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BPD: The Beauty and Violence of Feeling Everything

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BPD: The Beauty and Violence of Feeling Everything

Home » Loneliness

Wikipedia uses “The Brooch” by Edvard Munch as an illustration for Borderline Personality Disorder. A soft and uneasy face surrounded by an imposing amount of dark mass and uncontainable wavering lines, her gaze feels distant like the one of someone who’s finally unwillingly surrendered after fighting for too long. Her brooch at the bottom centre of the painting, a fixed point in the midst of it all, a weak attempt to hold it all together. 

When I was diagnosed with BPD 3 years ago, I felt my heart sink to my guts, I was hit with the realisation that this was my forever. I sat in my psychiatrist’s office as he handed me a prescription  of pills, my vision blurred by all the tears. I asked myself in that moment if it was worth being alive if it meant that I had to be medicated to feel normal. It was a tough and lonely battle for months, trying to keep it together and to appear as stable as possible. It was coincidentally during the first relationship that felt real to me, the first time I think I really fell in love. I was terrified to lose that because of my state, to be seen differently, to be misunderstood.

But when the pills didn’t work and I dragged myself back to that stale office, I was told that it was maybe time to take “a breather”, that I was to expect a call for them to pick me up, so that I can be amongst big trees and by the river, where I’d make friends with people that’ll understand and I would be fed a cocktail of more pills that will allow me to “relax”. Funnily enough, because of the medication I was on, I had really deep sleeps that made me miss the phone call. I never called them back because I didn’t want it to win. It was the first and best step I have taken to growing out of it and although the path has been rocky ever since, I have never hit a low that bad in a very long time. All it took was showing up for myself whenever I could. 

I didn’t tell anyone apart for Ruby, because I have never hid anything from her. I carried that shame for a very long time. 

I have the type that is incredibly concealed and controlled, some call it “quiet BPD”. Externally I am high functioning, I have strong friendships and maintain them well. I hold commitments and am able to keep jobs. I have been told many times that I am a calming presence and complimented me on my emotional intelligence. It takes a lot for me to lose it during arguments, I’d have to be very comfortable or pushed to the limit. Many actually come to me for advice for the matters of the heart or to find guidance in complex relationship dynamics. I listen intently and am careful with my words adjusting them to the person in front of me. From the outside I look like the opposite of it all. 

BPD is constantly portrayed by chaos and volatility, I am none of that. All that external madness that is expected of me is turned inwards, despite the occasional moodiness in front of those I feel most comfortable with, everything happens inside. This happens because I understood from very early on that showing these big emotions and having these big reactions can lead to abandonment and rejection, BPD’s biggest triggers. 

Once triggered, this distress is silently brutal, lonely and dark. Chronic shame and intense self-criticism that if heard out loud would make many fall to their knees and breakdown. Days on end ruminating and over-analysing relationships dynamics, day dreaming about scenarios and coming up with solutions to get ahead if they ever were to come true. Working over time to stop myself from doing insane impulsive decisions to not let the mask fall that leads to such emotional exhaustion that I end up feeling so numb and dissociate for days. Many may not know this but one of the main symptoms of BPD is severe body dysmorphia. I have no idea what I truly look like as a whole. Every mirror feels like a fun house mirror, constantly shape shifting. This is equally true when it comes to my self-worth one instance can take me from one extreme to the other, one moment I am god and the other I do not deserve anything good to happen to me ever. Those who truly know me and have had a glimpse of this often sit there perplexed by this all, asking how is that I cannot see what it is they see in me, why it is so hard for me to be kind to myself. I just tell them that my own brain and the way that I am wired makes it very hard to do so. I wish I was as brave as the people with regular BPD, the way they allow themselves to reveal their true selves despite sometimes being perceived as crazy and unruly. How free they are in their madness, how freeing it must feel to play out impulsions letting it all go and have nothing pent up anymore. But I find peace in knowing that at least I am not hurting others and that I love myself enough to not let this condition rob me from the connections I cherish most and to let make me make irreversible decisions that will harm me later. 

I pride myself on working very hard to finding ways to soothe myself and to heal the effects of the things that happened to me that led me to be the way that I am. I try to give myself grace and reassure myself that it what happened is not my fault. I try my best to not be angry and instead keep it pushing because what happened happened and I can’t reverse it. Those who have harmed me will not be the ones that will fix it, so all I can do is take matters into my own hands. 

