Before I begin, I’m sorry for the lengthiness of this post. My hand in the situation was actually ongoing, before I’d met my partner, J, so it’s complicated. Please bear with me.

To preface, I’ve recently been diagnosed with ‘quiet’ (internalized) borderline personality disorder. I say recently because I’d just come out of the psychiatric emergency unit with the final diagnosis a few days ago, though I have long struggled with mental health issues that weren’t properly addressed. I’ve home and job hopped since high school, having only held a position for half a year at most- often less. I was misdiagnosed a few times, which was almost inconsequential as I was only seeing my therapist monthly, anyways. I took a half-year in 2018 to live in Scandinavia with supportive friends while homeless, returned, and left again in the winter for a sponsored trip to the Mediterranean which lasted two weeks- this is when I met J, who was also on the trip. 

J was and is my best friend; the sweetest, dorkiest, most loving man I’ve ever known- the love of my life, even withholding my tendency to put my partners on a pedestal; he’s simply the best. Whatever he could do to make my life enjoyable, he would do- even when I hadn’t asked or made it clear that I was wanting for anything. It wasn’t a perfect relationship by any stretch of the imagination, but we enjoyed our time together and had a pretty healthy line of communication.

Our towns are 15 minutes apart in the southeast US; he lives with his mother and stepdad(50?), both of whom he works with, and I in my grandmother’s (75) 2-bed apartment while trying once again to secure employment and affordable therapy (no insurance.) I’d started spending nights in J’s home in January, though, when my similarly afflicted mother (45) went through a breakup and took residence in my room; his family was happy to have me at first, as I was close to his sister and eager to help around the house, with the animals, etc. I was still unemployed with no savings but I was useful in the meantime. J made sure that I was fed and clean, even when his stepdad withheld paychecks. I reciprocated as best I could with small gifts when I could afford it, physical labor and acts of love. In regards to his stepfather- he didn’t want me around as often as I was over time. J would negotiate with his mother to continue my stay. 

Through those nine months, my ‘home’ life had become more complicated; my deadbeat father passed in July and as his next of kin I had to show for it. My grandmother went into heart failure- her surgery is next week. Things were never good with my mother but she’d begun to lose it as well in the face of her own debilitating physical condition, partying every night until she’d spent her savings: our entire family was angry with each other and uncommunicative. J understood all of this and accepted it, and me, unconditionally, and I can’t appreciate that enough, but his parents understandably weren’t happy with the arrangement as I hadn’t found permanent employment in that time and was admittedly spiraling back into a deep episode of anxiety and depression. 

The situation came to a head on the 4th when his stepfather insisted I return home. My mother had told me that my return to the apartment would stress my grandmother to the point of death (apparently not the case- we’re together now, she’s let me know that she wants me here) and that I was putting them both in danger of poverty and homelessness. I couldn’t go having read that. J took off of work that day to drive me to the shelters and inpatient centers in his area; I admitted myself to a hospital the following day. 

I realized soon that the emergency unit wasn’t for me; I wasn’t *exactly* suicidal nor psychotic- just desperate for help. In my time there I didn’t see the doctor for 24hrs- didn’t eat, barely slept and became more agitated as time went on with nothing to show for it. Another patient wouldn’t leave me alone, either, even having been yelled at by nurses- I was terrified.

I had a slip of paper with J’s and his mothers #’s on it; J’s insistence. Because theirs were the only local numbers, they were the only ones I could call directly without having to ask the nurses to transfer the call from another phone. I spoke to J last on the 6th, the morning after my admittance. He sounded like he’d been crying but was happy to speak with me. The next time I called, that evening, his mother answered his phone. We had a thoughtful conversation about my recovery and what our relationships would be like moving forward, which ended with her promise that I could speak to J when he returned from the bathroom if I called back. The answer was the same the next time. Then she stopped picking up his phone altogether. I admit that in this timeframe, I did something unreasonable- in the midst of a panic attack I must’ve dialed his number - to no avail- a good 5 or 6 times. I’d never done that to him before. I wasn’t aware that his mother had seized his phone for the meantime to cut our communication- I was scared and confused as to why I couldn’t reach him. I learned later that in this time she’d also been in contact with my mother, who’d insisted that J return to the hospital upon my discharge, or that he order an Uber for me, which of course wasn’t going to happen under his mother’s watch- I wasn’t their family’s responsibility to begin with.

My mother picked me up the next morning, after I’d met the psychiatrist and had been deemed fit for discharge. We collected my belongings from in front of J’s home. We haven’t spoken since- neither his best friend nor his sister have a clue as to whether he has his phone (sis had moved out- she did see him the day before yesterday and said that he had cried when he’d told her he missed me.) The single text I’d sent to J’s phone on the day of the discharge was delivered, with no reply, so I haven’t been blocked either as far as I’m aware- but I’m terrified to try again. 

Since coming back to the apartment, my mom has left to couch surf- I have the room, and a good relationship with my grandma. I’m working on eating. I’ve signed up for a statewide work-for-benefits program- I’ll be in therapy, I’ve followed up on four job applications and succeeded in getting a job TODAY. I start over the weekend. I’ve done more in the past few days than I’d accomplished in months, but in these few days I’ve also had more time to consider what I’d done- the overwhelming thoughts are even louder in the absence of my loved one and his reassurance. I never meant to impose or take advantage of J’s and his family’s kindness. I’d sincerely thought that I’d pull myself together, and make it up to them when I had, but I didn’t make it happen in time. Something that his mother had said to me in the hospital resonated deeply with me, and fills me with guilt and self-loathing; J happily enabled me, and I had happily accepted. I had always been honest with him about how guilty I’d felt when he’d spend on me, how lenient he was with my being there, how badly I wanted to change myself and the situation to something that everyone could be happy with- I could’ve argued with him about it more, convinced him that I wasn’t worth it and to put me up in a shelter, but he’d always assure me that everything was alright, that he wanted me there with him and that we would make everything work- even up until the moment he couldn’t go further into the hospital with me, and stood at the door of the ‘holding area’ crying, motioning for me to call and blowing kisses through the window. It was entirely my fault that things went the way they had. Now I’ve done almost everything that I meant to do but possibly too late. I don’t know how to begin making amends to him and his family, whether I can, or how to get back in contact with him- I don’t know whether he has his phone back, or if something’s changed and he’s decided to ghost me. I understand that this is a fresh wound, and I’ll need to be patient if I want ANYTHING to happen, but I miss him desperately every day- strained family situations aside we were very much a couple madly in love. I want to share the good that I have to offer now with him; to set healthy boundaries and contribute more to his life. I never meant to harm anyone. Is there a safe time period to wait before reaching out again, either to him or his mother, with an apology? Does it even sound like I have a chance?