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Dear BPD: A Letter From A Non

Updated on May 20, 2015

Dear BPD,

We've never been friends but now I can truly say that I loathe you. I hate your guts. I hate you for destroying my family. I hate you for taking such sensitive, creative people with so much potential and turning them into emotional cripples. I hate you for destroying so many beautiful things with your selfish, selfish greed. I hate everything about you.

I hate how you function. I hate how you take. I hate how you make every single thing about you, no matter what is going on. I hate how you take good things and make them bad. I hate how you accuse, harass, belittle, dismiss, disregard and abuse every single person that tries to care. I hate how you lie about me. Ohhh, I hate you for that so much. I hate how you harass people until they are ready to kill themselves just to shut you up. Most of all, I hate you just for existing.

You're a parasite, a vermin, a leech. A plague on the world. You are evil. You should be destroyed. If I could, I would reach in to wherever you are hiding with my bare hands and drag you out. I'd stomp your infectious, disgusting, disease-ridden self into oblivion. I would kill you, if I could. I despise you. I abhor you. Just saying your name makes me sick. I hate living with you in my home. I hate how you work and work at destroying the peace until there is nothing left. I hate how you pretend to be there to protect people when really, your only interest is in hurting them. I hate how hard you hold on. I hate how nothing can get rid of you, how you stay and stay and stay. I hate how you take everything away from people and leave them with nothing.

I hate how you lie and cheat and deceive, and how you steal all the good moments away. I hate how you trick people into believing things that aren't true. I hate you for masquerading as the people I love to try to turn me against them. And most of all, above all else, I hate you for making me think - even for a second - that it was anyone else I hated but you.

Rot and die,

G.

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