Borderline

For as long as I can remember I have had issues with managing my anger. Whether it be when I was in school and I flipped out over not being included in games, which in my defence is a legitimate reason to be angry, in my opinion anyway. If I go out with my friends for a few drinks, you can be guaranteed I am either going to be crying or fighting, there isn’t an in between so I don’t get invited to those outings anymore, which I do somewhat agree with but I do just get drunk at home and angry text them. I have been given verbal warnings at work for having “unpredictable behaviour and emotional responses”, I swear all because the customer was wrong and I felt she needed to know that she was indeed incorrect – I tried to be polite it’s not my fault she called me rude and insensitive so I really told her about herself. I think if it weren’t for the fact that my aunt and uncle owned the shop, I’d be out of a job again, if anyone else was handing out verbal warnings to me I’d have quit the next day. So yes, many issues with anger. The worst, most pivotal and incriminating public display of rage, insecurity and irrationality came just two weeks ago;

I had been invited to a wedding, but not just any wedding, that of my best friend, Sara whose fiancé id been secretly in love with for years. I shouldn’t have gone to this wedding, and they should have only invited me to the party, not the vows. It was a beautiful wedding and the decorations were gorgeous, exactly how I’d have done my own reception. I arrived on time, I had managed to fit my flask of vodka into my bag and when I got there I went straight to the bathroom. I did not know really why I was there, why had they invited me, Sara and I had hardly talked in months after she had decided not to include me in the bridal party so she could fit Tom’s niece in. I drank myself into unconsciousness that night. I could hear the church filling up and the bustle of people made me nervous. I took a sip from my flask. Taking a deep breath and after fixing my hair, I go to find a seat and try get through this with as much grace and decorum as is humanly possible.

My chest was heavy, sore and tight as if I had someone sitting on it the whole time. Sara floated down the aisle and looked like an angel, she put everyone to shame. I felt so insignificant and nothing looking at her. Tom was looking at her the way id only ever dreamed of having someone look at me; with complete and utter unconditional and devoted love. He didn’t take his eyes off her and I didn’t take my eyes from him. I could feel the lump in my throat start to rise and my chest felt even more crushed, I was sweating and I felt like I was going to pass out. It was so hot in there, how did it get so hot so quickly? Sara joined Tom at the altar and I could barely handle it, I was falling apart with every second and with vulnerability comes pain and with pain comes anger, I could feel the rage of rejection and pain of unworthiness bubbling beneath the surface. Tears were streaming down my face, I couldn’t even hear the minister talking about holy matrimony and vows because all voices had been replaced by a shrill ringing in my ears, my heart was probably visibly beating and my palms were beginning to lose grip of my programme.

“If anyone should object to these two coming together in holy matrimony, please speak now or forever hold your peace”

It was those words; those were the final straw. Before I could regain control of my impulses I had already stood up and everyone else was already looking at me. Sara shook her head and mouthed “please” at me but it was too late, my brain had already called the shots and we were doing this. I was horrified, like I was watching myself in a movie and there was nothing I could do to stop this from happening. My whole body went hot and I could feel the sweat dripping down my stomach, my knees were shaking but I walked out into the middle of that aisle and looked directly at Tom. I couldn’t register the look on his face but for whatever reason I was sure it would go my way.

“Tom, I’m in love with you” The words came out strained as I choked on my own tears. “What about all those looks, the laughs and the jokes?”

Tom stepped away from Sara and walked towards me. He didn’t look happy, in fact he looked embarrassed and that’s when I realised it wasn’t going my way. Before he could reach me properly, I was already backing away from him, shaking my head with tears streaming down my cheeks, so much I could barely see through them. I could feel everyone’s eyes burning into me, watching everything unfold like some soap opera. I dragged my feet back further, they were getting heavier, my body weaker and I was struggling to breathe, my chest was tighter.

“Why am I not good enough? Why does nobody want me? I don’t get it Tom, why are you rejecting me”

“I’m here to marry Sara. I know you’re having a hard time at the moment Zoe but- “

I didn’t stay to listen to the rest of it, I turned on my heel and ran as fast as I could. I didn’t stop running until I got back to my flat. When I got back, I locked the door, pulled all my blinds and curtains closed so the rooms were dark and I felt completely isolated after that humiliating experience. I locked myself in my bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. My hair was now out of its bun, messy and windswept. My eyes were black from the makeup which had come off while I was crying, it had streaked down my face and neck. Everything felt raw, my skin felt uncomfortable, like it wasn’t mine and I was desperate to get out of it, be someone else entirely. I thought I’d be happier as someone else, maybe I wouldn’t cause everyone and myself so much pain. I couldn’t hold myself together anymore and I crumpled onto the floor, I rested my head on the toilet lid and sobbed into the crook of my elbow.

