Thank you to the author who sent me their answer out of nowhere.

Quora: What does it feel like to have borderline personality disorder?

Answer: It’s like being half in love with death, resigned to having my hopes and dreams raised and dashed against treacherous storms of my own devising. Love is the false prophet and it’s prophecy more alluring than any Siren, more deadly, more beautiful, more distracting, more devouring, in the end more self-destructing. The prophet comes in the shape of a smile, a kind word, a friendly soul willing to hear you out. The emperor has no cloth but we are blind. Once it has you in it’s grip, once you are over the event horizon; past the point of no return, you will not be never be the same again. I was drawn like a moth to the flame again and again; unaware and naive in the beginning but never again, then afterwards love was to me like Sisyphus to his rock, always pushing and always falling back. Love was my end all and be all. Never was there was a better example of Camus’s absurd.

What a question! Borderline relationships is like watching a train wreck but not as horrified spectator but as the barely conscious driver numb from the remembrance of past happenings. Even a forest fire may seem surreal and beautiful from a distance but be careful or you will be burned.

I am burning.

“My words cut like knife and butter” but their silence burns away at me like an out of control chain reaction that erupts in tears, blood and scars. Others, oh hellish others. Gods or monsters to me but never human because being human is beneath my notice, my love and my hate, my admiration and my contempt. The DSM calls this idealization and devaluations but Aristotle’s words preceded that catalog of horrors by civilizations and eons and rings truer. I delight in contrasting opposites, an artifact of a disorder whose theme and motif is chaos and disorder looking for salvation in order, for a lifeboat. “Do I contradict myself? Very well I contradict myself, I am large and I contain multitudes”- but if only I didn’t fear and hate what I want most.

Screaming and crying and acts of blind fury and jagged words I have made into an art-form. An art form that kill it’s audience and crushes my soul with guilt. One would imagine having people run away from you is the worst nightmare of a borderline, indeed it is so. But knowing that my actions are probably responsible for them doing so, not able to help myself, being stuck in a melodrama and reality show whom I am the star but a helpless one is far more draining in the long run. “Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned.” I am at war with myself, my thoughts polarizing between acts of hatred and love until I do not know which is which. Words and promises are fickle and people even more so until the phrase don’t trust anyone is a personal motto out of necessity.

“Oh words! What crimes are commited in thy name”, the crime of promises past haunts me through out my waking hours and taunts me in my sleep. I am haunted by visions of what could be if I JUST DIDN’T FREAKED OUT AND RUINED A GOOD THING.

Is the high worth the pain? I don’t know because I lack a choice in the matter. Pain and pleasure comes hand in hand, but that’s how I know I’m alive. There is meaning in suffering for a reason, no meaning in being lost and numb.

I am always lost. Loneliness is my occupation and people a desperate refugee from my apathy and creeping nihilism. Look at how alive they are, with their perfect flaws and dreams of a better future. Look at their capacity to love without misgivings and their trust so freely given. Their ability to belong, their fantastically consistent personality and sense of self. We boderlines lose ourselves in others, we are hungry for what we do not have. We can not stand the pain of being alone and the terror of not being alone. We oscillate between love and hate because we project onto our loved ones a microsm of our inner state that we perceive from the world. We project our demons writ large onto the world because we can not hold them. Horror stories of BPD abounds, and they are horrible stories. But to those people, I say this. You think it’s bad when we take it out ON you, alas what you feel is just a small infinitesimal fraction HOW WE FEEL ALL THE TIME 24/7.

We are alone.

We would rather die than to be alone. But our love and behavior makes people run away from us.

Repeat ad infinitum.

Link to something very similar and relevant to the borderline experience. How to find true friends (and love) in 45 minutes (Wired UK)Academic Source: The Experimental Generation of Interpersonal Closeness: A Procedure and Some Preliminary Findings

“So are we producing real closeness? Yes and no,” the authors wrote. “We think that the closeness produced in these studies is experienced as similar in many important ways to felt closeness in naturally occurring relationships that develop over time. On the other hand, it seems unlikely that the procedure produces loyalty, dependence, commitment, or other relationship aspects that might take longer to develop.”

Will update as my whimsical nature and impulsive brain deems it fit.