Two Storms, One Body

People think moods are simple.

Happy.

Sad.

Angry.

Calm.

Mine have never been simple.

Living with borderline personality disorder feels like living without emotional skin. Everything touches me too deeply. A text left on read feels like abandonment. A small shift in tone sounds like goodbye.

When I love, I don’t dip my toes in — I dive. Fully convinced the water will either save me or drown me.

And sometimes I drown myself trying to keep someone from leaving.

⸻

Then there’s bipolar disorder.

It’s different.

Borderline makes me fear someone else leaving.

Bipolar makes me feel like my own brain leaves me.

There are days I wake up electric. Ideas pour out of me faster than I can hold them. I clean the entire apartment at 3 a.m. I start five projects. I feel invincible. I talk faster. Think faster. Spend faster. Love harder.

The world feels wide open — and I feel chosen by it.

Then the crash comes.

Not sadness.

Weight.

The kind that makes brushing my teeth feel like climbing a mountain. The kind that convinces me I ruined everything during the high. The kind that replays every mistake in surround sound.

Two storms arguing in one sky.

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The Poetry of It

People think moods are simple.

Happy. Sad. Angry. Calm.

Mine speak in extremes.

Borderline leaves my skin thin—

every silence feels like abandonment,

every love a leap with no shallow end.

Bipolar steals me from myself—

electric nights where I feel chosen,

followed by mornings so heavy

even breathing feels borrowed.

Two storms argue inside one sky.

Still, I show up.

To therapy.

To accountability.

To healing.

My emotions write in capital letters,

but I am learning

to answer

in steady handwriting.

⸻

Relationships Feel Like Earthquakes

In relationships, it’s complicated.

I can adore someone in the morning and feel certain they secretly hate me by night. I can feel euphoric about our future one week and emotionally numb the next.

I don’t mean to shift so quickly. It feels like my nervous system has its own agenda.

I crave reassurance — but sometimes push people away before they can leave.

I want stability — but sometimes sabotage it when it feels too calm. Because chaos is familiar. And familiar feels safe.

⸻

The Hardest Part Isn’t the Diagnosis

It’s the guilt.

The guilt after saying something impulsive.

The guilt after isolating.

The guilt after needing too much.

The guilt after going silent for days.

I know I am not my diagnoses.

But they sit in the passenger seat of every decision.

⸻

This Isn’t Just About Struggle

Therapy taught me that feelings are intense — but not permanent. Medication helped smooth the highest highs and soften the lowest lows. I’ve learned to pause before reacting, even when my body screams to act.

I’ve learned that not every delayed reply is abandonment.

Not every burst of energy is destiny.

Some days are still loud.

Some days are still heavy.

But I am not just two storms.

I am the person who keeps showing up to therapy.

The person who apologizes and takes accountability.

The person who tries again after every emotional earthquake.

Having BPD and bipolar disorder means my emotions speak in capital letters.

But I am learning how to answer in steady handwriting.

And that — more than the diagnoses — is who I am becoming.

⸻

© 2026 Jasmine

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