As I said, I’ve had more messages and calls in the last five days than in the last four months combined. He has told me he wants it to work. That he wants us. That he has been forced to acknowledge that it means something that he couldn’t walk away. That he couldn’t let go like he always has so easily in the past. He has mentioned on each of those five days that he will see me once my elective is done. He will come here or I will go there. Either way it will happen.
He just sent one of those little videos he likes to send. The ones that show what he’s up to. That include me in his day. That he knows make me laugh.
This is nice. It’s considerate.
I get the message. One of so many today. I watch the video. I don’t know the guy he’s hanging out with. That’s okay. It’s good he’s trying to include me. It’s funny. My heart swells at the sight of him. I still get those butterflies. I giggle like a high school girl with a crush and blush at the thought that this one is mine. He wants to be with me. He gets me.
Craving. Hunger. Neediness. Grasping.
Why isn’t he replying sooner? What if all of this means nothing? What if I’m being played? What is that side of his life that I’m not a part of? What is the point of any of this? Maybe I should send another message? Or even a few more? His time to reply means something, right? He can’t really care, can he? Not when I think about his previous relationships… why don’t we look like they did?
Spiralling. Round and round I go. After each and every message. Ripped from a calm, still ocean and thrown into a series of thundering rapids. Tossed off rocks, falling down steep drops, smashing against fallen branches and trees in the messy, fast-flowing river until a waterfall pushes me under and churns me in the depths at its base.
This is how it has always been. With every man I’ve ever dated. Every man I’ve ever cared about. It’s never enough. Because he could be changing his mind right now. Or it could all be a joke. A ruse. The universe screwing me over. He might just be killing time.
I should just end it. Call him out. Demand more. Tell him this isn’t enough. I need more.
People say I’m doing so well, that it’s all under control, that I’m healing. The truth though is that it never stops. It never goes away. It’s been less than five minutes since he sent a video for no reason other than including me in his day, and I’m fighting not to pick up the phone. To send a text. Another thought. Something dirty or funny to get his attention. To try and force the interaction. Because it’s not enough. It will never be enough.
And that’s why when people question my diagnosis, when they say I’m too “high-functioning,” that I’m not “crazy” enough, I just smile politely. Because this is BPD. And it is always there, lurking beneath the surface, threatening to explode out and destroy everything all over again.
andulkaphoto
titsay
theartofmadeline
turnnoffyourmind
jacobvanloon
discoholicmusic
