Borderline Personality Disorder Blog. Bipolar Disorder Blog. BPD. DBT. Cleveland. A Fragment in Orange.


This is something I wrote a while ago. It's not nice, but it's important.

I want someone to take care of me as I fall apart. To make decisions for me. To tell me what is wrong and what is right. To tell me not to worry. To tell me that I am special. To tell me that they will never ever leave me. To make a promise and keep that promise forever and ever. To tell me that one day I will be the same person that I was before.

I want someone who will not let me push them away when I am scared.

One guy, not important enough or lasting enough to mention by name, listened to my story, THE story, saying nothing, just listening, and when a lone teardrop rolled down my cheek, he wiped it away with his thumb and just kept listening. The most tender moment ever.

One guy, slightly more important and longer lasting, punched my spine, punched my kidney, and rammed his hand into my pussy until I bled.

“Punch me,” I had said.


“Anywhere. My face. Anywhere.”

“I’m not into giving pain.”

“Please, just hurt me.”

And he did.

One guy told me he loved me the first time we met. Later, he was on top of me, his sweat dripping onto my face. I kept my eyes open for the salty sting. “Cum on my face,” I said. “Really?” “Yes. Please.” And he did.

One guy wanted to use a condom. “No condom” I said. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Yes.” And he didn’t. Two weeks later I needed to take penicillin.

One guy tried to get me drunk. He kept handing me my glass saying “you’re not keeping up with me.” I laughed and said “Don’t worry. I’ll fuck you whether I’m drunk or not.”

One guy said “I’ll fuck you, but only if we keep it on the down low.” Fine.

One guy whispered poetry in Arabic as we lay together in the dark. Then he took off his clothes, kneeled over my face, and fucked my mouth, going so deep that semen oozed from my nostrils when he came.

No comments: