From the Other Side of My Bed

33. The Diagnosis

Between sleep and half awake, I feel the delicate naked skin of Ares rosing mine while we sleep. I don't even open my eyes, I just follow with my senses the rosing of our skins which makes heat, a heat that makes me feel somehow vigor.
Ares's face is resting on my neck, lips close to my jaw, breathing softly yet hot against my skin. I began to feel my body waking up, feeling like he had breathed life into me by just feeling him. He smells uniquely of cinnamon, my main allergen, yet there's no risk in getting sick with him.
He's everything right in the world, he's kind, he's sweet, he somehow cares about me. But why I cannot feel connected to him?
Yet our sexual chemistry can be said to be somewhat exciting...
Even if we haven't had real sex.
Like right now.
My fingers trace the landscapes of his naked torso, softly feeling in his skin, which is like velvet. I kiss his nose, then soon after he starts to move gently, more like stretching. He tugs on my side of my waist, pulling me in closer, and his other hand is in my belly. I kissed his lips this time, and watched as his hand moves upward, all toward my breasts. His eyes began to flicker and then they slowly go from sleepy to this perverted look in them, full of lust. He tries kissing me back, but I turn away, acting as If I was going back to sleep. His free hand keeps going up, passing my breasts and into my neck, to my jaw. He caresses my cheek, then kisses it.
I haven't fully opened my eyes; I just peek through my lashes and act innocent at what I'm doing. He kisses my cheek again, and then his fingers caress my face for a while, I hear him sigh, and whisper something but I couldn't hear it.
I turn slightly toward him, and open my eyes, only to see the face of Jovanni.
I freeze, my eyes wide at this and I try to talk but I...
I scream but it gets caught on my throat and comes out as a squeak.
No.
No.
No...
I began pushing everything toward him, the pillows, the blankets, me pushing him off me as he tries to grab me, I began to cry and beg him to fuck off. I even fall off bed and crawl away until my back hits the bathroom door. I see Ares's dark image standing up from the bed and walking carefully toward me, I turn myself into a ball, hugging my legs and putting in between them my head, my hair covering me as well.
I hear Ares trying to get me to undo myself, telling me I was safe.
That he's not the enemy.

"I love you, please come back to me."
"GO AWAY!!!!!!! FUCKING GO!! GO! GO!! LEAVE!! PLEASE!!"
"Madeline..." he sighed, backing away as he gets his boots and leaves.

I hate myself...
-

I sit across from a so-called psychiatrist that the insurance made me meet due to me being now a mental health patient. The branch of health they suggested was a collective branch that offer multiple sources of help for patients... like me.
"How long have you felt this way?"
"I don't know, maybe always. But most recently I had struggled with... it."
"And so, you began paying for a therapist?"
"Yes... she died recently as well."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"It's whatever."

Silence.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions to determine what you have, as there's no records of what your therapist thought of you."
"What?"
"Did she diagnosed you or said anything?"
"She just knew I was sad."
"Sadness can have many levels to it. It's okay, we'll find out today."

And then I get lost, thinking of how Kelly never thought anything of me, she just thought I was human. This makes me emotional, and I try to breathe, and I cannot, I feel too much right now and I feel embarrass to show it, so I bit my tongue the entire session. But do stop when this psychiatrist asks:
"Do you feel like you're godlike?"
"Godlike?"
"Yes, feeling invincible that you could almost walk into traffic and feel like nothing could touch you because you feel that mighty."
"... yeah. I do..."
"And you're impulsive?"
"Can almost be my downfall."
"Ah."
I frown at her, like what the fuck you mean bro?
She notices and then clears her throat.

"Well, as far as this questionnaire goes, it indicates that you have type 2 Borderline Personality Disorder. Known lately as BPD, this disorder-"
She goes on to tell me about this, which I pay obvious no attention to because I'm still stuck in the "type 2", often type 2 is something far worse.
"So, you're saying this is far worse than bipolar."
"It can be very difficult to handle, yes."
"But it can be cured, right?"
....
....
Silence.
....
....
"No, Madeline. Borderline Disorders cannot be cured, but treatable."



I don't want to talk anymore, I'm sorry.


-

"Are you okay?" Jerome asks as he gets close to me on the balcony.
My big, teary brown eyes look at him with a sadness that rubs him off the wrong way, he asks, kind of upset, who has hurt me.
"Myself, as usual." He sits next to me, putting his arm around me and I let him. Having my guard down, I began to cry, and I didn't stop. I feel like I'm crying for everything that I should have cried for now and it overwhelms me.
Jerome takes a small liberty in kissing my forehead and saying everything is going to be okay. "Not when it's not curable."
"What?" He makes me sit up.
"Madeline, what happened?"
"They say I have Borderline disorder, it's a mental thing. She said it's treatable, but not curable, ever. You know what that means? That I'm beyond fucked. That whatever I've lived and even genetics has me so fucked that I'll always going to be this miserable thing of a woman. A broken woman. I never asked to be broken, Jerome. I have merely wanted a safe home."
I cry and cry.
"A stable, safe home, that was all I asked."
"And you will have it one day."
"You don't fucking understand! You don't get it, but how could you?"
"Then share some light into this,"
"I want a home, not a house. I want a home with a man who loves and dies for me just as much as I love and die for him, and maybe, maybe... have a baby girl who will run through my rose gardens, eating popsicles with me. I pictured this and now... now with this diagnosis... I will never have it. Who will have me? Who will stay by my side despite my anger, my impulsiveness..."
I start to slur my words because it's too much pain.
"Who will love an angry girl?"

I look at Jerome, and he has a hurt look in his eyes. He frowns and wipes away my tears. "I love you."
Sounded like a suggestion.
"I love you, too. But don't start."
Before he continued, I began to stand up. "Can't have kids, can't fuck them over with these genes." I clean off dust from my leggings.
"Plus, I didn't want kids to begin with. I hate them and they hate me."
He gets up too, and he's towering over me again, it's a sheer wall between us, and I can even smell the sweetness of his cologne.
"I think one day you'll get everything you wanted and realize that diagnosis or not, you'll be happy and healed. I put this on God."
"Ugh, don't bring him up."
"Too late, he always listens to my prayers."
"And he ignores mine."
"Probably because you ask for the wrong things."
"They say to ask for anything in the world and he'll provide."
"And as a father, he knows not everything is good for you."
"I guess you're right."
"I'm always right."
"Blah, blah, blah. Let's get out of here,"
"Gladly, I hate your neighbors."
"Same."