My Experience With Love (or Whatever) With Borderline Personality Disorder

By: Anonymous

Art by: Tessa Luna / @indigo.fairy

Drawings by: @flowsofly

Symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder include, but are not limited to: antisocial and compulsive behavior, hostility, impulsivity, irritability, compulsive lying, risk taking behaviors, self-destructive behavior, self-harm, social isolation, or lack of restraint. At least that’s what the DSM-5 will tell you. Obviously I can’t speak for everyone, but for me; lately, as I begin to enter young adulthood, I’ve reached a point of lack of emotional connection. The stupid “nobody understands me” phrase that we all exclaimed when we were 14 has annoyingly become a part of my daily life. I thought about this after my most recent hookup and realized that my experience with love or whatever has been totally fucked. I’ve been totally simulating an emotional connection with someone by having mindless physical connections… Anyway, in an attempt to alleviate some of the stigma surrounding BPD, I’ve decided to write on, in no particular order, four past experiences, and then subsequently the aftermath, in the hopes that people not suffering from BPD will be able to understand. Welcome to my Ted Talk.

I had fucked him once before, and it was definitely more of a connection than previous sexual conquests. Like, three days later He hit me up early in the morning asking to “chill” and I promptly responded “Ya for sure, just lmk :).” Later,  around noon he responded with a “thumbs up” emoji which I over analyzed, and asked literally five (5) people what that was supposed to mean.  Anyway, by Eight at night I was READY ready. My hair perfectly framed my face. My makeup, done with precision, and my outfit specifically chosen to be taken off. I waited for a text. For a snap. By 10 I decided that maybe I should start making the trek from my campus to his apartment, so I got on the subway with the mindset that I was gonna be there in perfect time. By 11:30, I thought maybe we weren’t hanging, and by midnight I began walking slowly to the subway, alone. Frantically checking my phone every time it buzzed to see if it was him, but every time, it was an email telling me that “Sally Beauty was having a 10% off sale.” He never “lmk.” For the rest of the night, or… week if we’re being honest. I cried an unreasonable amount for something like this situation. I acted like I was going through a major breakup. I fucking ate an entire roll of cookie dough while crying and watching pearl harbor. I swear that I knew that I was being a dumb bitch about the whole thing. I had literally been with him one time. Yet, for some reason I couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of being unwanted, unlovable, and unable to make an emotional connection. Shit was wack…

I always loved hooking up with this guy. Not only was he dope in bed, but I also genuinely liked him, plus every weekend his dorm-mate went to go visit his mom, or something like that… so we had the room all to ourselves. Before we… began…  we laughed about my great aunts’ racist facebook rants, and our saved snapchat memories. I honestly could have stayed stationary and on snapchat the whole night but realistically that wasn’t going to happen. I’m not exactly sure who initiated what, but that’s beyond the point; because, five minutes later we were fucking. After around 45 minutes.. (I know)  were laying in what seemed to be a sort of exhausted euphoria, when in reality it was in his, and his roommate’s bed that we pushed together, per our tradition. Our legs were clammy and restless under his -3 thread count scratchy covers… it was uncomfortable as shit. For some reason; though, I couldn’t resist shifting to my side and tossing my left calf over my waist, intertwining my undoubtedly, soft as fuck, meticulously shaven, moisturised, and exfoliated legs with his hairy “idgaf” guy legs. He, being a true romantic put his hand on my ass and pulled my body closer to his, kissing me softly. Later, when I got up to go, he managed to mutter “stay…” I didn’t move. He grabbed me gently by my arm and tugged. “Dude, stay…” I was surprised. This had never happened before. Seconds later, he moved his hand up to my throat and squeezed a bit, “stay.” He pulled me back down into his arms and wrapped them around me as we fell asleep to ‘Always Sunny..’We stayed together for the rest of the weekend . It was nice, I finally felt wanted by a guy for literally the first time in forever.

