I’m nearly 29 – I’ve had three ‘serious’ relationships in my lifetime and there’s a very good reason why.
You see, as a rule, I don’t usually let myself get close to people, and when I do, I sabotage any happiness I may have. I push loved ones away because I believe I’m not worthy of being loved and even when I’m reassurred and told that I’m most certainly worthy of that person’s love and kindness, I interrogate the person in question of their motives to the point that they get fed up and leave anyway.
I create the one thing I’m petrified of the most and I’ll be honest, it’s devastating.
This is the one thing I will never get used to, no matter how many times it happens.
Myself (and my fellow borderlines) suffer with an extremely crippling trait… ‘ fear of abandonment’, which means we cannot handle anybody leaving us – it’s usually our ‘favourite person’ which can be a partner, friend, colleague (pretty much anybody we’re addicted to at the time).
So why the fuck do I throw a grenade in and watch it all blow up in front of my eyes when that’s the last thing I would ever want to happen?
Borderlines (me) are very “all or nothing” and I’ll give you an example that fits the bill in this situation… I either feel nothing or everything, so if I’m not in to you, I never will be and if I am, I’m utterly obsessed – hence the lack of relationships.
It takes a lot to make me tick.
And fuck me, when that person comes along (which clearly isn’t very often), I can’t get enough of them and I pour my heart and soul in to everything because I can’t possibly bear the thought of ever being without them – they ignite something inside of me that I never knew existed or that would ever come alive again.
But it’s short-lived. Always.
A sudden change in tone, less x’s on the end of a text message, perhaps something they’d usually do for me and haven’t on that day… that is all it takes for me to come crashing down and assume the worst of that person and their intentions with me.
I torture myself with thoughts like “What have I done to upset them?” “Are they cheating on me?” “Am I not attractive anymore?” “They’re planning on leaving me and trying not to make it obvious”… and me being so open and honest, I voice these thoughts out loud, which to them, sounds pretty fucking crazy when actually, in their head, they have literally done nothing wrong.
And they usually haven’t, but I’m going to push them away before they have the chance to get up and go. A race, if you like.
Being called crazy, paranoid or insecure are just a few names I’ve been called when making absurd ‘accusations’, but I can’t help it and I have to say something before I bottle it up and blow.
What I see in the mirror isn’t what other people see – I see someone who can be outdone by anybody, someone so full of damage and imperfections – I thoroughly hate myself.
I don’t even want to be here sometimes because I feel so fucking ugly.
And no, it’s not attention seeking, it’s the fucking truth. The sad, harsh reality of being me. Ugh.
I love being on my own – I don’t miss relationships or crave them when I’m single because it means I’m safe from harm and nobody can hurt me. But when I love, I love so deeply and so passionately and when things are going great, I ruin them because I know they’ll end anyway.
Imagine telling someone you’re scared they’ll leave and they constantly reassure you that they won’t, so you push them to the point that they walk away because you want to prove to them that they wouldn’t do exactly what they said they would do in the first place.
I honestly don’t think anybody will ever understand this mental illness, not even me.
And that’s pretty fucking lonely.
The Unicorn in Black