There is a phrase I recently encountered: BPD boredom. Apparently it is very common for people with Borderline Personality Disorder to go through fits of extreme boredom. I can absolutely say that I suffer from these fits and they can be irrationally frustrating. I have a lot of these to do, things I could be doing, things I should be doing, but I cannot focus and absolutely nothing appeals to me. I hop from one activity to the next, never focusing on one thing for more than twenty minutes at a time. I used to call this my existential angst. I would wonder why I exist, what am I good for, and what is the purpose of the universe. But ultimately it boils down to boredom. Nothing satisfies me.
Today I spent a few hours studying chemistry (I have a final on Thursday), after sleeping until NOON (which is very weird for me). But even while I was doing that I hopped back and forth between taking notes and checking Twitter and Facebook and Pinterest and texts and e-mails because I was bored. This happens to me fairly frequently, at least once a month for a few days at a time. Usually it is linked to PMS, as I think it is this time. For the week before my period I am crazy. I’m crazy most of the time so this is a particularly strong brand of crazy. It’s like, normally I’m Crazy Lite, but in hell week I am full blown Crazy, Extra Strength.
I have had this feeling, related to my hormonal imbalances, that my friends hate me and don’t want to talk to me or hang out with me. I know it is irrational. I know I have no evidence to support my theories, but the feelings are there regardless of what I tell them reality is like. It’s a big facet of BPD.
I wasn’t going to write anything today because I have felt too scattered, but I was part of a brief conversation on Twitter via #anxiouswriters that inspired me to just write anyway. What do you do when you feel like you don’t want to write? Well, I look for inspiration, either from a writing prompt or a fun image/painting. But ultimately, as Hemingway said, it’s best to “write what you know.” What I know, in depth, is me. I don’t always make sense but I can at least describe how nonsensical I feel.