Fireworks and Underwear

Dear BF 

I know I told you I have mental illness. I’ve tried to be very open, but I don’t think I’ve given an adequate explanation about it. Not that you have to understand it, that is. I have a therapist. I am seeking treatment for it. I have a bunch of tools to minimize my symptoms. Which, I think is part of the problem. You don’t really get to see it. I’m able to mask – act normal – even though my insides feel like they’re on fire.

It’s so hard to explain. It’s like there’s separate parts of my head arguing about the right way to feel and behave. Most of the time I can find the rational one, especially when there is an audience. I just, I want to share it with you. I want you to be aware, so that when I do have one of those moments, you’re not totally caught off guard. Yes, because I’m afraid you’ll jump ship.

 I know, I know. You haven’t given me any reason to believe you would leave me. I know. You’ve given me every reason to trust you whole heartedly. I still want to somehow share this part of myself. It probably won’t make sense. I just need to get it out.

When I am with you it’s like fireworks bursting within me. Everything seems brighter, joyous, and exciting. Every moment can feel like an ecstatic flash! Then the next day, when you’re gone, it’s like the music dies down, I look around me, and everything is covered in ash. Black ash covers the floors and the walls, everything begins to look grey. It’s so thick I can barely breathe, and the weight of it pushes me down.

 No, it’s not like that just with you. It’s like that with pretty much anyone or anything I find myself attached to in some way. I get like that with my dad, close friends, even projects and activities. It’s like I can go from a full cup to a broken one at any minute. Even though rationally I know there is nothing wrong. This weird emptiness takes over, and with either extreme it can make me do impulsive things.

 You haven’t seen this impulsiveness because I’ve been able to control it. Again, I am getting help… but, oh, oh god I did something. I have to tell you.

Remember that first week your air conditioner went out and you stayed at my house for a few days? There was one morning you left your boxers on the bathroom floor after your shower. While you were at work, I… I put them on a pillow and cuddled with them most of the morning and afternoon. Then, before you got back, I hid them in my underwear drawer and just left them there… for months. Every so often pulling them out just so I could touch the fabric.

The other day when you stayed the night you forgot your shirt. I already told you I buried my face in it for a good while before throwing it in with the laundry. I washed your boxers too. Then, that night I put them on and I wore them. I wore them for a couple days… until I masturbated in them and then they needed washed again.

 Yes! I know, I know! You’re thinking, Yes, that all sounds a little bit much. It’s ok. It’s actually kinda cute, and sweet, and actually really sexy.

That’s what they always say. Trust me, I get it. There is something absolutely endearing about having someone so head-over-heels impassioned for you. It’s flattering, exciting, and alluring. That’s exactly why I want you to understand. This diagnosis just doesn’t make sense, and its extremes that can be a beautiful wonder while also an absolute nightmare.

It’s not about those weird impulsive actions- which I did talk to my therapist about, just to be clear. It’s the intense thoughts and feelings that go along with it. Like somehow having an article of clothing will make me closer to you. Touching it feels like I am touching you, and I can almost breathe your scent in the air. That somehow having it, and even wearing it will prevent you from leaving me.

Seriously, even though not once have you ever done or said anything that could possibly make me think you are going to abandon me; it’s this all-encompassing paranoia that will randomly switch on to the point that I’m wearing your underwear like some kind of voodoo token. Thanks to a lot of therapy, and by the grace of god, I have not acted on that feeling; but there have been so many times.

I am so deeply and intensely infatuated with you. I am falling for you, so says my rational side. It’s exciting and beautiful, while at the same time it has been incredibly painful. It’s been hard to have you here for one night. I get to touch you, breathe in your scent, kiss you, and hear you. Then the next night when you’re not here, that irrational emptiness shows up. I can’t do any of those things, and if you’re tired, I might not even get to talk to you.

NO! I know how absolutely selfish of me it would be to expect you to answer me while you’re sleeping after a long day at work. I don’t want anything to change. You are everything I have ever wanted, and I love the pace we are going and how our relationship is unfolding. I want to build a life with you, over time. One day, it would be great to be resentful that I have to wash your dirty boxers, while you get upset that I’m wearing the last clean pair.

I don’t know if any of that made sense. Frankly, most days I don’t understand the way my head works or how this stupid disorder works. One minute I am able to connect the dots, and the next I am scribbling with crayons because the dots have all ran away. I just, had to share these things with you. I don’t need you to understand. I just…

I want to be able to reach out to you when I can’t breathe on those days I find myself surrounded by ash.

With Love, 

BPD