I’ve spent 11 years running from my diagnosis. I’ve tried to conceal my truth, hoping I could will it away.  I didn’t want it.  My biological mother has it and she abandoned her children.  I’m nothing like her, so it’s not possible that I have borderline personality disorder.  

I’ve been seeing my current therapist for a little over a year now.  Let’s call him Wolverine, because he has a beard like a lumberjack and who wouldn’t want to be part of X-Men?!  Wolverine was aware of my previous diagnosis and my feelings about it on our first visit. He’s been very respectful and has not pushed it. I have tried to hold back, but the man is very good at calling me on my bullshit. Over the last few months, he’s brought up the word borderline.  Tonight, I had another episode.  My husband texted Wolverine (I giggle every time I type that out and if you’re reading this, at least I picked an awesome mutant for you!) We ended up on speakerphone. The conclusion is that if I want to get better, I can’t ignore it anymore.  I want to get better, so I am acknowledging my truth.  Wolverine and Josh, thank you for not leaving when I’ve tried to push you both far away.

My name is Erika and I live with BPD. 


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