I never stopped missing the girl who yelled the “Pledge of Allegiance” with me every morning in kindergarten.
Katie and I were obedient rebels with loud voices and wide smirks.
She was “best friend” in my mind, but her family moved away before we started first grade.
I blamed my mom. I worried Katie felt abandoned by me.
I’ve looked for her every so often on various social media platforms, but I’ve accepted I will never find her again.
One of the hallmark conditions of borderline personality disorder is chaos in interpersonal relationships.
That chaos takes many forms, as do relationships.
I binge watched the first six episodes of the second season of The Sandman on Netflix a few weeks ago.
I cried when I saw the delightfully disturbed youngest sibling of the so-called Endless, the anthropomorphic personifications of Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, the twins, Desire and Despair and Delirium, who once was Delight.
Neil Gaiman’s graphic novel depicts Delirium’s realm as colorful spirals, topsy-turvy clouds and the feeling of being inside a drop of Jackson Pollack’s paint.
She looks like Tori Amos.
In “Brief Lives,” Delirium begs Dream to find their brother, Destruction, who had long ago abandoned his realm.
Chaos ensues before Dream ends the adventure.
Borderline personality disorder is characterized by intense difficulties in interpersonal relationships.
- An unstable self-concept
- Impulsivity, disinhibition, and risk-taking behaviors
- Difficulty managing painful emotions
My nervous system is a hot stove with exposed wires.
Intense emotions splash like water and sizzle, keeping me prone to catching fire quickly.
If you spit my way, I could shut down or explode.
My elementary school friendships tore me apart in different ways than my middle and high school relationships, but I never got over anyone.
I needed to believe every encounter made a difference and that everyone I met meant something to my life.
Not because “everything happens for a reason,” but that there is a reason for anything.
Sometimes, it’s not your fault.
The absence of love is hell. When something isn’t growing, it’s stagnating or fading, withering and dying.
I climbed out of a crumbling tower like a bomb victim sifting through broken bricks and ash.
When I could breathe again, I went back for those I could find.
Or, at least, apologize to those who didn’t want to be found.
A shakiness vibrated through my chest and rattled my voice box.
My hands got cold.
I questioned myself.
I wondered what I did wrong.
I analyzed over and over again my every thought, word and action.
Maybe that’s what crazy people do instead of letting go and moving on.
But, like Delirium, I always went back because I was afraid of being left behind.
“You can always come home.”
That’s what I tell my kids.
When I can step back, do the hard work of keeping my eyes the same color, I know what is real. I know my worth.
I was a sick person. I wasn’t a bad person.
Delirium resigns herself to her realm, letting Destruction be alone.
But not me.
I looked up every name I could remember as the internet evolved, starting with my friends.
I searched for family members, the detective who saved my life, the psychiatrist who diagnosed my borderline personality disorder.
I even went and found the neighbor who babysat me when she was a teenager and I was a toddler. She never responded to my message.
I’ve gone back for everyone whose name I could remember, and I thought long about the nameless in my mind.
I still scrape my brain regularly to remember those I may have forgotten because I can’t stand the idea of being forgotten.
We cry at funerals because we are reminded that we will die.
Sometimes, the only response to, “I hate you, don’t leave me,” is, “I love you. I’m leaving.”
I speak for myself when I say I wouldn’t want to deal with the bullshit from a friend with borderline personality disorder.
I’m irrational. “Goodbye” and “fuck off” don’t feel different to me.
But I’ve put in the work of self-reflection and study. I knew the pieces fit, found out why and glued the puzzle pieces of my formative friendships into place.
“I love you” has replaced “goodbye” in my lexicon.
“I love you” is what I say when I want to make it awkward.
“I love you” is the last thing I say when I leave the room my husband and kids are in.