Page 124 of Breathe Again

“Then why not you?”

Why indeed.

“The thing is,” I replied slowly, “I don’t want to feel like I’m not enough anymore, and I don’t want to feel like I’m going it alone anymore. Just like I wouldn’t want that for Olivia, I don’t want it for me either.”

After dinner, again, another new song, ‘I Won’t Give Up’ by Jason Mraz, words that promised forever even when skies get rough.

I listened to all the songs and then opened Instagram. There were dozens of pictures, all new. I guessed most were taken by Olivia as Sirius was prominently featured. Zale took lots of pictures of Olivia going about her day, including a picture of Olivia sleeping, and several of Olivia looking lost. He photographed his poor attempt at making macaroni and cheese, it looked crunchy, and the resulting pizza order, my empty place in our bed from his viewpoint with the caption ‘I miss you’, my writing desk, my plants, the seeds for the garden that I’d ordered that had come in that day, the yard of earth that had been delivered and dropped on the driveway that I’d forgotten I’d ordered, Willa, Rhys, and Bex at our house with Olivia, a picture someone took of him and Olivia, him looking so lost.

I touched his handsome face through the screen. Sent ‘I miss you, too’ in the reply.

I needed to get home.

Zale

Marissa, the hospital therapist, had already met with Mara a few times, it was his turn now. As far as hospitals went it wasn’t bad, but the sterile environment, and the fact that his Mara was in here somewhere, all her passion and fire in lockdown, made his skin crawl.

Things had gotten so bad so fast. The diagnosis, the situation with Holly at the bar, Bea, his neglect, a perfect storm. He sat on the chair,waiting, his foot jiggling. He checked the time. He should be going in any moment. This appointment was one step toward getting her home.

A door opened and an attractive forty-something woman smiled at him. “Zale?”

He jumped up. “Yes, I’m Zale.” He powered forward. “Are you Marissa?”

“Yes, come on back.” She smiled again and waved him through the door.

This room was much more to his taste. Large comfortable furniture, wide windows, those little pillows in bright colors, art on the walls, good stuff like Willa might produce, and tons of plants.

“Does Mara have her sessions in here?”

“Yes, she does. Is that a good thing?”

He sat back on the couch, ankles loosely crossed but tucked close, knees open, his relaxed position in obvious conflict with the tension on his face.

“I don’t like thinking of her in that sterile environment. This is much better. She loves plants. She has a greenhouse at home, and a sunroom, filled with plants.”

He was babbling. He usually didn’t talk this much in an entire day. He wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, looking down for a moment before dropping his hand and looking at the therapist.

She smiled and he smiled back, then burst. “If I smiled at you with Mara here, there would be tension. I’m on edge all the time, monitoring her for reactions, afraid she’ll see me smile at someone.”

Marissa nodded. “It’s not easy having a partner with borderline personality disorder.”

He leaned forward, spreading his hands out in supplication. “It’s nothing new. I’ve known how she is since pretty early in our relationship and I’ve tolerated it. I didn’t understand it, but I accepted that that’s how she is. I don’t understand why a formal diagnosis makes a difference.”

“May I try to explain what I believe happened?”

“Please.” He sat back again. Maybe if he understood what happened he’d be able to reverse it, or at least avoid it in the future.

“I’m going to speak frankly, it’s the only way forward even though it may be uncomfortable for you, please keep in mind that for me, working with BPD patients all the time, all of this is commonplace for me.”

He nodded. His natural reticence did not allow for frank discussions about private issues. His skin felt stretched tight, and the exit door beckoned, but he wanted his wife back, so he pushed himself to sit back on the couch and opened his mind to what Marissa had to say.

She explained the role of sex in Mara’s illness, as a decompressor, a way to cut through the noise, a reprieve from the painfully intenseemotions intrinsic to BPD. Having sex with him gave the added benefit that most people get from sex, connection, grounding, intimacy with someone you love. Some people use drugs, shopping, gambling, shoplifting, food, whatever they use, it has to be intense enough to distract from, and ease, the pain. The hair pulling and scratching made sense now in an odd sort of way and he nodded when Marissa immediately followed with an explanation of the self-harm component, and the issue of distress intolerance.

She waited for his response.

“She often overreacted to trivial things in the past, like if a woman approached me, even a co-worker like last week. That made me furious if I’m honest. There was a bad situation a long time ago where she reacted badly, and I think I was reminded about that, and perhaps I overreacted as well. Looking back, I can see she was trying to smile and be polite, she was just so flat. I was embarrassed in front of a colleague.”

“She was flat?” She asked and he nodded in response. “Then I suspect she was dissociating from the stress or trying to lock it down.”

---