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First thing on Monday; Anita came in to my office and asked me if I could make time free on Thursday morning – she wanted to show me something. I guessed it would be her time to be open about her past – the previous weekend she had ground away several the layers covering mine. I didn’t want to push her for more information – it could easily backfire – but I was determined to know more about her by the end of the coming weekend. This time, it would be her turn!
So, on Thursday morning, I picked her up by car and followed her directions through town. It didn’t take long before she directed me to a parking place. I was about to leave the car, when my eyes cached the sign next to the door of the beautiful building; I froze.
“I’m not going in there!” I felt betrayed, standing in front of ‘Sunwood Practice. Family Counseling and Psychology Center.’ “You can’t do this to me. If you think I need help, you can talk with me, but don’t set me up for a psychiatrist. I’m not crazy, and I don’t need this kind of shit!”
Anita sighed; looked as if I’d hurt her feelings. “It’s a psychologist, not a psychiatrist, and it is for me, not for you…”
“Don’t come up with this ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ crap! I’m not going in – you can go alone if you want, but I’m not going with you!!”
“Will you listen to me for a moment!?” she said, raising her voice, “I mean it when I say that it’s for me – I’ve been in therapy for the last six weeks!!”
“Really?!!” That was unexpected! “Why?”
“Come with me, and you’ll find out!”
Still suspicious, I stepped out of the car, and followed Anita inside the building. Near the entrance was a reception desk with an older lady behind a computer. Further inside was a wide area with in the middle a coffee machine in front of a large screen, and several doors on the side.
Anita walked directly to the reception. “We have an appointment with Dr. Simon.”
The receptionist looked in her computer and nodded. “Please take a seat. The doctor will be with you in a minute.
Anita walked to the coffee machine. “Coffee?”
I nodded, and waited while Anita got coffee and a tea for herself. We moved to a small table behind the screen. I assumed there were more tables behind the next screen, shielding off the visitors. On the walls were posters, displaying information about provided help, and there were racks with folders.
A lady about my age walked by and Anita stood up, indicating me to follow her. The lady shook Anita’s hand, told her to follow, and turned her back on us, obviously ignoring me. Anita, however, wasn’t to be ignored. “This is Ruben, my boyfriend!”
She turned and came back to shake my hand. “Oh, hi Ruben. My name is Demi Simon; nice to meet you. Maybe you can wait here until Anita and I are finished?”
“But…” sputtered Anita, “can’t he come with us today? I thought maybe it would be good for him to know what’s going on – no secrets and things like that?”
“Sorry Anita, you cannot bring people in without first discussing this with me. So if you’ll follow me?” Her voice was friendly, but authorative.
“Can’t we just make one exception for today? I’ve promised him; he took a day off for this, and I really think this is important for us!” Anita was persuasive, but the lady remained adamant. “I am not going to talk on the hall with you; you can either follow me and we will discuss this inside our room, or we can make a new appointment and you can leave now.”
Anita looked like a small girl, being told off by her teacher. She quickly kissed my cheek and whispered “I think you can come in later” in my ear. Then, she followed Dr Simon inside a room. The door was closed, and I was on my own.
I sat down and looked around. I was shielded by the screens, but they also blocked my view. All I could see were the white walls and the doors, lights above them indicating whether the room was occupied or not. I waited, but Anita did not return.
I didn’t feel for walking around, and it seemed weird to show interest in the posters and folders, so I took my mobile phone and started reading the news. A few times, other people walked by, making me feel uncomfortable. They wouldn’t think that I…?
After I had read the news, I started scrolling through Facebook, but my mind wandered. Why were we here? Why did Anita see a shrink, and why did she bring me with her, while I wasn’t allowed to attend their meeting?
Time crawled by and nothing happened, except for occasional people walking by. In all this time, none of them looked like someone in need of psychiatric help – perhaps this practice didn’t deal with difficult patients.
And then, after about forty-five minutes, finally the door opened, and Anita came out. In the door opening, she turned and waved; “See you next week!” In her hand, she was holding a leaflet, but I couldn’t see what it was about.
