The worst about about Quiet BPD, at least for me, is when shit happens that feels like it confirms the constant, oppressive, lifelong, suffocating need for you to bury yourself under miles of repression. It hurts so bad to finally break above the surface and feel the metaphorical warmth of the sun on your "real self", only to validate your fears by sharing that version of yourself with the people you care about and almost immediately scare them away. 

You feel like you had all your crazy under control-- or, at least, under wraps. You were so good at hiding it that YOU didn't even know about it. YOU didn't even know you were repressed because YOU didn't know what it felt like to be anything else. And it felt GOOD not to be repressed. It felt GOOD to share your fears and anxieties with people for a change and, at least for a brief moment, to not be rejected for it like you feared. 

But when you're that good at repressing your shit, you discover there are a lot of people in your life who are going to have whiplash from all the crazy, hard-to-relate-to, alien thoughts you unload on them. And then those people start to pull back like you feared. And you can't even blame them, because you knew there was a reason you buried all that shit to begin with. You knew how it sounded; how it'd look. You knew it'd hurt and disappoint people. And it does. And when the dust settles, you realize they're right to be hurt. You hurt them because you don't have enough experience or emotional development YET to be vulnerable and honest without hurting people. Or at least that's the way it feels. 

Realizing you have Quiet BPD and realizing you don't HAVE to repress anything can feel like you're thawing out of an icy tomb, and that feels good, but then you get too hot, and it feels like you're burning alive from all the crap and discontent in your life that you've been ignoring. It feels like you have two choices at that point: soar onward and upward through the inferno of your dysfunction and hope you get through to the other side, functional and alive, or crawl back into your icy hole of repression and people-pleasing where at least you won't feel as much pain, even if you know it'll come at the cost of losing the feel of warmth that coaxed you out of your cozy, cold hole in the first place. 

BUT, I know it'll get better. I'm not going back in the hole. And I'm not going to blame the people I lose on my way out of this mess for getting scared and needing distance, as much as I want to and as much as it hurts. I'm going to survive this. I'm going to be okay. I'm going to trust that there's a clear blue sky on the other end of the inferno, and I'm going to get there. And so are you.