And of course, to see beauty in it. There are such beautiful traits in Borderline Personality Disorder. And if you, reading this, have BPD let me remind you of the wonderful things of this condition of ours. 

Never loving halfway.  

I recall having a group conversation with a few people somewhere in Manhattan about girls with BPD. Two young men had opposing views on their experiences dating them. One had a difficult time dealing with the mood swings and outbursts and the other well saw it differently. He said that he had never been loved by someone like this particular girl, sure she may have reacted oddly to certain things and needed more reassurance than most but, there was something pure about the love he experienced with her. She never loved half way.

They conversed about this not knowing about my condition yet it was interesting to see an outside perspective on the matter. I have always wondered if people felt the intensity that we as BPD people, feel. When we love, admire, or trust someone, it can feel consuming, immersive, and emotionally total. I sometimes even have strong physical reactions to feelings for others. It feels like I am about to burst open. It resembles child like adoration, curiosity arises and I find the need to understand the ins and outs of the person. Everything about them matters. Deep questions about them may feel like probing but it is just just genuine interest, I feel the need to know it all. And after observing them so much, I find myself loving things that they have not even noticed about themselves. I may have just met you but if I like you already I will have no trouble giving you anything, people close to me tell me all the time that some moments are not appropriate and some are not deserving however it feels like second nature. And when well received, I know that I can make anyone’s life better and it will never feel like work, my heart is big enough. And I personally think that’s an awesome skill. 

This is something that I show even more in my friendships, there is nothing more important to me than making those around me feel special, heard and seen. I have been blessed with friends that understand me and have big enough hearts to receive all this love I have for them. 

Now that I know I am capable of loving this deeply, I’ve had to learn not to cross my own boundaries in the process. Just because I can give the world to someone does not mean I should. That kind of care should be earned too; just because devotion comes easily to me does not mean everyone deserves access to it. I had to fight the quiet panic that told me I had to give everything of myself in order to be worthy of staying for, as if abandonment could only be avoided through self-sacrifice. But I am learning that people leaving will never kill me, because I will always have my own back. I am beginning to understand that love was never meant to feel like the slow exhaustion of oneself. It is also meant to feel peaceful. Gentle. Easy.

You are not too much, you may have just been giving your love and care to someone that is not able to receive it. It may feel tiring that it seems to always feel one sided, but you probably have just been pouring it all  in the wrong places. When done right, I promise it will be cherished and reciprocated. 

Deep Empathy and Emotional Insight.  

Because relationships to others can feel emotionally high stakes, we become extremely skilled at catching things that other’s don’t—micro expressions, minor shifts in demeanour and tone, body language etc. And because we have feel everything so intensely this has led us to feel deeper empathy for others. This means if anyone is going to clock you are feeling unwell or uneasy it is a person diagnosed with BPD and on top of that we are going to work overtime to fix it. I have found myself unable to enjoy a social gathering because I can feel that someone feels left out of uncomfortable and try my best to fix that. Someone with BPD may feel like home in a new space and will know how to make sure you are okay and feel seen.

Everything and more. 

I always say that having Borderline Personality Disorder is, in some ways, the most intense form of experiencing life to its fullest. Every emotion feels amplified, every feeling on steroids, and it’s difficult to fully put into words. There have been times when I’ve dreaded being this way, times when I’ve grown exhausted by the intensity of it all, but with a shift in perspective, I often find myself feeling grateful for it too. When even the smallest things go right, it can feel like heaven exists on Earth. A day spent rotting in bed with my friends or sharing a good meal with my mum can suddenly become something overwhelmingly beautiful, almost painfully wonderful in its intensity. And the bad feelings can feel just as consuming, like they might physically destroy me, sharp pains in the chest, a heaviness that makes everything seem dark even on the most beautiful day. It becomes difficult not to spiral into oblivion, difficult to believe there is any way out of something that, objectively, was never that deep to begin with. Yet despite it all, those moments also remind me how profoundly alive I am. They are proof that I am capable of feeling everything in its fullest form, even when it hurts. But maybe the best part is that when everything feels like it has burned down and the dust has finally settled, I somehow bloom back to life through the ashes. Each time, I return a little stronger, carrying a kind of peace that I imagine some people only ever experience in death.