I stood up and Anita kissed me on the cheek “I’m sorry for this. I didn’t expect her to be this difficult… Are you coming with me?” She told the receptionist that she already had an appointment for the next özbek escort week, greeted, and then we walked out.
Once back in the car, I turned to Anita. “So, what happened?”
“Let’s go in town and have some drinks first!”
We went to a terrace and ordered our drinks and cake. “And now you tell me what you’ve done!” I said, after our order was served, but Anita resisted. “I can’t talk about that right here! I’ll tell you when we get home.” However, once we finished our cake and drinks, Anita tried to persuade me into the shopping – she needed new clothes… And when I refused, she told me we couldn’t go home, because we needed to be back at work in the afternoon – “I can’t take a whole day off, each time I have an appointment there!” However, I insisted on going home – she had some explanation to do, and I didn’t want to wait any longer. And so we drove back to her house.
Anita prepared coffee and tea, baked eggs, I made some sandwiches, and then we sat down.
“Here!” Anita pushed the leaflet in my hands.
“What is this?”
“It tells you why I’m seeing a psychologist.”
I looked at the leaflet, titled ‘Living with Borderline Personality Disorder’.
“Can’t you just tell me?”
“I will explain after you’ve read it.”
I saw a few photos, of a person behind a desk, a group people playing with a ball, and a drawing of a person without a face – seen that before… Reluctantly, fearing for what I might learn, I started reading.
‘What is BPD?
A person with BPD matches for at least 5 of the following 9 criteria:
Frantic attempts to avoid real or imagined abandonment
A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternation between extremes of idealization/devaluation
Identity disturbance; unstable self-image
Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging, e.g. sex, binge-eating, alcohol or drug abuse, chronic over-spending, gambling etc.
Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures or threats, or self-mutilating behavior
Affective instability due to marked reactivity of mood
Chronic feelings of emptiness
Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger
Transient paranoia or dissociation’
I felt sick. “Is this about Stephany?”
Anita shook her head. “No, this is all about me. I’m totally fucked up, and I can understand why you don’t want another relationship like this…”
I was confused. This wasn’t about Anita; this was about Stephany. Anita had nothing to do with this; I would have known – I would have noticed…
I looked at Anita, who turned her head away. “Don’t. Don’t make it harder than it already is. I love you and I will never forget you, but you have to go now.”
I felt totally bewildered, but I knew that the last thing I should do, was to go away. I recognized Stephany in most, if not all of the criteria, and if this was true – if Anita was the same – then leaving her now could be disastrous. What?!… What was I thinking – why was I even thinking about leaving…
I couldn’t believe I had not been allowed to attend the meeting today – how could they let me be alone with Anita, without providing any kind of support? My mind alternated in anger towards Dr Simon, pity towards Anita, and fear. If she really was like Stephany… Discussions, fights, tears; it all came back to me.
“Why don’t you go now? I want to go to work!” Anita pushed me, but in a quick reflex, I quickly grabbed her wrists. Like I had done so many times before. I had to think of something…
“Is this true? Is this you?” Anita looked away from me, while whispering “One hundred percent…”
I let go of her hands. “And have I told you today that I love you?”
Anita shrugged. “I don’t think so, but I don’t care. I know we can’t be together. You shouldn’t have to handle a fucked-up person like me. Even if you want to, I won’t let you!”
“I don’t think this is you! I have learned to know you as a fun-loving, sweet girl, playful and sexy as hell. The person I want to be with. Perhaps this” and I waved with the leaflet “is claiming some part of you, but it isn’t who you are!”
Now, Anita looked up at me. “And what do you know about me!! You don’t know shit!…”
“And I don’t give a shit!! Fuck it. I love you, I want you, and if you really are the person I’ve learned to know over the past few months, than I couldn’t care less. If those doctors can help us, fine; if they won’t, fine! Fuck them! I like you the way you are!! I’m not going to leave you. I’ll tie you up if I have to, but I’m not leaving you!”
Anita couldn’t suppress a nervous giggle, but turned her head away. “I’m not ready for a relationship with you!”
“I’m not ready for a relationship either, so let’s just continue what we’ve been doing before. Let’s just have fun together – I know you’re in for fun and I think we’re a pretty good match…”
“You mean: no strings, just fucking?”