Why didn’t he want me? I had loved Tom longer than Sara and I didn’t understand why he couldn’t see that I would’ve given him everything and more, nobody could have loved him like I could. All these thoughts raced about in my mind, creating and dark cloud of depression around me. I got lower and lower into the pit of despair, until I no longer cried, I no longer felt anything. I had stayed in the same position for a while, just frozen but feeling deep pain in my chest, head and stomach like everything was on fire and excruciating and then all of a sudden, nothing mattered anymore and I didn’t feel a thing. I was vacant, not there and driven by a dark force within me. I knew it was there, I had been willing it not to rear its ugly head again. Before I could consider the decision, I had already reached for the packet of new razor blades in the cupboard.

I hadn’t paid attention to my mobile phone in the last few hours, so I hadn’t noticed the volume of texts and calls from witnesses of my meltdown. I was conscious long enough after the initial cut to hear my front door being kicked down.

-

“Zoe, we need you to talk to us. We are here to help you”

I didn’t look at the psychologist they had assigned me to, I maintained my gaze on the floor. When my mum and dad found me on the bathroom floor I was about to bleed out. I have no recollection of my actions, it’s almost like I’m hearing a story about someone else but it’s me who’s been admitted to the residential psychiatry ward. Everything was white, so white I felt like I had a headache from the moment I was put there. My arm hurt; it had been a couple of days but it still ached from how deep I’d cut myself. The psychiatrist, Dr Walters kept her gaze on me and waited patient, albeit creepily for me to speak or at the very least acknowledge that she had spoken.

I didn’t remember much since arriving there, it was all a blur, like a dream it was vague and I could recall only snippets of the ordeal. Broken parts of a story I’ll never fully know, only everyone else will. I am sure I had not talked to anyone and stared at the wall the majority of the time, except for night time when I felt everything and sobbed into my pillow. I felt empty, like a shell of a person, a person who barely existed. I had had bouts of emptiness before but this was the most destructive it had been. My family hadn’t been to see me, not for lack of trying but for the fact I did not want to face them yet. It was my poor mother and father who found me close to dead on my bathroom floor and thinking about that fact only made me want to try again, the amount of pain I caused to those closest to me two days prior was eating me alive in the moments when I felt something. I had ruined my best friend’s wedding, caused a scene and made it about me. Not to mention Tom, all I could think about was what he must have thought of me after that display. I was so ashamed, I daren’t think about it.

“Zoe?”

I was reeled back out of my head when Dr Walters spoke again. I looked at her that time though, sat up a little straighter and took a deep breath. Then it spilled out, I told her everything from the emotional neglect I was subjected to by my parents growing up, he bullying and rejection I faced at school, both primary and secondary, the flirting with quite literally anything, the sleeping with whatever man showed me attention and the feeling of emptiness that followed, then the guild and shame, I told her about bouncing from job to job and feeling inadequate for not being able to stick anything out. I spilled everything about the wedding and the breakdown, the embarrassment and the desire to no longer be a living breathing person because I was just that useless at it. I told her how all of this instability had affected me since my teens and nobody seemed to want to understand me, they just ignored me and invalidated me. I had grown tired of it, tired of trying to exist peacefully but never finding it.

When I had finished and dared to look up, Dr Walters was still writing in her notebook. For a brief moment I felt ashamed and embarrassed that I had just spilled everything, completely overshared. Then I remembered, it’s her job to listen and she isn’t going to tell me I’m wrong for feeling what I do. I had never felt safe enough to really tell the truth of what I was feeling and here I was, finally, opening my arms to help.

“Zoe, it sounds like you’ve really been through a lot. We can start unpacking this now, work through what’s been happening and get you started with some treatment. I’d like to meet with you a couple more times in this facility, while you’re here before I confirm a diagnosis but we will get you back on track, okay?” Dr Walters leaned forward and made quite intense eye contact, but it didn’t put me off, straight away with this one I felt comfortable enough to tell her the truth. I was already in hospital so why wouldn’t I just tell the truth; I didn’t believe they were going to let me go quickly so I gave it up and asked for help in the healthiest way I had done up to that point.

