I’m ready to go in. I dip my toes first, then I let my body slowly sink in the cold water of August. I find myself floating gently while the water is dancing around my neck. I was absorbing the heavy smell of the lake, invading my soul with appeasement. I was thankful for the silence of the water: the seal of the confessional.
I often wonder what it would be like if I stayed by your side, if we never broke up. My apartment felt empty the minute you left, and I stuffed your portion of the bed with silence and alcohol.
English is not my maternal language,
I suffer from borderline personality disorder (BPD). Movies and books have shown quite a few borderlines, but none of them truly expose what it is to be a borderline.