I am a feral cat these days. I am good, but I scratch. I am good, I tried telling myself that, but I bite the hands that feed me. I want a shelter. I want someone to put me in a cage. Give me food and water, I do not want to eat and drink. I need to be left alone but I will act up for attention. Do not touch me, I want my fur to be brushed gently.
Ever since I received a BPD diagnosis, though it is not firm yet, I have been sad. And upset. I think that I should have been more happy, or at least more relieved, that I have given clarity of what I am experiencing is not normal. But I desire normalcy. I desire to be easily understood. I desire to be loved unconditionally. Now, those seem cannot be.
I have tried to make things make sense. I rewatched Girl, Interrupted yesterday. I went to Quora to see what people have commented on the case of people with BPD. I read journal articles about BPD in the middle of revising my thesis that has nothing to do with it. Nothing worked well. I am still this person. This feral cat.
Like common feral cats, I am capable of inflicting harm, even though all I want is to be taken care of. All the communication I know are hissing and growling, so that everyone will look at me and wonder what is wrong. These are my calls for help, and those who answer risk themselves to help me, only for them to get scratched and bit once again. What is the use of keeping a feral cat? Everyone would be safer if I am not around. But I cannot stand suffering alone. What is the use of keeping a suffering feral cat?
I wish I was not suffering. But if suffering must be, I wish I was a suffering feral cat, waiting to be euthanized.
