What a BPD Breakdown is Actually Like

I wrote this a few months ago, after I was having a breakdown about my fp not texting me back immediately after I sent a risky text. At the time, I didn’t know I had BPD, but reading back on it, it’s so borderline. I’m publishing this because it’s an actual livestream of my breakdown, portrays what it’s like to have BPD and an fp. This isn’t my best piece; it’s pretty much more a rant than anything. I didn’t edit this either because I wanted to show my real, raw emotions without any filter.

thirteen minutes. it’s been thirteen minutes and counting since i sent you that text, and you still haven’t replied. “I wish I was with you rn” why did I ever think it was a good idea to send that. and now i’m racking my brain thinking of the worst possible scenarios that can happen. of course you don’t actually like me. you never did. i’m only good for when i make you cum. i’m only here to fulfill your sexual fantasies and maybe make you feel a little better when you’re sad and lonely. it’s probably not a big deal, but you don’t care, and i’m going to prepare myself for when you tell me that you don’t really want to be with me. we’re just friends and this is casual even though you make me feel more alive than i have in months.

seventeen minutes. every time my phone lights up with a new instagram notification i’m desperately wishing it’s a text from you. the clock continues to tick and i wish you had your read script on. you’ve probably already read the message and think i’m fucking weird and clingy. i think about how comfortable i feel around you, how you make me feel at home in your arms. do you remember that night you wanted to be the little spoon, even though you’re a foot taller than me? i traced the freckles on your back, making constellations with the dots outlining your skin. legs wrapped around you, i fell asleep holding you in my arms.

twenty nine minutes. it occurs to me that maybe that moment didn’t mean as much to you as it did to me. i guess you didn’t feel that shred of intimacy i felt when you let yourself become vulnerable to someone’s touch. i was raw, open, and full of love, all for you.

thirty three minutes. i guess there’s really no point anymore in hoping for something more.

sixty nine minutes. i really should stop checking my phone.

seventy five minutes. “me too.” oh, i’m sorry for overreacting. i can’t wait to see you next week!