BPD, Abandonment and Accessibility

[ CW Mental Health BPD suicidal self harm ]

So I’ve been wondering what to say for #WorldMentalHealthDay it’s an odd thing I’m so open about my mental health and the intersections of issues between mental health and everything else it can be hard to know what to even talk about today. But I guess in the same way everyone talking about their mental health AT ALL is radical for them, maybe I should be open about sides of mental health I’m maybe more shy about. I wanna talk about my BPD and abandonment complex. But not in an empowering way, I just wanna vent so maybe people can understand

I’ve been struggling so much recently, as you all know I’ve gone from basically being isolated from everyone to having an actual queer family and network in relatively little time and I’m struggling with that. A lot is said about BPD folks always being afraid of people abandoning them, but no one every says how frequently these fears turn out to be true and no one says how much it hurts.

Every time I experience abandonment in some way it hurts. Not just hurts it’s a specific hurt my brain remembers and recalls every time. It’s the same intense hurt I felt the day my mother died, for those who know that bereavement recall that pain, for those who don’t try and imagine how devastating the feeling is as your mu is carried out of your house in a coffin in your teenage years. Now imagine that feeling constantly coming back, weekly and at times: Daily

Not via huge flashbacks mind, just from little interactions. The friend you thought you were getting to know suddenly being absent. Someone you’re speaking to suddenly giving you the cold shoulder. Something as small as that: The feeling comes back and it’s really THAT intense. Imagine that, imagine that life, cos that’s my life baayybbee. This is before we get into faux pas in more intimate relationships, espec with the wild west that is Polyamory where you can have a good rapport for someone and someone better then you can come along and: It’s over. The feelings comes back then and it doesn’t leave for a month, i’m supposed to pressure on with work and uni and life while feeling that. That is the worst part of BPD, to be punished so aggressively by yourself for mundane social interactions where no one’s to blame. There’s nothing to attack it from. It just is.

And like…. What am I gonna do? Tell the friends/partners in question I feel this way? And what? Get accused of emotional manipulating people as every BPD person is when they try to assert their feelings in any way shape or form? No you can’t, I learnt that fucking good and proper from my last relationship, if BPD folks stand up for themselves, your friends and partners will order ‘Walking on Eggshells’ on Amazon and weaponize your feelings against you, gaslight and abuse you. So you just have to sit on your feelings and when the self harm scars start propping up again just shrug and go “That’s the way it is”
Relationships, weather they be platonic or romantic, are not accessible for people like me

That sentence there ☝️ is how I’ve started to think about all this recently. Like it doesn’t have to be a case of suffering in silence and this be a proper I internalise and deal with myself. What if it CAN be viewed as an issue of accessibility? Then it was tackled in a similar way? I’ve been brainstorming ways to make an effort to try and advocate for myself and make my relationships more accessible. If I need accessibility is it not then a reasonable adjustment to ask someone for full disclosure on how they feel about me? Or for romance what their intention is with me?

I can already see the hurdles here. I’m autistic I already know people are gonna be sour about such an approach, espec romantically where we have a weird obsession with the ‘unsaid’ as this romantic trope. But fuck that I legit can’t deal with that and it’s fine! I’m going to make an effort to ask disclosure of people in the future, as awkward as it may be. There’s no established etiquette for this, it’s gonna be WEIRD but I wanna try it and maybe for the people I know it’ll be normalised.
That’s tough in another way, it requires both a level of trust that you have to take people’s responses at face value and believe them (So fucking hard) and a level of self assurance that you’re worth these extra adjustments when interacting with people. When you’re told you’re an other: Ugly, Grim, Undesirable, A gobshite, pyscho and ‘high maintenance’ your WHOLE LIFE it can be hard to wield that confidence. But I know it’s something I gotta do

I mean that’s kinda it honestly? I guess I just want to lay that done and say, if people with mental health issues are asking for these adjustments when speaking to you, if you care about that person just friggin do it lmao it takes so little and it means so much to us. We’re already putting ourselves at risk by subverting such a established way of being, like please help make our interacting with the world more accessible. From the autism side I’m deffo gonna start carrying meltdown cards and the like, there’s nothing wrong with asserting that the world should be more accessible for you.