“Not just fucking – I just paid way too much money for mecidiyeköy escort a few meters of rope, and it would be a waste not to use them…”
Apparently, bondage was the sensitive spot for Anita – she wiped her tears away and then threw her arms around me. “Perhaps you’re even crazier than I am…”
Obviously, I didn’t leave – not now. Instead, I wanted to know what it comprised. “So, what is Borderline exactly?” I started.
Anita took a deep breath, but remained silent, probably thinking about how to start.
“Is it true for you, the empty feelings and the rest?” For Stephany, I knew that was true – several times she had explained to me how cold, how lonely, how useless she felt – ’empty’ was literally the word she used to describe it. And I had always thought that all other issues started from there.
Anita swallowed. “Perhaps it is easiest to start at the beginning, I’ll start from when I was born, ok?”
In all those years, Stephany’s past had always remained a dark mystery to me, and I was convinced that it played a major role in her misery. What I did know was that she had been through a rough start in a disrupted family. Not something you’d like to talk about. If Anita had a similar past… “You should only do what you feel comfortable about – I mean, I don’t want to push you…”
“It’s ok. I’ve told this before, and actually it isn’t too bad… Tissue?
When I was born, I had a three years old sister, who was just diagnosed with cancer. She fought like warrior, and each time it looked like she would beat the death, but every time, death came up with another trick. She went from therapy to therapy, revalidations were followed by the next treatments, and finally, after battling for more than two years, she died.
After this emotionally exhaustive period, both of my parents collapsed in their own way. My father put all his energy into his job; he had work to catch up with. My mother became ill; she stayed in bed for most of the time, suffering from undiagnosed illnesses and depressions. So, while I needed to explore the world around me, my mother was a zombie, unable to go outside into the light, and my father was never there.
In the beginning, during my sister’s sickness, I often stayed with my grandmother, but when I was four, we moved to another place, too far for my grandmother to pick me up regularly. By that time, I was old enough to go to kindergarten, but most of the time my mother couldn’t get out of bed to bring me there. I knew all the children programs and all the advertisements from the TV; word by word, the exact intonation. At the kindergarten, they weren’t complaining about my absence, as I behaved very violently towards the other children, unable to play with them.
There was no more escape when I was six years old, although I still skipped many days. I had no problem at learning, but I strongly fought any kind of discipline. The teachers were desperate; I refused to follow the rules, and I had no problems beating up other children, even inside the classroom. School penalties were meaningless to me. I was suspended countless times, but that didn’t bother me; my mother hardly protested, and my father didn’t care at all. Three times I moved to another school, until, finally, one of the teachers seemed to understand me, and gave me the extra attention that I craved for.
When I was about twelve years old, I would sneak out of the house at night, and go to the bar. There were boys who would give me a sip of their drinks. Sometimes, they would ask me to go outside and show my pussy in return for another sip or even a draw of their joint; sometimes they would ask me to let them touch me. It didn’t take long to have my first sex experience. It felt good, watching older girls looking at the boys, knowing that I already had sucked them off. It was a feeling of power… status… In addition, I got drinks, joints, and pills. Somehow, my parents never noticed me coming home drunk or stoned.
When I was fifteen, things went terribly wrong; probably a wrong mix. I ended up in coma, my best friend, Gemma, died. My parents were shocked – they had never seen this coming… and I truly believe them – we had developed such a pattern; this was outside of their vision. All of a sudden, my parents started to pay attention and I was grounded. I managed to sneak out a few more times, but then my father literally placed bars on the windows, and a lock on the door. I managed to kick through the door twice, and once the doorframe gave in, but then my father got some professional stuff, and I was locked away.
At that time, I started cutting myself. I felt lonely, empty, and didn’t know what to do. The first time, I found a hobby knife, and started pulling it over my wrists. It was extremely sharp, and immediately I drew blood. I was shocked, started screaming and my mother ran in. She fainted, so I threw a glass of water over her to wake her up. Then, we raced to the hospital. But at the hospital, the doctors were neither shocked nor impressed. They cleaned it up and applied a simple bandage. They azeri escort told me to stop playing games, and gave my mother the advice to find me some psychological help.