Vahine Blaise, Bali, Indonesia,

May 2026

On the Run

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On the Run

Home » Loneliness

Sometimes it gets to me, the sheer loneliness of always being away. It is an odd concoction of feelings, this feeling of deep gratitude for the opportunities I have been given and the deep guilt of feeling unsettled and bad. My eyes have been fed with unbelievable beauty that the world has to offer, I have tasted such a colourful array of flavours, learned the subtleties of many cultures. I have gotten to know certain places intimately and have been lucky enough to visit some cities over and over again to the point that I feel the same familiarity and ease as I do at home. Homesickness is a rare occurrence, however when it hits, it absolutely destroys. I am inconsolable for a few hours, as the tears run down my face and I silently sob. I do not care to hide my face because I am in a city that is not mine and the faces I am met with, I will never see again. 

I have trouble declining opportunities, no matter how tired or afraid I am, I never say no. Because, there is no worse feeling to me than never knowing what could be. So I’ll hop on those planes, my knees may ache on the crammed economy seat and I maybe have landed from somewhere else just a few days ago before taking off again but I know that now I will know what could be. 

As I wait in an airport, dragging my feet and luggage across these sanitised super buildings from gate to gate, I watch friends, and couples and families traveling together, sharing the journey, something so dull and boring, becoming a part of their memories. I can’t help but feel like the day I moved schools at age 6 and saw all the girls grouping up with their friends they have made the years before, I sat alone and wondered when I was going to have friends too. I have the gift to remember the slightest details of very normal occurrences but all the trips to these massive airports have slowly meshed into one. So many hours feeling so insignificant. 

I run to places when things don’t work out the way they should, when things get hard, I fantasise about how this feeling of not doing enough or not being enough will change when I am far away. That the distance I create will, in time, make them miss me, need me. 

I run and hope that I’ll miraculously land in a place new where things will slowly unfold and without even realising everything would have had fallen into place. But, as the excitement of the new dies off slowly and the reality and that feeling of dread finally settles back, the urge to run again takes over. And before I know it, I am yet again planning my great escape. 

There is also this sense of constant feeling unfamiliarity that follows. I am so blessed to have people I am close to all over the planet, people that feel like home and take me into their homes and make me feel like I have always lived there too. But, once I step out of that intimacy and they bring me into their outside worlds is where I feel yet again like an outsider. Introduced to new people again and again, some faces I recognise from my last visits with whom I can somewhat have better conversations with apart from the small talk. I sit in silence with a slight smile as they recall funny anecdotes that include people I have never heard of. Some amazing connections have been made in the past and I have made plenty of friends but I never stay long enough to nurture any relationship for them to evolve into anything more than watching each other lives unfold through our social medias. 

This is also the same when I come home to the island after long stretches of time abroad, where I have to be introduced to newcomers by my life long friends. I am so unsettled by the closeness they have a created, maybe sometimes out of jealousy, riddled with the feeling of having had missed out on quality time with those I love most. Nothing sucks more than being the new girl in my own home. 

The rapid gentrification of the island can also be destabilising,  places that once brought me comfort are suddenly ripped away or built on without what it feels like no warning. My childhood neighbourhood once quiet, peaceful yet a little eerie is now just janky bars where frat boys black out. The charming beach shacks that sold the best lassis are now crushed by ginormous beach clubs. I have ran away from home and can’t seem to recognise anything anymore. Had I known things would change this way, I may have appreciated the life I once had. 

I wonder if all of the relationships I had left for months would’ve grown stronger or those who could’ve been would have become something real. If love would for once been real and safe without the knowledge that I would once again leave. If that one person I had met the day before my flight could’ve been the one. If I am ever capable to have a real relationship knowing that all I do is run. 

I have lived through so many serendipities and have lived most of my life aimlessly, a life filled with beauty. The unknown is exciting and scary, it’s filled with adrenaline and leaves a lot of space for wonder. 

Yet, a life where roots are planted a little bit everywhere or sometimes yanked out to be planted into new soils over and over again can be hard to care for, if abandoned will slowly die and if lackadaisically nurtured will never achieve its full potential and growth. I have planted pieces of myself everywhere, only to realise that without stillness, nothing truly takes root—not even me.

There are times where it is important to sit still and sometimes watch the paint dry. To sit in the discomfort and really sit on it. 

