A Typical Everyday Situation

Let Us Consider a Perfectly Ordinary Situation

From the perspective of C., a person affected by Borderline

The Evening Begins

Allow me to introduce myself briefly. My name is C., I am a person with Borderline – or rather, I “suffer” from Borderline Personality Disorder.

“Tsk, what does ‘disorder’ even mean? As if I were disturbed?”

It is 1:30 a.m. My boyfriend is already done and lying in bed. I am standing in the bathroom going through the usual routine. A strenuous but wonderful day.

“Yes, he truly loves me. I have never been loved like this before,” runs through my mind.

“But why do we argue so often, and so hurtfully?”

The smile on my beautiful lips makes me smile back.

The Thoughts Begin to Spiral

Four days without an argument. But I like provoking him, testing how far I can go.

“Oh, I hate it when he picks everything apart and I actually have to admit he’s right. I need to be careful not to go too far.”

He can be very hard and cold – and then I love that terrible fear that he’ll leave me after all. Phew, four days ago, that was a close call.

“Well, I know how to get him. The make-ups are simply heavenly.”

The Mirror

Today I like my face. Actually, I always like it. Always? No, not always.

But when he looks at me like that, and with genuine amazement says: “You are so beautiful” – then I know it is true. He even loves me in a tracksuit. With him, I can just be who I am.

“Although… he thinks I’m too thin for my height.”

The Need for Reassurance

Done in the bathroom. Now I want to know if he truly loves me. I’ll simply ask him.

I go into the bedroom and whisper: “Do you love me?”

Thank goodness it’s dark and he can’t see my fear.

No answer. Is he already asleep?

I ask again, this time loudly and demanding. Still no answer.

“This can’t be real. I’m seething. The man just falls asleep.”

No, he doesn’t love me. Otherwise he’d be awake.

The Escalation

Loudly and forcefully, I fight my way to my side of the bed. He groans, as if to say: “Don’t be so loud.”

“Just you wait,” I think.

At that moment, the old feeling of being abandoned surges through me, paired with the rage of sadism. I want to know now and turn on the spotlight that shines directly in his face.

“There, that’s what he gets.”

He yanks the duvet up and snaps at me: “Have you lost your mind? Turn that light off immediately, I’m already asleep!”

The Reaction

Startled, I turn the light off.

“He’s lost his mind. How can he speak to me like that?”

It is pitch dark and I whisper like a child: “I didn’t see anything.”

I am curled up in my blanket, ready to fend off any tender approach.

“Damn, but I want him to take me in his arms NOW and tell me he loves me. Actually, I don’t believe he loves me.”

The seconds stretch into eternity. I feel like crying.

The Tentative Contact

“Don’t I get a kiss?” – I plead.

He slowly turns toward me. His hand searches and finds me, feeling the curled-up ball. No way in. He briefly strokes through my hair, which he apparently finds so wonderful.

A brief kiss. “Night, darling, I’m so tired,” he says.

I am on the verge of exploding and turn away.

“That’s really it. He doesn’t love me, never has.”

The Outburst

Everything imaginable flashes through my mind. It’s always the same – I’m simply not loved.

I explode and jump out of bed. “I can’t fall asleep like this!” I scream at him.

I grab my bedding and go to the living room. I’d love to punch him.

To calm myself down, I open a bottle of wine… one after another.

“I knew it, he doesn’t love me. And always these arguments. It just doesn’t work between us.”

You can see – he doesn’t even come after me. He simply doesn’t care. I don’t matter to him.

Done – Over – Finished. I’m ending it, this time for good.

“Although… if he came now and made love to me?”

He just keeps sleeping.

The Attack

I storm into the bedroom in a rage and hurl every possible insult at his head. What exactly, I don’t really know, but it’s offensive and hits its mark (I hope).

Back in the living room, first a sip of wine and a cigarette.

“That hit home. Now I feel better.”

If he comes now, we can make up, it occurs to me – and I notice how it arouses me sexually. The candles are already lit.

The Confrontation

There he is. He stops in the doorway and fixes me with that piercing gaze.

“I hate that gaze. He knows exactly what’s going on inside me. That makes me angry again.”

Too often I feel like an open book in front of him. No one has ever been able to see behind my masks into me.

I dare not look at him.

The Power Games

“No, I won’t drop my masks. Not for some nobody like him,” and I stir through the ashtray with my cigarette.

“Can’t the idiot just come here? Then everything was always fine.”

“I’m going to throw the ashtray at his head. Or he should just leave.”

He is still standing there, looking at me.

Short, clipped, and sharp comes the sentence: “Does this mean I should look for another partner?”