After my appointment I was taken back to my plain, white-walled room until dinner. I was in the ward where they watched closely for self-harming or generally harmful behaviour, I wasn’t allowed to go to the craft room for obvious reasons. I didn’t enjoy my room, I felt cold in it and hollow. It was hard to believe I felt so calm just moments before I was escorted back. I sat on my bed and stared out the window, it was sealed and couldn’t be opened so fresh air was not an option. Outside seemed so far away, but so scary, at least in my room I was protected in my bubble and I didn’t have to see anyone I didn’t want to, in particular, Sara and Tom. I had heard from Sara; she had said she wanted to talk about what happened but I didn’t have it in me yet to face her. Sometimes when I let myself think about it, my stomach sunk and I wanted to cry, others it felt as though I was remembering a story about someone else. When Sara called, I did not take it and instead asked the support worker to take a message for me as to what she wanted to say. I could barely think of Tom without falling apart at the thought of hurting him, causing the man id been infatuated with since the first moment I saw him. I had kept it a secret for so long, I thought he’d wake up one day and realise it was me all along. Boy had I been wrong about that, I had misread every look, every hug and every laugh for something more than it was, I had this imaginary relationship filling a hole in me and it wasn’t real and that was the harshest reality for me. Nothing felt real anymore, especially myself.

There was a knock on my door, I looked up and Dale the support worker was bringing my dinner in to me. I had been sat staring out the window for hours without even realising. Dale never talked much and I appreciated that, he would smile and then go on his way without hovering, he respected privacy.

-

“I have come to the conclusion; your diagnosis is borderline personality disorder”

I looked at Dr Walters like she had three heads. A personality disorder? What did it mean for me, who I am, who I will be? Can it be treated, cured or at least managed? What even was borderline personality disorder and how do I have it? As if reading my mind Dr Walters went on to explain that I displayed all nine symptoms of the condition and at a high intensity. She told me how it is sometimes referred to as Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder and is very hard to diagnose, hence why it took three weeks of meeting twice a week to determine it for me. Dr Walters went on to explain that it cannot be cured, but it can be managed through talk therapies, medication and a healthy balanced lifestyle with plenty self-awareness and acceptance. I didn’t say a word, my mind was racing and my heart felt tight and heavy, like it might drop from my chest and concave the floor below. Somehow, though it made sense that there was something more than just being “sensitive” and “dramatic” to my family and friends, at least there was an explanation for everything dumb id done and said, the levels to which I feel emotions. It could all have been helped if only I’d paid closer attention to myself, if only I had been listened to or accepted as the sensitive person, I naturally was from day one. The ‘if only’s’ catapulted around my head and I felt dizzy.

“Zoe, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just processing it is all. At least my life makes more sense now. Does this mean there’s something wrong with me?”

“Absolutely not. There is nothing wrong with you, Zoe. You just work differently and that is okay, I’m here to help you through it and we will work together to achieve your full potential” She smiled reassuringly, “And in some cases, it doesn’t even last forever, we can work to manage your symptoms so they don’t affect you as much. I can’t guarantee a cure but I can say it gets better and that’s a fact.”

For the first time I felt just a little bit understood, just a little bit heard and just a little motivated to accept it. I knew, even in that moment, how hard it would be to embark on this and figure it out, I was so scared of how I’d been but then I was relieved that I might not always be like this. There seemed possibility for a stable life for a flicker of a moment. I was still unwell, I still had to put the work in and maintain it and I really wondered just how I was going to manage this at home without Dr Waters helping with my accountability.

With a diagnosis confirmed and a plan in place for talk therapy and appropriate medication I was on track to going home, under the condition I live with my parents for the foreseeable future to ensure I have consistent support there should I take another turn. I was dreading this immensely, however, I knew in my heart it was the right thing to do. I packed up what little belongings I had in my room and waited to be told my family was there for me. I felt so nervous. What if I saw Sara and Tom again, I knew she wanted to talk to me, would we still be friends? How different will my life be now? What must they think of me? What must the rest of our friends think? My palms began to sweat as the anxiety built in my mind momentarily. Before I could get carried away, however, there was a knock on the door and it was my cue to re-enter the real world. I took a deep breath, stood and walked out the door.

I thanked the staff who helped to support me during my stay. I had been lucky to have great support workers who went above and beyond to ensure I was as comfortable as possible. While I ad been apprehensive about being in the hospital, how it would be and what it might do to me, the last three weeks had been a god send. It was like they gave me a whole new life, new friends and new laughs. I was actually sad to be leaving them as they had become important to me. I received, hugs and best wishes as well as a bunch of flowers from everyone handed to me by Dale. Dale and I had come to get along really well and I was sad to be leaving him behind. He just seemed to understand my moods and I encouraged him to follow a career in psychology or therapy. It was bittersweet and I cried like a baby because I felt so appreciated and accepted, this was an unfamiliar sensation to me.

I can admit it was a relief to see my parents standing by the reception desk, somewhat, that is until my mother blubbed and threw herself at me, sobbing into my shoulder. I had since stopped crying. I held my mum and gave her a squeeze back. My dad kept a straight face and gave me an awkward one-armed hug, his arm remained around my shoulder as he steered me to the front door. He was never a man for displaying emotions, it’s a wonder he ended up with my mum, it was clear he was uncomfortable and would rather be anywhere else. It wasn’t long until the relief I had felt, wore off and I was longing to be back in the hospital. We hadn’t even reached the car yet.

