Dear Therapist

Happy third anniversary to us! Yup I said happy! Can you believe I’m actually saying the “H” word?

If you’d have told me three years ago that I’d still be seeing you weekly three years down the line I’d have scampered for the door faster than you could say “Wait!” But if I’d have known how I’d feel three years down the line I’d have planted myself in your office armchair never wanting to leave. Actually that’s not entirely true — three years ago I couldn’t imagine happiness or envision how much I could change. Like you told me early on I didn’t know how amazing life is supposed to feel! How amazing love can feel.

I looked at you like you were crazy. I have several kids — what do you mean I don’t know what love means?! The possible insinuation was left unspoken the truth too ugly to be verbalized. Now I know what you meant. I’ve felt a glimmer and I want more. So much more. I want to reach for the stars and I know I can. With time. With you cheering me on.

I’m the dreaded client. The client with borderline personality disorder no one wants to take on. The one that drains you. But you never faltered in your belief of me. I wrung you dry was obstinate and mean disrespectful and needy yet you still held on tight. I’m sure there were many times you wanted to throw in the towel. But you didn’t. That fierce loyalty and love more than anything was the mainstay of my rebirth.

You were strict with me many times but you never failed to remind me that you won’t abandon me. That nothing I can say or do will make you cut me loose. G-d knows how many times I tested you. You passed with flying colors. That made me hate you more sometimes. Why couldn’t my mom love me like that? You must believe in me only because you don’t know the real me.

So I bared my ugly teeth some more. And still you held tight. There was always an abundance of hurt and blame for me to lean back on. And I did shamelessly and foolishly. But still you held on tight. You cried with me occasionally laughed with me and through it all you stayed by my side — steady like the rise of the morning sun.

There wasn’t a magical firework moment when everything changed. Rather it was a slow miniscule evolution. So small sometimes I wondered if it was real. I wasn’t prepared for the last breakdown when it came. I thought I was doing so well. That day I crawled into bed and said “That’s it. I’m done.” But you weren’t done. You called me you called my doctor. You let me know in so many ways it’s not over.

But you were wrong. It was over. The old me was over that is. Maybe it was the hitting rock bottom for the umpteenth time. Maybe it was the meds change. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was the total exhaustion of cleaning up yet another mess. Of always contorting myself to be good enough. Or maybe it was a little bit of everything but slowly very slowly little starbursts erupted inside.

I wanted to live fully. I wanted to be happy. The slow evolution inside picked up speed so fast it was like I was flying! I was flying with the wind and never wanted to land. I know that sooner or later a crash will come. It always does. I’m not bitter about it I’m just realistic. But whatever happens — it’s surely Hashem’s plan for me. When that crash comes I’ll be ready bracing myself so I can fall just right so I can pick myself up real fast and continue soaring.

Soaring through the pain and struggle. I know I’ll have you at my side. And the voice inside your voice will tell me it’s okay. As long as I keep going. And I will b’ezras Hashem.

To all therapists out there: If you have a client like me — the one who’s so frustrating she makes you feel like a failure — know that you can’t save her from herself. But you can believe in her. Believe in her so someone does. Because nothing is as sad as hopeless as being given up on.

To my dear dear therapist I hope you get as much joy watching me soar as I do flying. Thank you for giving me wings.

Your Client with BPD