My heart stops.

The Turning Point

“Damn. ‘No,’ ‘Yes’” – I’d like to scream both. I can’t say anything.

The question comes again, even sharper this time.

“No,” I press out meekly, simultaneously hoping for the reconciliation.

He turns around, says “then that’s settled” and walks away.

“‘You goddamn arsehole’ I want to scream after him and I’m paralysed.”

I cry like a baby, because now I have proof that he doesn’t love me.

But that’s NOT how I wanted it.

The Splitting

The wine can barely comfort me. I don’t sleep the entire night.

“How many nights like this is he responsible for? All of them,” says something inside me.

I hate:

His coldness
His insistent questions
His analyses
His warmth
His understanding
His tenderness
My powerlessness against it all

I hate HIM. Done, Over, Finished. Actually, he only has bad qualities.

I wait for him to come and lie down beside me. He doesn’t come.

“Ha, I don’t love him any more either.”

The Next Morning

At some point toward morning, I fall asleep. I wake up feeling dreadful.

He has made coffee and stands behind the kitchen counter, looks at me and says: “I didn’t want to wake you. Did that really have to happen last night?”

“I know he’s waiting for an apology. He could have come to me. Besides, I’m not to blame for the argument. What do you even mean, argument? It’s over.”

I go to the bathroom without giving him a glance or an answer. He can get lost.

The Cold Attack

“Is it over again?” he asks.

“Ha, now I’ve got him. Now he gets the injuries thrown right back at him.”

Coldly, and it gives me a distinct satisfaction, I say: “Yes, and thanks for the good shag. You can leave now.”

That hit home. He goes pale, his whole posture tenses. But he stays calm.

“Damn, he won’t be provoked.”

“And would you explain to me why?” he asks calmly.

“Why, why. What’s the point? Is the man insane?”

“I don’t love you any more,” I say as coldly as possible.

The Threat

He goes to the bedroom and packs his bag, without saying another word.

I become afraid that he is actually leaving. But I don’t really want that at all.

I become even angrier, feel helpless. I scream random insults through the flat.

“Somehow I have to hold on to him.”

He comes out of the bedroom, stops at the door, and says calmly: “If you don’t stop this now, I’ll slap you. I think that’s quite enough.”

The Hysteria

“Who does he think he is?”

I rush toward him, tear open my bathrobe – let him see how naked and defenceless I am – and scream: “Go on, hit me! That’s all you want!”

“Help, I’m behaving like a fury,” shoots briefly through my mind.

He tilts his head, looks at me with amusement and says: “If you don’t stop now, you hysterical woman, you really will get one.”

He turns around, takes the key, and leaves. Without his bag.

The Loneliness

I feel like I am going to explode. He just leaves me standing there. Unbelievable.

“Who does he think he is? Now I feel even more miserable and get the usual stomach cramps.”

Maybe he’ll reconsider and come back. Well, then he’ll be in for it!

He doesn’t come, and I feel worse and worse.

“It’s only his fault that I feel this way. Of course I love him. I hate myself for my behaviour.”

But if he had loved me, I wouldn’t have had to be like this.

The Aftermath

He could have at least punished me – then I could have dealt with that.

“And what do I do now? Where will he be? He’s certainly at the pub where we were yesterday.”

I’ll go to him and apologise.

“No, never apologise! Why should I? It’s all his fault. Now I have to go running after him. I’m really above that sort of thing.”

I get dressed. A skirt, a light blouse – he’ll like that.
Inside me there’s a tension that’s barely bearable.
“Maybe he’ll dig in his heels again? Maybe he’ll reject me?”
No, he won’t do that. I just have to purr like a kitten.

The Reconciliation

When I arrive at the pub, he is sitting in the beer garden on the phone.

“He’s probably telling his friend about the incident again. That already makes me angry again.”

I walk up to his table and say: “Come home with me.”

“Why should I?” he asks.

“I hate being cornered.”

“Because I love you,” I say.

He nearly drops his beer. I love always shocking him like this. I can’t suppress my grin.

The End – For Now

By text, I ask him if he will share this pain that is nearly tearing me apart.

His answer is clear: “Of course, I love you.”

Relieved, I drive home. The reconciliation is, as always, wonderful. I can completely let go.

When he asks if I still remember how I insulted him today, I can’t recall much.

“Only that I said ‘I don’t love you any more.’ But that doesn’t matter now.”

What matters is that we love each other and are getting married in 6 weeks.

Source note: This content is based on the materials of the Borderlinezone (2002-2007) and has been adapted for this information portal.