Empathetic Generation

Another landlord slam’s the door on my face
Kindly introduces my arse to the public domain dirt
Only after digging around my files
Following an uncomfortable interrogation?
“I hear Borderline’s are mental, are you mental?
Will you go ape and wreck the whole house?
I worked with people who had it you know”
“Hang on, my question first: Who told you?”
Nothing to report there, keeping the mole anonymous
Just gotta take it on the chin I spose

But I know we’ve hit the empathic generation
When I regurgitate that tale in passing
And it’s left to weigh down the room
Back with a look of disgust

No contesting:
“Oh yeah? That didn’t actually happen”
No gaslighting:
“You sure you got that right mate?”
Just a “That sucks man.” With a swig of the brew
That’s enough empathy to make a grown man cry

– Sebastian Noël


The sins of my ancestors become the sins of the now,
When my tongues honed where it could clash with a katana.
But my targets are the ones who pat me on the back,
Naturally the usual response to that is a stab in the back.

He opens up his chest and I’m straight on the defence,
What the fuck does he mean when he says that?
Is he trying to brush my pain aside to make a point?
He says “I mean it’s not like how you go through it.”
The fact he didn’t take a decade to proof read every sentence,
That can only be a slight against me, perfect and precise.
So how about I take my drink and show him 2 fingers,
The most logical course of action to that.

He scratches the record to a screeching halt,
“What the fuck’s the matter?” He intervenes.
I wanna tell him how’s he’s not seeing me,
But who on the earth is seeing me,
If me hasn’t been me for this long,
Are they even me, is me even me anymore?
“I dunno.” As I stall for for some amount of time.
He came to this war with a bouquet and I still grazed him.

That’s the catch 22; I’m not seeing him,
A few Thyroids short and I’m not seeing anyone.
I’m seeing words and phrases that I’m trying to recognise,
Clutching my bug-net looking for the bogeyman.
THERE! I know someone who talked to me like that,
A past abuser from a eon gone by.
You thought that’d one would slip by me?
“What have I done to be suspicious?” He asks.
What you’ve done? Well you’ve done nothing,
But everyone at one point done nothing,
Until they start to do something,
And out of nowhere they’ve done everything.

Burn a bridge on a hunch,
Carjack your heart out on a probably,
I’m so dependant on the kindness of others,
While still backed up against the wall.
When a scratch goes down like decapitation,
You can’t take any chances on that.
Treat my company like a rental,
One wrong move it’s revoked from you.
“How can I be expected to love someone
Whose hand is always circling the eject button?”

Like I dunno man, but what’s the alternative?
Cos I’m getting too old to nurse another wound,
When it’s week 2 chained to my bedroom,
Keeping my psyche together with PV glue,
As yet another chance to succeed is doomed.
Another degree flies on by, another career down the drain,
The hand outs will stop, and I’ll be marking my grave.

– Sebastian Noël (For Mental Health Awareness Week)

Paranoid Patty: Decent

That’ll be £5.50 for the underground,
Just to come face to face with another educator,
As they deconstruct the many ways you fucked it this time.
Face sunk into your own scarf, revelling in your stench,
Clutching your Yabba-Fro-Chino, passing Euston.
Tastes like shit, makes your plasma pass at a snail’s rate,
Eons better than pushing trash down to avoid hunger.
Already feels like your insides are gonna give out.
Heart attack on the Hammersmith line, no hope there,
They’d sooner kick your corpse on the tracks to make it home.

The world around you is coming apart,
And that’s to say nothing of the world inside.
Millions of miles before anyone knows your name,
Even then it’s usually in infamy.
Ping! From your Facebook;
“Why can’t you come to this party you can’t afford?”
Ping! From your inbox;
“Why can’t you come home for xmas?
Fake a smile and share some crap food
With the very people who left the scars on your mind?”
She looks down, traces the cuts on her hands,
She wasn’t even sad when she made them last night.
She just wanted to get the same reaction from the outside,
As they’d give if they could see her insides.
The sigh from the bus driver, the looks from her classmates,
From being scared, broken and ruined.