I’d already seen a psychiatrist at the hospital after returning from my coma, and knew I didn’t like them. They seemed to look right through me, but still they didn’t care about my feelings. I had no intention to share my deepest thoughts with anyone, let alone someone like them, and I didn’t want to tell anyone what happened at night – I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble and I had no intention of quitting. I was sent to therapy a number of times, but I didn’t say a word, so in the end they gave up. And my parents got the advice to keep sharp objects away from me.
I started scratching and they cut my nails; I had to hand in the teaspoons after drinking, but they could never avoid it. It turned into a game, and a splinter, a piece of plastic, even paper could be used. They could check on me every fifteen minutes, but I only needed one minute to do the damage.
My parents tried everything – they even tried getting me locked up in a mental institution, but my obstructions always made me get away with it. In the end, they found the solution; they sent me to live with my grandmother. I loved her unconditionally and she loved me too; I could never hurt her, so I kept myself in control, and managed to finish secondary school without further issues, barring a few fights. My grandmother allowed me to go to parties, but would always wait until I came back; drinking or smoking was not allowed. She would know!
Next, I went to university. As I had behaved exceptionally well, those last years, no-one really worried about me. And my school results were excellent; it would be a waste not to let me go to university, even though it meant I had to live by myself.
First, I started studying law. I was told they have the best parties. I still don’t understand how I ever got there in the first place, and I had to leave after one year – I’d been drunk and stoned for most of the year and failed every test. Both my parents and grandmother were furious, and threatened to take their hands off me.
Then, I decided to go for chemistry and went to another city. My parents were still paying the necessary school-costs, but I had to work to get money for food and drinks. I started serving in a restaurant but was kicked out when they found me with a customer in the storage room. Then, a friend of me introduced me to a call center. One day, sometimes twice a week, was sufficient to cover all the costs, and I enjoyed the thrill. It was a student call center, and I’m not sure if it was mandatory, but the manager insisted I would put some effort in my study – sufficient to pass the necessary tests. I had to show my marks – I think she secretly had a crush on me and only whished the best for me. I’d always enjoyed chemistry – no clue why I had chosen a law-study first – and without much effort I managed to pass my exams; after five years, I had my diploma. I knew this would make my grandmother feel proud at me again.
In the first year at the Uni, I met Marc, and soon I moved in with him. He knew about my work and didn’t mind. He didn’t mind at al. He always had friends coming over, drinking, blowing, and they were welcome to make use of me. In return, I would get smokes, pills and cocaine. It really is a miracle how I got my diploma…
Marc didn’t care. Marc didn’t care at all. As long as he had his smokes and his drinks, he didn’t complain. The house was filthy, stinking and noisy. Several times the police came over to warn us, to take away the sound system, but the next day a friend would come and bring another one.
Eventually, we were kicked out of the house; I guess because Marc hadn’t paid the rent, and it was me who had to find a new place – clean record… Once it was me, paying the rent, I started to get annoyed by his laziness – the filth offended me, and it only seemed fair that he would take care of cooking, at least once in a while. Marc would beat me up, and a few times I had to cancel work, as I couldn’t go to my clients like that. If I wanted food, or if I wanted a clean house, I had to do it myself. And I had to keep my filthy fingers from his belongings… I confiscated a room for myself, and spent most of the time in there, learning, reading and surfing the internet.
Soon, Marc realized that he could let me order his drinks and his weed – he would pay me back later… Drinks were fine – you can go to any shop for them. Buying weed, and especially cocaine, sucked. You never knew what kind of dope-heads you would meet. I needed to work three, sometimes even four times a week now.
Our fighting intensified, I also got into arguments with his friends, and even at school I started fighting again. I was close to being expelled. I felt lonely, full of anger, and after one of my fights with Marc, I took a rope, tied it on a nail in the wall, put it around my neck and jumped. The nail didn’t stay and I fell on the ground. Marc had heard me falling and saw me gagging; the rope strangled around my neck. He dragged me by my hair and threw me out of the door – no fuckin games inside his house… After an overdose, I found myself in the hospital, but he never came to visit me… When I returned home, I was almost immediately sent out to get him a joint…
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