A letter to my therapist

CONTENT WARNING!! this is something I wrote for my therapist after getting re-diagnosed with some issues that I already knew I had. For some reason, it made me really emotional. But even so,,, as personal as it is, i really liked how it came out!! There are some heavy themes, but I hope that maybe someone can relate to it!! 

I think it's odd. They say that when you have borderline personality disorder, the limbic system is smaller. When I first heard this, I thought it meant that I felt less than the average person. But when I sat across from the therapist I realized, it was simply that I couldn't control my feelings like everyone else. In fact, you could say I feel more than the "normal" human.

I stared at the wall. People die for this. They hear those words come out of the doctor's mouth, and they know it's over. It can't be cured, just treated into submission. Beaten like a bad dog. It takes all of you, they told me, until there's nothing left.

I always knew. So why does it feel so different now? I had the words to describe it, but the reality that this is what I have to live with is so much to bear. It harbors much resentment, knowing that this is as good as it gets. It's not the seasons or the weather, it doesn't come and go, this is it. This is life, and no matter how much I beg, my brain can't go back.

It's not fair. So why am I not upset? In truth, I cherish my ability to love so deeply. I hate saying that. I shouldn't make friends with my captor, but I did so too long ago to let go now. I just got the grasp of not pushing others away. I just found out how to let them in. My heart thrums with beats of joy when they talk to me. I swear that when they walk my way, I could stay in that moment for the rest of my life.

They could be made of thorns, I could never get to feel their touch against mine, but that would never deter me. They could speak daggers into my throat, I'd be willing to bleed. I'm young, I shouldn't have this much desire to burn at the hands of whomever my heart choses. I haven't lost enough to desire so much. It's a logical fallacy, but it's one I've found comfort in.

My love will be my own downfall. It has in the past, and while I can scream that this person is different, that these feelings are rooted in good, there is still uncertainty weaving through the very ground my love has found home in. I do believe that I have found the right ones, but I have said that in the past. I have been mistaken. I may be mistaken yet again.

Love is the best liar. It coaxes you into believing things that make no sense. It'd tell you the sky is red and you'd start changing the name of blue so it'd fit the narrative that love is feeding you. It breathes false life into your lungs and clogs your tear ducts with dishonest prophesies. You believe them like you believed in God or Santa or your father. You believe in it, not because it's true, but because you want it to be. You listen to it's whispers out of desire to feel it again. You know it will tear you apart.

I don't want to break someone's heart. I don't want to remember what sins I have committed. I could confess them a million times over, and still never have them absolved. I find that this is my curse. I am simply stuck waiting for impossible to become truth. But I have found that with this size difference, I don't mind waiting anymore. I find peace in it. In loving something in a way that by all sense is no way to love. By biting my own tongue off so I can't hurt them. Clipping my wings and slitting my throat and watching as everyone dances and sings and flies.

I shed my desires like a skin. I find peace in everyone's normalcy. I find comfort in watching what I will never have. Love is the center of my world. The sun of my orbit. I'm always chasing it, but never quite catching it. Still, its heat keeps me warm, even if I'm not sure I've ever really felt it. I am willing to bleed to get closer to it. I would sacrifice myself for even another glimpse. It's not about the who, it's about the feeling.

Misconstrue me not, I love deeply. I love my friends and family and partners like nothing ever before felt. This subsidiary of love is not like that. It doesn't have a simpler name to call it, so I am stuck with the word that holds thousands of meanings. It is simply just a special kind of feeling that I know exists despite never having felt it. Until recently, I thought that was normal.

My obsession isn't fair. It chooses people and things unattainable. But like a dog, I chase. I run in circles but I know it's pointless. I'm making a fool of myself over and over again, never learning a lesson. I seem to like it that way.

I would go to lengths never before documented for them. I thought thats what love was; an unwavering sense of dedication. "I am yours, crawl into my skin and feel as our desires become one."

I liked it better before knowing that I am the one who's wrong. I liked life better before being told that I was the one who felt too much. Ignorance was bliss. Temporary, pure, horrible bliss.

I wish I could reason with my brain. I hope this is descriptive enough to articulate how much emotion I'm going through. Forgive me if I am dead faced or quiet eyed. I mean not to give you the impression that I don't care. It is the opposite. I care so much, I am just so tired of trying to make people understand me. I am tired of resisting interpretation despite my own will. If this profession doesn't work, I fear I will have ran out of options.

Forever,

Your favorite client