My Ex Lover

There are days when my mind feels like a maze, the walls closing in around me. I try to find my way out, but every turn leads to another dead end, another thought that traps me further. I wonder if others feel the same, if they too are just pretending to have it all together. Some days, I can’t even make sense of my own emotions. I’ll wake up feeling fine, but by noon, the weight of invisible burdens settles on my shoulders, making it hard to breathe. It’s as if the world around me keeps spinning, but I’m stuck in place, frozen in the moment. I want to talk about it, but there’s a fear that nobody will understand. The silence grows louder the longer I keep it in. People see the smiles, the laughs, the moments where I appear to be just like anyone else. But behind that, there’s a storm. Sometimes it’s overwhelming, and other times it’s just a quiet hum in the background. But it’s always there. I look around the place where I was confined for a week now. This isn't a place where I can be who I am. No, they tell me to be truthful, honest with my feelings but when you're surrounded by people who you're not even sure have been honest about what they truly feel here. Of course, they must've told their stories, a countless times already at that but were they ever totally honest? “Does knowing me more lead to loving me less?” this is what I have always been accustomed to. It makes me wonder if the doctors here who claims to understand what their patients feel will also come to hate me the moment they find out who I really am. Do they really understand? I looked at the scars on my wrists, trying to shoo the itchiness away with just a stare. This is not the first time I've hurt myself. I have tried different ways; bumping my head on a wall, cutting my legs, biting my hands, slapping my face. All to feel something. It's what I do when I feel numb or when I feel too much that I need to project what I feel to something else that causes me pain. It probably sound stupid but what can I do? This is how I cope up with everything that's happening. I started scratching the scars, not minding the sting. I stared up when I heard someone crying. It's too familiar. Yes. It's the same sound I make when I'm having a mental breakdown. It's a woman, probably the same age as mine. Her hair's all messed up with all that kicking and crying and pushing away the nurses. I couldn't see her face but I feel like I heard her voice before. “I don't need any help! Get away from me! I don't like it here!” Ha! Cliché! That's exactly what I said a week ago when they told me I was getting confined in here which is weird 'cause I was the one who went here in the first place, in hopes that I would be able to understand myself and the way I am. The funny thing is, I couldn't believe I was suffering from BPD. “I understand. Based on what we've talked about—the intense emotions, fears of abandonment, the feeling that relationships can be unpredictable and painful—it points to something called Borderline Personality Disorder, or BPD.” BPD? How can something like this be BPD? I came here to know if there's something wrong with me but BPD, this is more than I can take. It's a hard pill to swallow. It’s the kind of news that brings both relief and fear. Relief because it puts a name to what someone’s been feeling—it validates that those intense emotions and relational patterns have an explanation. But fear also surfaces because it means facing a challenging, long-term journey of I don't know, healing and growth? "Borderline Personality Disorder? I… I’ve heard of it, but I thought it was, I don’t know, something extreme. Am I… does that mean I’m dangerous or something?" Shit. I didn't expect these turn of events. If worst comes to worse, I might get stuck here. And I haven't even told her about me hurting myself yet. “There’s a lot of misunderstanding about BPD, but it doesn’t mean you’re dangerous or ‘too extreme.’ People with BPD feel emotions more intensely than others, especially around relationships. It’s also common to feel a lot of fear and uncertainty about being abandoned or misunderstood." I am not dangerous or extreme. I am not dangerous or extreme. “What if I told you I hurt myself? But only sometimes though. Uhmm....Just whenever I want to feel something.” I said nervously. I just hope she won't give me the same look other people gave me when they see my wrists. The look of pure disgust and confusion, something I never want to receive from any person, ever. The psychiatrist looked at me softly. Great! Now I want to cry. I'm a man. Would she change how she looks at me if I start crying? I felt a drop of water on my wrist. I felt the sting the moment it landed on my skin. It's raining, my eyes being the clouds. It started pouring. It won't stop. She gave me a tissue but I was already in too much pain, emotionally that is. I wasn't able to say another word. I just cried the whole session. And that's how I got myself here. I focused at the screaming woman again. Where did I hear that voice again? “Depression can make it hard to remember things.” Aahh yes, memory loss. Did I forgot to tell you that I was also diagnosed with Persistent Depressive Disorder? I just hit two birds with one stone. This isn't even funny but I can't help but make a joke out of it. Crazy stuff.