Borderline

Borderline. That’s what she said. I remembered it last night. She thinks I have Borderline Personality Disorder and after extensive research and reading last night and today, I think I agree. I don’t have it in the way one would expect it to present itself. I’m not outwardly angry and aggressive but inwardly, quietly, I’m doing all of the same things. My writing here is all the evidence of that. I attack myself, I berate and I hate and worst of all, I thought it was all normal. Out of the nine signs that experts will look for to diagnose, I can say yes to seven of them. And then, reading deeper and finding other more minor signs, my list goes on, quickly followed by mounting yeses to Avoidance or Anxious Personality Disorder.

Obviously, I can’t self-diagnose and I’m not. Never in a million years would I have thought, not even for a second, that the way I feel, the way I’ve felt for almost all of my life, was anything other than normal. I certainly did not even consider for a moment that I could have a personality disorder. I mean, what the fuck? I’m normal. I’m sane. I’m not losing control. I’m not angry, aggressive, suicidal, self-harming, abusing drugs or alcohol but still, I can’t deny what could be a possibility. Borderline Personality Disorder.

So, Gary and Tom were right. It was me that was mad, ill, mental. It was them too though, I’m not going to forget their behaviour. Gary raped me. Tom abused me in all other ways. I’m damaged and I attract damaged men into my life.

Last night, leaving her office, the first and only thing I wanted to do was to go round to Gary’s and have sex with him. I didn’t want sex, I just didn’t see the point in doing anything else. I’m shit, I’m worthless and now I have a mental illness, I might as well settle for a man that treats me as though I’m worthless. But, I didn’t do it. I just about had enough logic left to know that seeing him would harm me even more. But only just. Instead, I drove to Sainsburys in the hope that he would be there. Thankfully, he wasn’t. Self-destruction was at play and I narrowly avoided it.

I haven’t been upset today nor have I been stressed or panicked by the possible diagnosis. Not until just now, when I was driving back from town, on my own, which never happens, which gave me time to really think. I thought about how my thoughts and beliefs are wrong, affecting my life negatively which means that, potentially, all of my thoughts could be wrong. All of my thoughts and beliefs that have been the only constant in my life forever, my beliefs that there’s an afterlife, that my Nan is still around, but also that there’s something bigger than me and bigger than us. That there is a ‘God’, or as I prefer – Universe. Helpers, guides, all of which my beliefs and my sanity have been tied up with for so very long, as long as I can remember. What if they’re wrong? If they don’t exist, if it’s my thoughts that have created them then that’s my safety net gone. That’s the only thing that’s held me for all this time and that could be whipped out from under me, just like that and then, there will be nothing. Absolutely nothing, and everything, everything that I’ve ever believed will be a lie. I truly will have been alone when all along the thought that something else out there was with me, keeping me on the right track, just about, will be gone. That’s when I cried.

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