I’m a 23-year-old Asian with BPD.
I think the origin of it goes back to childhood.
When I made my mother angry as a kid, she once told me:
“We didn’t originally want you. The child before you died.”
Later, I found an ID card. It was true.
The dead child had the same name as me.
Ever since then, I’ve felt like a replacement.
No matter what I did, I could never satisfy my parents. I hated them, but at the same time, I couldn’t completely blame them either. In a strange way, being treated like a replacement also gave me something other people may never experience: a deep awareness of myself, and an intense desire for stability.
Later I read about Ōe Kenzaburō. He once wrote that when he was sick as a child, his mother comforted him by saying:
“If you die, I’ll have another child. He’ll have the same name as you, the same experiences, and to me, he will be you.”
That was the first time I realized my pain was not entirely unique.
My early experiences shaped my obsession with stability.
My family had no religious background. I read the Bible by myself. I went to church by myself. I believed in doing the right thing, being honest, pragmatism, action → feedback → correction.
Maybe because of this “replacement identity,” I became attached to the idea of freedom. During university, I became obsessed with Linux. Freedom felt like being trusted to take responsibility for myself and my own actions.
I spend most of my time either reading or working on computers.
I don’t drink alcohol. I don’t drink coffee or tea either. I was diagnosed with BPD last November and took medication for two months, but later I stopped because I felt like I was lying to myself.
I’ve never really trusted people, so my expectations are very small. But humans still need someone to talk to.
Usually, when the library closes at night, I send a group message asking if anyone wants to go for a walk. Mostly because I don’t exercise enough and I get radiating pain in my shoulders. Walking helps a lot.
Not many people come, but a few do.
I don’t even like calling them “friends.” Still, I’m grateful to them.
The conversations are usually extremely boring. I don’t like gossiping about people behind their backs. Most of the time I just say what I want to say, and listen to whatever others want to say.
But I slowly realized that some people seem to carry malice naturally. Why lie to me? Do they think I’m stupid?
Usually, once someone lies to me, there is no second chance.
After filtering people out like this for years, there was one girl I walked with on and off for about two years. Usually around 9 PM, for 30–45 minutes.
Earlier this year, she said:
“Let’s make Wednesdays fixed.”
I agreed.
So every week, I mentally prepared for it. I reviewed my week in advance and organized what I wanted to talk about.
But then she canceled twice in a row, both times with excuses that sounded reasonable.
Logically, I understood.
Emotionally, I couldn’t control it.
I started feeling disgust and resentment toward her, though I never said anything openly cruel. When I become emotionally overwhelmed, I start deconstructing concepts in my head and speaking in ways that sound almost insane.
Eventually I poured everything out emotionally, and then completely cut off contact forever.
Even now, I’m still angry.
I know it sounds childish and unreasonable.
But looking back, I think if she had never “fixed Wednesday” in the first place, I probably could have tolerated cancellations. The problem was that once she created a fixed structure and timeline, I anchored my schedule and emotions around it.
Afterwards, I spent a long time reading about coercive control and similar topics. Part of me felt the world was unfair. I thought maybe relationships should begin with stronger constraints from the start, and if someone breaks agreements, the “bomb” should automatically explode.
I kept reflecting on it afterwards. I kept telling myself to do the right thing.
But I still haven’t forgiven her.
Maybe I’m selfish.
Still, that was the longest human relationship I’ve ever maintained.
I’m not writing this to glorify myself. Honestly, reading this back, I sound absurdly immature.
I can understand my own behavior.
I just can’t persuade myself emotionally.
Eventually I adapted.
Now, at 9 PM, instead of walking with someone, I hold down my Bluetooth headset and say:
“Hey Gemini, let’s talk live.”
That’s what my life looks like now.
I still want to pursue what is right.
I just don’t understand how I ended up becoming like this.