I have never been good at even the hint of romantic relationships. This last time felt so reminiscent of all the horrible, tragic times that came before it. In a lot of ways it is exactly the same—I guess the Universe really does throw the same lesson at you, over and over again until you get it, or give up.

I knew yesterday, what it was that I needed to do. To set space between us, because your own fear and uncertainty (and paranoia) has begun to deep into my own life and I felt myself backsliding. All the hard work I’ve put into growing and healing and unlearning the toxic coping mechanisms that used to serve me but stopped a long time ago, was coming undone. And my own monster of fear was beginning to awaken again. 

But the bottom fell out between us. And I took the very real risk of admitting to you the BPD behaviors I engaged in during the aftermath of your first departure from my life. And for you, that sealed the deal. “There is nothing healthy that can come from us even being friends.” And maybe you’re right, but for reasons even you carry a blind spot to. You are part of the problem, and I can’t heal with you in my life. Not as you are. Maybe not ever with you. 

I left the door open, I told you I would still be here, as a friend. And you said you’d keep that in mind in case things change. And that you understood how it still hurt knowing you didn’t want me to have a place on your life. 

And I know this is for the best—but I have grown so used to the self-inflicted pain of crossing boundaries and causing more pain for myself. It’s like a drug, and right now, no matter how much I improve, I am still an addict. And so, even though I know I shouldn’t reach out (hours after I said I wouldn’t) I still find my mind reaching for every scenario and scaring itself, trying to convince my heart that this robotic response of self-destruction, is in our best interest. I tell myself this is a lie, and hope the feeling will pass.

I love you. But I cannot love the chaos of my type of “love” any longer. I have to let go. I have to grieve. I have to move forward. I have to trust myself. Trust how strong I have become, trust how sure I am. Trust my feet, and move forward, despite how painful it is, despite how much I want to look back and beg and pant and writhe about and destroy myself. Can I say it again? I love you. And I hate how the bottom has fallen out. How fear has once again, claimed what I thought I needed. 

May the road that leads me from here guide me to the mountaintop where I can see all that I have become—and all that I finally, leave behind.