Yesterday I got an incredibly precious present: Words that mended something inside me that was blurry and broken until now. The words made me feel that I have a family I’m allowed to call family – people with some of whom I’m not even related but who are there and do what a family’s supposed to do. I can’t even begin to say what this is doing to me – I’m so touched and amazed that I of all people get such a chance.

That happens frequently since I’ve started to “open up” – until then I tried hard not to let anyone see how I really feel for all of my life to the point where I got so ill that I had to change something. So I started talking to people although it is still far outside my comfort zone and what’s coming back surprises, touches and heals me.

What’s also coming up (BPD wouldn’t BPD if it was that easy) is this immense fear of losing all that. The impulse to push these people away in order to give them no time to run from me. The assumption that they will all move to another planet and leave me behind. “Stop!”, I shout at this fear because I don’t want it to ruin everything again. That’s hard as it feels like a real, immediate threat like everyone I love will be gone by tomorrow.

I long for this child-like feeling of trust that my family is not just there but also will be there tomorrow, that this is not a dream, that I deserve this – I long for not asking questions and for not assuming that these people will change their mind when they come to see that I take too much and give too little. I want to believe that everything is fine and that I’m safe – and that’s exactly what the words I got made me feel like. Gratitude is too weak a word for what I feel.


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