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.