Page 151 of Breathe Again

“Let me educate you in the ways of men. Some men have a preset physical type, some men fall for a woman, and she becomes his type. That’s Rhys. Bex is his type because she is Bex. I know that’s Rhys because I am the same. You are my type because you are you. My type is Mara Donovan. Period.”

I looked at him with something close to hope in my eyes and he chuckled. “Mara, you’re a pain in my ass, but I love you so much.”

He used to say this to me often and I laughed aloud, bumping my forehead against his shoulder.

He continued. “You bring life and joy and passion to my life. My life bored me to death before you. You are everything. Get that into your head. Please.”

I nodded. “I’m going to try.”

“Alright then.” He sat back.

“You look tired.”

“Communicating the important stuff has never been easy for me.”

“You guys are doing great. You’ll work it out as you go so long as you communicate, you do not leave each other to fumble around in the dark, and you do not assume you know what the other is thinking and feeling.” She shuffled the papers in her hands, looking back a bit. “So, Mara, in public situations, you’d like Zale to be more relaxed and refer to you openly when a woman approaches him? And you want to respond with confidence?”

“I want to feel confident. And I don’t want him to be nervous. I want him to move in closer to me, show that he’s happy I’m his.”

“Zale?”

“I got it. We’ll need to do some reprogramming but that’s what this whole thing is about, and we’ll be better off for it.” He turned to me with his half smile and his eyes alight. “Want to go out tonight?”

I laughed and shook my head. “Maybe we’ll hold off for a few more days, Zee. You’re funny, though.”

He pulled our joined hands up and kissed my knuckles, chuckling.

Erin smiled. “That sense of fun is a huge strength, too.”

We’d barely scratched the surface of all the ways BPD affected me and, through me, my family, but for the first time since my diagnosis, I had a real sense of hope.

Zale

Mara was in a good mood after therapy. Olivia was at Willa’s place so they had the afternoon to themselves to enjoy, but there was one subject Zale had to broach before he could do that with her.

“Mara, the situation with your mom, can we talk about that for a bit?”

She sighed. “I suppose we should. I just want to avoid her. Honestly, I want to avoid the whole situation, never have to deal with her. I don’t know if she feels anything remotely close to real love for me. I do know I feel terrible about myself after most visits with her. I do know that she will never give me what I want from her. I do know that I don’t want Olivia subjected to her manipulations. I also know I have to deal with it at some point. Why?” She turned toward him suddenly. “Is she okay? Has something happened?”

“She’s been calling me.”

“Really?” The hope in his wife’s voice pissed him off. He locked it down.

“She’s angry that she can’t get to you, feels sorry for herself. I feel sorry for her, too, honestly. She’s got two beautiful daughters, both beautiful people, and she has screwed herself out of a real relationship with either of you because of how she treats you both.”

“Yeah,” Mara answered sadly, “she also has a personality disorder, probably abused in some way in the past, and she can’t see clear ofit to even get help. She’s trapped and she can’t see that what she requires from me is unreasonable. She feels neglected and unloved because of it. It makes me sad for her.”

“It is sad. It’s sad because she will likely never be happy, but because her problem causes you pain and distress, we have to put up strong boundaries to protect you.”

She nodded, resigned, finally, to the fractured nature of this relationship.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Just considering options. I want you covered. What would you like to do about it?”

“As much as I admire Willa’s ability to go contact free, I don’t think I could do that. I’d always be wondering how she is. As long as she’s angry, I know she’s okay.” She laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. “And right now, I need to know she’s okay, otherwise my anxiety will be so high I won’t be able to concentrate on my own recovery.”

“You really do feel responsible for her, don’t you?”

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