On the Borderline Lens
I know this is vague, but I was just wondering if there was anything you could tell me about BPD. I know about it in general, but I was also wondering... How much does it hurt? What kinds of things trigger the most pain for you? I'm so sorry of this is intrusive or rude, I am just so curious about it.
Hey, I talked to you about a month ago about my friend with BPD who I broke up with. I know this is vague, but I was just wondering if there was anything you could tell me about BPD. I know about it in general, but I was also wondering... How much does it hurt? What kinds of things trigger the most pain for you? I'm so sorry of this is intrusive or rude, I am just so curious about it. You don't have to get back to me by any means, and again I'm sorry if I've offended
For me, BPD is a terminal ambivalence towards life. My self-worth is often determined by external circumstances. I get a compliment, I’m not just happy, I’m over the moon. The job rejects me, I’m not only sad; more prominently, I’m a piece of shit. My boyfriend forgot to text, I’m not wondering where he is, I know he’s probably cheating. He won’t stop fawning over me and I’m tired of it, I think I’ve lost my feel for him and we’re going to be over soon. Everything is an emotional trigger, swaying me to view life through lenses that are not only polarized, but also opposed to how I felt just a minute before.
My triggers: not getting the precise responses from people I regard important to me. Rejection in every form. Not being good enough. Not being perfect...even to people I don’t care much for.
It hurts all the time, and yet I can’t feel the pain because there’s nothing to compare it to. This is all it’s ever been. This is only my experience. Other borderlines may find it relatable and many others may struggle with the illness in a totally different fashion.
Surviving
If I were talking to anyone else, I’d tell them it wasn’t their fault. But for some reason, maybe a feeble attempt to own what’s happened to me, I believed I did it to myself.
(Trigger warning: rape) If I were talking to anyone else, I’d tell them it wasn’t their fault. But for some reason, maybe a feeble attempt to own what’s happened to me, I believed I did it to myself. I knew he was angry and would be more dangerous that night; I went anyway. I’ve hated myself so vehemently that I chose the lion’s den over my lonely bed.
Like most things in my life that hurt and can’t be controlled, the rape still seems to me a grander form of self-harm. I tell myself I am over the rape. What lingers is the shame from my inability to numb the fear of abandonment when he chose to kick me out soon after. The fear taught me an important lesson that night. That I cared so little of myself; I’d rather be at the mercy of someone I loathed -at the hands of someone who had just assaulted me, in fear of being alone.
Over ten years later and that self-blame has shifted. I was responsible for the choices I made in seeing this person, yes, but not responsible for what he chose to do to me. And for that I have a right to be indignant. My hatred is justified and it is mine. Whether I choose to clutch or surrender it is up to me.
But what I feel toward him or my trauma is not as important as how I treat myself today. No longer blaming myself is a step up for now; It’s OK if I can’t say I love myself yet. It’s OK if I don’t even like myself. One day I will master self-love, but today I am content with self-compassion. I live a life worth living again. This is surviving.