Because, no matter how often or how far I run, I can never outrun myself.

Vahine Blaise, Bali, Indonesia,

April 2026

The Quiet Between Us

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The Quiet Between Us

Home » Loneliness

“So, what was it you didn’t want to tell me?” He asked as we were driving in his father’s car. I started to cry from nervousness and maybe a little bit from embarrassment. I went to the psychiatrist for the first time a couple of days prior. My therapist recommended it; for the first time, he thought it might be necessary. I mean, looking back now, I think it was, too. I had trouble keeping my emotions from bouncing off the walls of my brain. Sleep made me, strangely enough, more tired. I knew I struggled with anxiety, but not like this, not the type that made it feel like my body weighed 1000 pounds, completely paralysing me from doing anything at all. But the one thing that bothered me most was the incessant thoughts of dying. It took over everything. I thought about the peace I would feel if I ended it all and the different ways I could do it without suffering too much. Unlike my teenage years, where I thought about all the ways I could inflict pain on myself, I now just wanted to go away peacefully. I felt like I was already hurting enough. I deserved to go away as fast as possible.

On the other hand, I feared being murdered or killed accidentally; I had to have control over how I went. I felt like I had no control over anything else. I deserved to choose when I would go. No one could take that away from me. So, I stood as far away as possible from the metro tracks in case someone with bad intentions was standing too close to me. I looked behind my back every other minute to make sure no one was trying to stab me. I smoked every cigarette with a deep fear that the one currently burning was the one that was going to give me cancer. 

The cold man with a slight lisp behind the desk looked at me straight in the eyes and calmly said, “You have BPD.” My world came crashing down because this meant dealing with this forever. This meant a constant battle with myself for the rest of my life. He prescribed me a low dosage of epilepsy medication, which apparently has side effects that can help with BPD. I was so upset with myself. I  always struggled with my mental health, and even when my family denied getting me help when I was younger, I achieved plenty of things. I was able to deal with it all, and I may have had issues suppressing certain impulsive decisions and random outbursts, but I was still functioning. Never in a million years did I think I was going to be the one on meds. I never thought it was something someone should be ashamed of, but I just didn’t want to depend on anything to be able to be “normal”. Finding this out on my late father’s birthday was also not helpful either. 

I sat silently for a moment and looked at my fingers. I felt suffocated by my seat belt, and all I wanted to do was jump out of the car. The tears kept coming, and I struggled to find the words to tell him. “Vivi, you can tell me anything. I’m here for you.” But was he going to be? After all, we’ve only been together for three months, and he’s only seen one side of me, the one everybody would like. How do I know he’s not going to leave me on the side of the road the instant he hears that I can think he is the most perfect person in the whole wide world one day and think he’s an absolute monster the next when he does something I didn’t like. Will he still be around when he realises that this means I have abandonment issues, that I’ll act certain ways because I am so scared that he’ll leave me?  How about the times I’ll have my super highs and then suddenly hit my super lows? Will he be able to keep up? 

“I have BPD.” “What’s that?” I gave him a quick rundown of what that meant. I tried my best not to make it sound too scary. He kissed me on the cheek and said I didn’t have to be scared to tell him and that he didn’t see me differently. This relieved me for a second, but some part of me knew that he believed it now, but it might not be the case when he actually experiences it. I promised myself I would do everything to hide this side of me from him, that he didn’t need to see it all. At the time, I saw this as protecting him from me, but was it actually just that fear of abandonment I mentioned earlier? 

The relationship ended five months later, but not because I had done anything. I’m sure it was the case because one of the last things he told me was, “If I had to wait for you to do something wrong to leave you, then that meant I would be with you forever.”

