DISCLAIMER: All names in this post have been changed for privacy reasons.
I’ve been here before. This same corner of this same couch has caught more of my tears than you know... than you may ever know. There it is! The panic swells inside my chest again. My breath becomes labored. My eyes sting as I fight back the tears. Oh yes. I have been here. The soft hum of the electronics is the only thing I hear, but they sound so loud that I want to run. So, I throw on my jacket, go out into the crisp fall evening, and smoke a cigarette. Yes, I’ve been here before. My mind repeats it one last time for good measure. See, I have to remind myself that I know what to do. I have to remind myself that I have indeed been here before. I have to remind myself to respect the boundaries you have set as BPD screams inside my head that I don’t because you are leaving. It screams that the last time I saw you or the last time I spoke to you really was the last time. It screams that you are like Stephen and Anthony, that you have left and aren’t coming back. It screams that I screwed up again, but I force myself to take a long drag off my cigarette and hear as years of mindfulness work breaks through, “I have been here before.”
That sentence on repeat slows the panic and the dread ever so slightly. Enough for some mindfulness work to take place. Write it down. Document it. Remember. What did you do with Stephen? Remember. You have to remember. He set boundaries too. He took a break too. What did you do? And then it is back again. The terrible, awful voice of borderline personality disorder telling me that I wasn’t good enough to keep them. That I was too messed up for them to love, too messed up for them to stay by my side as my friend as they swore they would. Maybe I am too messed up. Maybe you deserve better. I know you do. Deep down I know you deserve better. Everyone does, including myself, but I have to live with this. You don’t. You can leave. The panic swells again. “I’ve been here before.” This time I speak it aloud. I cannot continue the cycle. Cannot continue to ride this messy carousel of pain. Then, I remember. Stephen asked for space, and I never gave it. Never allowed him time to decompress. Never allowed him time away. I was desperate, so desperate, to fix it, to fix us, to keep him. I feel that same fear now. That same desperation, but I don’t move. I just light another cigarette. I have to respect the boundaries because chasing Stephen made it worse. The moment I stepped over the boundary he was gone.
One. Two. Three. Everything happens in threes. Are you the third? The third really great friend that I have run off with my insanity? “I’ve been here before.” I’m clinging to sanity but barely. I refuse to cross your boundary. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is the time I get it right. I smile slightly. Maybe. Then, the smile fades. I can do my part this time. It feels like it will kill me, but I know I can do it. Stay in my lane. Not cross over. I can do that. For this friendship, I can do that. Then I hear it. The tortured voice of the broken part of me... “but you’ve been here before.”
