Physically and emotional sides of Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)
Well, kids. It happened. I pushed too hard, wanted too much, and was too needy. And now the woman that I love more than anyone I’ve ever met, the woman who still wanted to be my friend, has vowed to never speak to me again… for my own good.
Her therapist said that even continuing to speak with me was “cruel,” as I was still trying to get our relationship back and “would never stop.” And her therapist was right. And I’m still not stopping, but neither am I speaking. I’m giving her the space I should have given her almost two months ago.
As of this writing, it’s been five days since I’ve had any communication with “Justine.” My therapist said it would benefit me to “become fascinated” with the feeling and really analyze it. That way, I’m not just passively feeling things, but getting my brain involved, too. So here goes.
Physically, not talking to her feels like:
1. An itch that is unscratchable. An itch on the inside of my skin. Mostly in my arms and chest.
2. A python wrapped around my chest and slowly squeezing the breath from me. Taking deep breaths results in my lungs “shuddering.”
3. My guts are trying to digest themselves. Everything inside of me squishes and sloshes like I’m nothing more than a thin plastic coating around a cold liquid.
4. An icepick buried into my heart. Not metaphorically speaking, but literally. During the worst of it, I feel like I’ve been stabbed about eleven times. The only thing that’s missing is the mess.
5. Partial paralysis. My hands and feet are so heavy I have to drag them wherever I go.
6. Chugging about a dozen energy drinks. I shake. I twitch. And I most certainly can’t sleep.
Now let’s examine the emotional side of things. Emotionally, not talking to her feels like:
1. Living death—I breathe. I eat (a little). I wake up in the morning. But why? What’s the point of it all?
2. Happiness is gone forever—I’ve had some good moments these last few days. For example, I just got the coolest new apartment ever in the coolest town ever. The first person I want to tell is Justine. But I can’t tell Justine. So there goes that happiness. Also, I just got my script back from the director. With a little polish from me, it’s going to five different producers, and I mean BIG producers, so my little movie that was originally written to be shot for around fifty thousand MIGHT get a budget between 10 and 20 million. Guess who I want to tell about that? Guess who I can’t. So again… what’s the point of it all? Money really CAN’T buy happiness.
3. No matter how bad it is, it will continue to get worse—once I’m back in the day to day grind without all of these amazing things happening, I won’t even get my little bursts of happiness. So again… what’s the damned point?
And that’s where I am now, oh my brothers and sisters in arms. Now that she’s gone, what is the point?
The point is that time heals all wounds. Today was a little better than yesterday, which was a little better than the day before, which was infinitely better than last Wednesday when I said my final goodbye to her.
But I have to wonder if it is indeed final. Is it REALLY forever, or just forever for now?
I suffer from Hope.
Your brother in arms,
Read more from Bruce Anderson here: How I Became the Freak in the Corner