Beyond Borderline

Prelude

A long time ago; as I remember it which in many ways can be flawed and fraudulent, seen through eyes unwearied by any sense of self or what I would learn to be called "self-awareness.." I watched in true terror as the only two people charged; with caring for me left me, although unwillingly behind a locked door. In this moment I felt the horror that was... being truly and wholly on my own for the very first time. If you've grown to disdain unreliable narrators I can assure you that I myself am nothing but unreliable... Trauma changes people; deletes memories in hopes of sparing the brain, the body, the soul; sadly this coping mechanism only works for so long. There is no fail safe, if it feels like a threat, if it feels familiar to the threat - It's gone. Or it is something that must be dealt with now, and with the same ferocity and swiftness; as the immediate and impending threat of death. I have often said that my personality disorder is almost distressingly poorly named. For there is nothing borderline about it's symptoms you see... It is all or nothing. I see things in such extremes gray is not a color that clings too many; be it person or memory. Sometimes almost to often my thoughts and memories are tainted with a red film. I care too much or not at all. I love you, deeply, madly; obsessively - I hate you, you disgust me and have no need for you any longer. If I drink, I drink to the death; The disease of...more. There is nothing borderline about my personality. It is carefully constructive extremes stacked on top of each other threatening to fall anytime and take everyone around me with it. It is trauma response, after trauma response, doing the same thing over and over; and just wishing you could make it stop. But each threat feels the exact same. The feeling of being triggered a hurricane in your heart; a trembling ocean in your gut; always telling you somethings wrong. I was born into a kitchen fire but was told that the flames kept me warm and safe. I assumed the whole world was on fire, and so every person I met I brandished matches to keep them warm; and when they ran away, I chased wielding blankets, lighters, gasoline trying in vane to suck all the oxygen from the room to keep our flames going. Why did they keep running, when all I wanted waa to love them and keep them warm and safe? The same way my family did for me? I love them, I love them so much, and I still love them. I've watched so many people leave but now I have learned to focus on my own flame controlling it, tending it, calming it... Until eventually there would be those brave souls who would risk to sit down beside it; with out fear of it consuming them. I am the one who has been purified by fire, I am the Thunder Cryer. Those who sit beside the flames, those are the ones that I call kin, coven; and chosen family. And this is my story as skewed and bias as it may be, I will try to tell it well. I am the girl of many names. Call me what you will; but in the end only you can decide could you love a borderline?