I’m great in new social circles. Everybody likes me at first. I know that might sound cocky or like an odd flex but it’s true. In fact, it’s the same thing with a lot of people suffering from BPD. When I meet new people I come off as totally extroverted. A huge, funny, vibrant and positive personality. When, in reality I’m incredibly depressed and insanely introverted, and my outer vibrant shell is just a coping mechanism for my liquidy grey, and hollow inside. Subsequently, as my symptoms slowly run rampant people gradually drift away from me. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. However, thats why im great in new social circles. I  met this guy two weeks prior, which was still within my optimal likability zone. It’s important to know that I was much younger at the time, so I didn’t even realize I was expressing these symptoms. Now looking back I cringe at how many red flags were thrown up. I was in to it, and lucky for me he still thought i was hella cool and older than I actually was. So when he took me back to his car and asked “Are you a virgin?”  I responded  “Are you kidding? No. No, I’m not a virgin. Are you kidding?”  I was. Not only was a virgin but I had only ever kissed one boy, one time a year before. I was overcome with anxiety when he said “okay.” He kissed me on the forehead and thrusted into me hard while smirking as I became horrifyingly amazed by this new type of pain I was experiencing. I felt my cheeks flush and my eyes well up, so I bit into my lip too hard hard and soon I couldn’t tell which pain I was crying about. Meanwhile, for some fucked up reason, I’ll truly never understand. The best of the 80s began playing on the radio as he fucked me, out of rhythm to “True” by Spandau Ballet. I was the most overwhelmed I’ve been in my entire life. Thus, my first consensual sexual experience ended around five minutes later with a guy I hardly knew cumming on my confused, virgin face to the tune of “Tainted Love…” He pulled away and threw an old shirt of his to wipe my face on, to me. He also let me know that I was “sooooo good” and that he definitely wanted to “hang” again. We didn’t. In fact, after he dropped me off at home around 2:00 in the morning I deleted his number and raided the fridge for looking for a bag of frozen peas to sit on. All of this being said; however, I don’t regret it. To me, having a meaningful first time was never something I really cared about. I didn’t want it to be like “the most amazing, most passionate thing” or any of that fuckery whatsoever. Maybe it was my  then undiagnosed BPD considering the risk taking behaviors, sexual impulsiveness, and lack of restraint. Or, maybe it’s because I’m a slut for 80s music.

I fell for this last guy hard. To me, was the most brooding, and angsty person i had ever met, he was different and I was hooked. Who else could say they had found a well known to say the least guy who wore a lot of shit from urban outfitters, and had great dick game? Now, I know he’s just a dickhead with an insatiable god complex, but naive younger me decided that this was the greatest person i’ve ever met. I fell madly in love with him too quickly. Literally like, a year later… after we had split up, after I had called him and his friends out for their utter douchebaggery… my damaged ass decided to hook up with him on a lonely night in December. Like I said, he had great dick game. He came over and got straight to the point. We did it over and over again. I’m not sure if it’s because we hated each other, or if it was just his pent up rage, or whatever the fuck… but shit was fire. Oddly enough we ended up whispering sweet nothings through the late hours of the night, (there’s that “lack of restraint, and impulsivity” again). I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t pull myself away from him. What was wrong with me? Why do I constantly fuck myself in the head like this? Why was I letting this guy who took advantage of my vulnerability, hold me in his arms while he spoke to me about how fucking great he is? Truthfully I didn’t know the answer until now. He was my first love, he was my only love. He was the closest thing to a true emotional connection I’ve ever had, and he ruined me. He effectively ruined love for me. He took my fragile ass, (already damaged from years of depression and abandonmente, heart and shredded it in a metaphorical garbage disposal. Yet, when he came calling I ran back to him like a lonely, scared and confused girl, looking for some sort of familiarity to latch on to. It sucked.. It stuck with me for years and years. Honestly, I didn’t even come to the conclusion that he vigorously, and unknowingly, exacerbated my inability to form strong emotional connections until I sat down to write this article.

When I first began working on this I thought I had a very concise and informative, educational piece about the trials and the trepidation that people suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder go through while looking for something as simple as emotion. BUT! Halfway through my first story I realized that my experiences were really not very different than experiences people in general go through every day, no matter what their mental state. Looking back, I think that this is essentially what I was really looking to do. I didn’t want to further stigmatize how hard it is to live with BPD, i just wanted to help people understand. However, I now hope this has done more than that. I hope it’s helped people relate.


(Author requested Anonymity)

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