
In real life there is no do-over.  
I can’t make amends
or “make it up to her.”

 
 

I could write her a letter.
 
What would that accomplish besides me looking, in addition to already but then even more awfully feeling, like an idiot?

 
 
Would she even read it?  
She ignores me and avoids me.  
Would she give a shit?  
Probably not – she fucking hates me.

 
 

And I know better
than to grovel
and beg
or apologize.  
I’ll just turn and walk away
with this bitter sting in my eyes.

 
 

So she hates me.

And I hate myself.
 

And that, my friends, is a BPD classic.  
Welcome to our world.

 
 
Welcome to my world.

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she hates my bpd, ptsd, and me

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