Navigating relationships with borderline personality disorder can be challenging, both for the one suffering from the disorder and for others involved. Depending on severity and manifestation of symptoms, some relationships suffer more than others – generally, though, the closer a relationship is, romantic or platonic, the worse it suffers.
In my experience, romantic relationships are hit the worst. I don’t make myself vulnerable to really anyone other than those I’m romantically involved with. That is to say I put up walls between myself and others, and typically the only people who are allowed within those walls are those I get romantically involved with, or more accurately those that I attempt to trust.
BPD is highly characterized by difficulties trusting others. Whether that’s from past trauma or just some weird inexplicable phenomenon, who can know for sure. BPD often follows some sort of childhood trauma, whether it’s parental or peer neglect, sometimes ranging to abuse but not always, or other trauma, oftentimes of a social nature. I personally believe my BPD is a result of my family’s difficulties as I grew up from a young age. As my mom battled cancer and depression, she tried to raise three kids essentially by herself, and from a young age I was making myself responsible for my siblings and myself, especially when my mom would have to travel for treatment. I had difficulties forming relationships with my peers, and I would get attached to people, very easily, to the point that it was unhealthy. I particularly remember one “friend” I made at one point: she ended up yelling at me that if I kept “following her around,” she wouldn’t be friends with me, or something to that effect. I went and cried under a table somewhere and never talked to her again. I had to have been maybe 7 then. I seem to recall not reaching out to people so much after that.
When you have a fundamental inability to trust others, it’s hard to connect. My BPD is honestly not that severe, relatively. There have been times in my life where it was very bad, but after DBT treatment and some psychological healing, it has gotten easier to take people at their word and form healthy relationships. I have some good friends, for example, and am forming a healthy romantic relationship for once. Not every romantic partner I’ve had in the past has been a bad person exactly, but many times, when I’ve entered a relationship, it has been out of the sort of desperation BPD can create, where I attached to someone out of fear of abandonment, out of not wanting to be alone, out of the need to feel like I was someone. And they didn’t usually realize that the relationship was a product of my mental illness, as far as I know, so I can hardly blame them for it.
It’s easier to feel like you know who you are when someone else is there to tell you who you are. When you don’t have a sense of identity, it’s terrifying to be by yourself. Perhaps that’s why it was so hard for me when I was medicated for the psychotic symptoms of my schizoaffective disorder. The voices told me who I was. Even though everything they said was bad, taking them away was, in a way, like taking me away too. I no longer had any idea who I was. So my psychosis sort of took advantage of my BPD lack of self-identity. It’s sort of the same with those who break down those walls with BPD, leading to a severe fear of abandonment.
Throughout the years being treated by my current psychiatrist, the one who diagnosed me with BPD initially, I’ve attempted creating a few different relationships. My psychiatrist would always first say, “Now, I’m not your dad, but…” and then discuss with me the type of partner I need, as someone with BPD. My last serious attempt was with someone who was, how should I say, somewhat sexually promiscuous. The attempt before then was with someone who is very possibly a narcissist – which is fairly common for someone with BPD. People with BPD tend to attach to narcissists, and I’m honestly ashamed it took me so long to detach from him again. But we all make mistakes, and I’m a victim of my illnesses. All I can do is try to avoid following that path again. My current boyfriend, whom I’ve been dating for a few months now, came with me to my appointment with my psychiatrist yesterday. I think he made a very good impression, as he was engaged when appropriate and asked questions, making it clear he wants to understand my illnesses better and how he can support me through them. My psychiatrist approves of what I’d already told him about my boyfriend. I think he’s the first guy I’ve dated that my psychiatrist truly approves of. That being said, he always admits he doesn’t know what goes on behind closed doors.
Even now, after a few months together, I find myself staring at my boyfriend’s face sometimes because I’m afraid he’s going to disappear. I don’t even necessarily mean he’s going to leave and not come back, or he’s going to ghost me. I mean I’m afraid he’s going to vanish right in front of my very eyes. I find that I want to memorize his face in case he disappears. I need to know he’s real and that he’s there. The book “I Hate You — Don’t Leave Me”, a good book about BPD, starts with a real case of a woman who would do similar things with her husband and child. She would stare at their pictures to “keep them alive in her mind.” It was only recently that I connected the two.
People with BPD, especially at younger ages, seem to still struggle with object permanence. Not to the same extreme that babies do, but it can make new relationships a bit challenging. This compares to my comparison of BPD emotions to a child’s emotions – that, to me, having BPD feels like part of me never really grew out of childhood. The meltdowns over “small” issues, the emotional disturbances, the lack of permanence – perhaps that’s why it is, overall, a personality disorder.
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