She covers her mock exam results when she gets them.
She doesn’t wanna know if she’s fucked it all again.
She doesn’t wanna know if her momma were right.
She doesn’t wanna know if the voice in her head called it.
Little trip past the corner shop on her way home,
Maybe a little wine to shred time off this episode.
Gets to her room, collapsed in front of the screen.
She’s crying for help but she doesn’t know what she wants,
Cos she doesn’t believe when her friends say they miss her,
Cos she doesn’t believe it when her boy says he loves her.
What Sasquatch or deity is she looking for?
What they gotta say to make it all go away?
Her skin sags like it’s not connected to her body anymore,
Her psyche feels like 5 years out of sync.
Just reminds her she’s got no control of her body.
Anything she could be proud of is pouring from her fingers;
She can’t write any lines no more,
She can’t fuck to save her life no more,
And everytime she vocalises that, she makes someone cry.
So sit tight, mouth shut, as it all melts away.
Scratch your scalp as your hair’s coming out,
Readjust your eye as it’s falling from your sockets.
Your hearts beating extra drums out of sync,
Bed sheets ruined, as your life seeps out of your pores.
Finish the wine, try and lose consciousness for tonight,
Maybe it’ll be better tomorrow.

That’s what you said last night.

Sebastian Noël

Explaining Borderline: The Poem

So to pre-face and explain the beginning of this poem, when preformed live this poem is intended to INTERUPT the performance of another poem, so I wrote some generic love poem lines here but the poem that’s interrupted by the 2nd character can literally be any other poem

We were granted pause for one summer to explore
But I don’t think we liked what we found
It makes (SEB!) you reach by instinct
For nostalgia’s blanket (SEB!)
You and me Lying (SEB!) on the bedroom floor (SEB!)
And (SEB!) You uh… (SEB!)


SEB! Stop with all this lovely stuff and consider your health
Cos if you don’t get us some much needed attention
I’ll make you hurt yourself
And not just a few scratches I promise!

So many thoughts going through the brain

SEB! Your friends haven’t spoken to you in a week!
Tell ‘em to fuck off, you could be getting better friends

It’s giving me a migraine

SEB! Look! She choose to meet that date over you
Split on that bitch! Get a new best friend, don’t matter who

I would literally walk tip-toe through hell

SEB! That’s the 5th happy couple you’ve seen today
So for fucks sake, make a shitty comment to keep ’em at bay!

To able to control my thoughts for a spell

Cos the Sertraline doesn’t work
Cos the Mirtazapine doesn’t work
Cos the Citalopram doesn’t work
Cos the Dopamine boosts don’t work
Cos the Qutetiapine doesn’t work
Cos the Lithum doesn’t work

My cells are slowly depleting
My heart rate’s increasing
The borders of my vision are blurring
But still she’s always lurking

SEB! You’re 23 and haven’t found someone to love
Or even some who even likes you? I’m losing hope
If you can’t find someone to help us soon
I’ll wring our hands around our fucking neck!

Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Seeeeb! Seb Seb Seb!
Sebby! Seb! Sebarrgoo! Sebbby! Seb!
Seb! Seb! Seb! Seb! Seb! Seb! Seb! Seb!
Se-Bas-Tee-On! Seb! Seb! Seeeeeeb!

Hey Seb! Our best friends are lovely aren’t they?
Let’s fantasize about how me we love them all fucking day
Hey Seb! Fuck it let’s just ask them all out, like a proper tit
Fuck the consequences let’s just do it, even if we don’t feel it
Hey Seb! We look like fucking shit
Let’s pour millions into clothes till something hits
Hey Seb! You never got that text from Sally!
So let’s get so pissed we wake up, fucked in an alley
Hey Seb! It’ll all be worth it for cheap thrills
It’s not like we’re gonna be hit with a huge phone bill
Hey Seb! No one fucking cares if we live or die! L-O-L
So let’s try and commit suicide off the cathedral bell

Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb!
Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb!
Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb!
Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb!
Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb!
Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb!
Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb!
Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb! Hey Seb!



Sebastian Noël