By Mariana

Spoiler alert. I don’t have the answer. At all. If anything, I’d love to hear what you think.

All my life, relationships have always been easy and smooth. That is until things “get serious”. And getting serious doesn’t mean picking out a white dress. Even the things that most people consider to be small and insignificant absolutely terrify me.

What have I just done?

I get a horrifying feeling as if I had just shot someone in the face, straight in the face.

What the fuck have I just done?!

Things like posting a photo on social media which might make people think I have started a romantic relationship, adding my new partner to my social media networks, following my partner on their networks, or saving my partner’s number on my phone. Just typing “my partner” that many times.

No, no, no. That is just way too much for me.

It’s all so open. Now everybody knows, meaning that everybody will also know when I fail, yet again. There is no way back from this.

And I often delete our chats, completely. It fools me into believing that I have not allowed him in that deeply. That I am not that vulnerable, not that exposed, not that open.
And then the obvious BPD traits with everything sounding and feeling like rejection. Everything. No real rationale nor foundation behind it. It just does.

It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Right?

A part of me knows the drill. All these imaginary terrors are just that: imaginary. But I find myself more often than not obsessing about them. “I’m sure that look means he is really unhappy with me”. I panic. I react lamely trying to cover my emotional pain.

But am I pretending? It’s real, isn’t it? It definitely feels real. Here. (my hand is on my chest)

And then, of course, he is confused, “What the hell do you mean? Where is all this coming from?”. Damn, so now I have brought my imaginary terrors into the real world, haven’t I? Now, you can really see me. Now, you can see the “real” me. Maybe before “it was all in my head” but now it’s real, well… you’ll just walk away, won’t you?

Because they all will, won’t they?

But you can’t walk away from me if I’m not near you. If I am distant from you. So I start fading you out, acting calm, pretending to be tough. Because then you won’t think I’m pathetic. You won’t break a hardened heart so easily. It is better to break it now, before you can break it, before it’s beyond repair.

No? That look didn’t mean that? But I was so sure, it felt so real. Here, deep inside here (my hand is on my chest).

I guess now you will really leave, right? Why wouldn’t you? I have given you plenty of reasons.

Maybe I just walk away from myself. Distance myself from who I am. As painful as that is.
Maybe I still sabotage things, sabotage myself. Maybe I still believe I am not worthy of love. So I make myself worthless.

Then I’m crying. Why I am crying? Why am I …again?

I had promised myself I’d face that fear, that breath-stealing anxiety, that heart-racing panic. That absolute terror. But how? Seriously! How? Fucking how?

Any advice out there?

Please? (my hand is on my chest)   

No, babe. That was not my BPD. My feelings are not my BPD. My feelings are not always my BPD. All my feelings are real, all of them, just like yours. My BPD is only a magnifying glass for them, a booster, an amplifier. It sends them out to outer space.

But how could you know?

I guess, if we are in a romantic relationship, you should know about BPD, my kind of BPD. But no, it doesn’t affect everything I do. I won’t start yelling at you for nothing. I just won’t. Why would I? I love you. The one I hate is me. I always target myself, I always end up hurting myself, one way or another. Is that why I told you?

Maybe I shouldn’t have?

I bet knowing this makes you want to leave, doesn’t it? Right?

Well, this is me. It’s a part of me. And you love me, right? BPD is part of what you love. It has also made lots of the good things I am.

Message sent. Message deleted. I’m sorry. Maybe we shouldn’t over-analyse things. I guess I am just looking for reassurance. I’d love to talk about everything in depth. Until all of my insecurities are satisfied. We can’t do that, can we? Can we?

Please? (my hand is on my chest)

You see, your broken heart might take some time to heal. My heart? It might make me want to stop it from beating. Completely. That makes me afraid. Absolutely terrified. Like you were about to shoot me in the face, straight in the face.

I hope you understand.

Do you? (my hand covers my face)