The drive home was quiet, awkward and I really couldn’t wait to get into my room and be alone. I was already wondering if my own parents might send me back into a meltdown and back to the hospital. They were adamant they were not to blame though and that this was simply an illness like any physical ailment, it can be cured and will go away, they were of the opinion it was a phase and would pass like any other. I had expressed to Dr Walters that I was not fully comfortable with the arrangement made but she insisted it would only last a couple of weeks. I was holding her to this. Right up until we pulled up to my childhood home, my father was precariously glancing in the rear-view mirror and my mother kept peeking at me, all very conspicuous and irritating. There was a reason I moved out in the first place.

My parent’s house was on a quiet street surrounded by many large fir trees, creating some privacy from the road. It wasn’t a large house but it wasn’t a small one either, there was ample space for me to run around as a child. It had a beautiful garden and one of the trees had a DIY swing hanging from it. I loved that swing; I could remember spending almost everyday on that swing the summer my dad put it up. It had been months since I was last here and years since I’d lived there. I felt strange as the car rumbled to a stop and I got out. The air was crisp and refreshing, I took a deep breathe before starting towards the front door. T was the start of a new life, with an explanation for my behaviours and a support network in place, I felt hopeful that maybe I could make it through after all.

-

5 Years Later

“It’s been a long time since the meltdown that saved my life. I really just hope my story can help someone else embark on their own journey of recovery. Thank you for buying my book and coming to the reading of it. I am incredibly grateful for the love and support.”

The room erupted into applause and cheers, mostly from my amazing friends. I was elated, proud and confident in myself, my work and my creativity.

I made it. Over the last five years I have been consistently going to therapy and working through my trauma, I realised I wasn’t in love with Tom but rather the idea of what Sara and Tom had. I am still friends with them, we worked it out and remain close. As for my parents, they are still to accept that they hold some responsibility for the way I turned out. I moved back into my flat about four weeks after I eft the hospital which was not as soon as I had hoped. I have managed to hold down a job, voice my concerns in a socially acceptable way as opposed to crying and hyperventilating, having a complete inability to control my intense emotions. I have taken my recovery seriously and worked extremely hard to be a better person, to manage life and daily tasks the way any neurotypical would.

My biggest success to date is my book, ‘On the Borderline.’ I spent a few years writing it, I’m a bit of a perfectionist but it finally came together. I didn’t think any publishers would take it but alas here we are, I’ve hosted a reading for my debut book. I looked out at the room. Sara and Tom were here with their baby daughter, Ella who just turned a month old. My friends from work came as well but most of the people here I don’t recognise and that was the really special part, total strangers, all here to support little old me. My heart filled with pride and gratitude, it really felt like everything was definitely going to be okay.

“Zoe, it’s time to get ready for the book signing”

Katrina, the bookshop manager and close friend of mine, touches her hand lightly on my shoulder to pull me out of my thought trance. She has a giant grin plastered on her face and she squeaks with excitement. I am led to a table; brought a cup of tea and I take some time to prepare for the next part of the day. To meet and briefly talk to those who have spent their well-earned money on my product is a privilege, while so many guests are adamant I needed to be thanked, for me, it was always going to be the other way around and so I thank everyone who comes up to get their book signed.

Further down the queue, I spot a face I recognise from five years ago. A few minutes go y and the face I recognise is in front of me.

“Dale”

“Hey Zoe, it’s been a while. How are you?”

I feel my cheeks heat up as I had not noticed how handsome Dale is when at the hospital, of course that was not where my head was at the time. Now though, I see it.

“I’m fine, how are you? Do you have a book for me to sign?”

Dale smiles and runs his hand through his sandy hair, he appeared nervous and his cheeks turn red, like mine. He shakes his head “No, I uh, I saw your picture and name out the front and thought I’d come in. It’s so busy though and I was thinking maybe we could go for a coffee when you’re done here?”

My eyes go wide as I look back up at him, he was looking at me intensely. Was this even appropriate if he worked at the hospital when I was there? Does he still work there? Why does he want to see me? Am I overthinking? Yes, I’m over thinking. Here is this good-looking, kind man who has gone out of his way to say hello and ask me out to coffee. There is absolutely no way I am letting this opportunity slip out of reach. Who know where this could go, we got along and had a laugh while I was at the hospital, we spent time together and he cared but I never thought he’d be interested in me? It’s been five years and he’s here at my book signing. My heart races and my palms are sweaty. This could go so wrong, but I am so intrigued. I have to remind myself; I am worthy, I am worthy, I am worthy. I deserve happiness no matter what happens today.

I smile, “That would be lovely.”