I’ve been holding my breath for days now. I had tucked the book “Loving Someone with Borderline Personality Disorder” into my husban’s suitcase before he left for a trip. Talking to him on the phone, he never indicated seeing it, much less reading it. I met up with him a week later, a few days ago. He still hasn’t said anything and I know he’s seen the bandages on my arm (though I don’t think he’s seen the scars on the back of my leg.) he doesn’t want to talk to me about any of this stuff, so I hold my breath and wait. My meds regulate my moods, keeping my feet on the ground for the most part. But … But you can’t hold your breath forever and I’m about to have to let it out.
If only I didn’t have this need to ‘pop the zit’ and release the pressure of not knowing. If only I could hold in emotions that are not those of joy and happiness … If only – maybe I could breath and breath deeply.
Holding My Breath