The relationship was a happy one; communication was clear, fights were tamed and respectful, and surprisingly, I had matured a lot and had very few impulsive reactions. I kept my word. It was odd because I was super happy, the happiest I had ever been with someone, but also terribly suffering on my own. I kept most things negative away from him and tried to keep a positive attitude at all times, and then when I went home, I could take the mask off. He could hear it in my voice at times on the phone when I wasn’t feeling well, but I always finished it with, “But don’t worry, I should be fine!”. The suicidal thoughts were incessant; the medication made me sleepy, so sometimes, when we were out together, I was fighting off the fatigue while still trying to stay present. It was a lonely fight like it has always been. Sometimes, I wish I had shared my pain with him more, but I refused to be the one to bring someone down with me. I admitted to him once when we were fighting that I didn’t share it all with him, to which he responded with “Thank you.” From that moment, I understood that he also didn’t want to hear it. It stung a little bit, and I didn’t know why then. I think because deep down, I wish he cared more and he actually wanted to know, but at least he was honest, and I should’ve seen it as a sign that the relationship would not survive for long. My mental health declined as time went on, and the medication didn’t seem to work very well. It came to a point where I found myself sitting in front of the psychiatrist again, balling my eyes out, asking him if my deep desire to die was a normal thought. He told me that no, it was not and that I would really benefit from going to a “retreat” for a few weeks. My heart sank, but I agreed. It was the last resort. I had officially hit rock bottom, and this I was deeply ashamed about. I really didn’t have any control anymore. I was scared to share a space with other mentally ill patients. The first thing I thought about was how self-harm scars so very easily trigger me, and I can’t handle seeing them even in movies. I was so afraid to see other patients with them. I was afraid of being force-fed medication. 

I naturally didn’t tell my boyfriend about this conversation, which I knew he couldn’t handle. 

Every time I hear that one line in Billie Eilish’s What Was I Made For?, “I’m sad again, don’t tell my boyfriend”, I think about this moment right here, comforted and yet deeply disappointed at the realisation that this isn’t an uncommon thing to go through as a woman. 

I missed the call from the “retreat” and ultimately decided not to go. I didn’t go because I was afraid but mainly because I was tired of letting it win. Something in me switched; a calm took over, and I have not spiralled as much as I used to ever since. The thing is, BPD is something that you can’t cure, but with the right tools, you can control it, and it only gets better with practice and time. So once I understood that I truly held the power, this changed everything for me. I didn’t realise it at the time, but I found a lot of my tools when I was “shielding” him from my condition. My fear of losing him forced me to have a grasp on my impulsivity and control over my intense emotions and the words that came out of my mouth. I practised patience when we would take some time from each other, forcing me to sit face to face with my abandonment issues, facing them head-on. When he eventually left for real, I was surprisingly okay. 

It saddens me that it took a man for me to make the effort to make the changes I needed yet I also feel this sense of pride that I am the type of person capable of wanting to better myself out of love and care for somebody else. 

I came to realise that I was too focused on doing what is “right” on my own and didn’t even think that getting support from my partner was an option for me, maybe subconsciously I thought I didn’t deserve it. I think I should’ve opened up a little more and tested the waters, communicated a little clearer still with a little caution. He on the other hand, was probably not ready to be in a relationship serious enough to have deep conversations about mental health or simply didn’t want to.

Now I wonder how it is I am supposed to balance things when I eventually get into another relationship. How do I ask for help and comfort without crossing anyone’s boundaries? Is it possible or even healthy to share everything with your partner? 

Honestly, I truly believe I won’t be able to know until I meet someone new. I feel like it’s one of those things where you learn as you go. And, having a playbook for this would be absurd because as cliché as this sounds, we are all so fundamentally different and all relationships have unique dynamics. All I know now is what it is I do not want, which to feel alone in a relationship. I do not want to feel ashamed of who I am and picking and choosing what side of me I will show and what side I will not. I’d like to know that every part of me is loved even if some can cause some complications. 

Sometimes, I wonder what my relationship would’ve been like if I had exposed myself fully to him. I even wonder if it would have flourished and if he would have loved me the same. I wonder if he struggled too and did not want to tell me because he was always committed to keeping things light. Did we both lie next to each other, silently suffering?  This is something I will probably never know. I am left with many unanswered questions but so many lessons learned. I’ve understood that hiding a huge part of myself has no benefit whatsoever, and even though I could do so in my previous relationship, it was a very short one, so god knows how long I would have realistically been able to keep that up. I had never expected him to save me and knew he didn’t have the power to do so, but I still wanted to feel like I was worthy of love despite what I was going through. It wasn’t all his fault and he did as much as he could with what was given to him. I wish I had expressed more and been brave enough even though there was a risk of him leaving me. Because at least I would’ve known that it was all real. However, I also strongly believe it is super important to understand other people’s limits, identify what things they can help you with, and what issues you should deal with with a professional because no one is capable of dealing with it all. It is unfair to expect them to do so.

Paris, March 2023