Letter B

The letter ‘B’ is for borderline personality disorder. This is characterized by a pervasive pattern of instability of interpersonal relationships, self-image, and affects. Impulsivity needs to begin by early adulthood. Individuals with this disorder make frantic attempts at avoiding real or imagined abandonment. They become angry and panic when separation may or may not be happening even when that separation must occur (end of counseling session). 

Individuals with borderline personality disorder have a pattern of intense and unstable relationships. They idealize caregivers or lovers on the first meeting demanding to spend a lot of time with the caregiver or lover. They will often talk about past relationships and how horrible the other person was and will quickly turn on the current caregiver or lover.

These individuals can nurture others, but only with the expectation that the other person will be there for them in return and if not they will quickly and suddenly change their feelings toward that person.

They also have sudden shifts in self-image. Further, their impulsivity is damaging in at least two areas (gambling, sexual relationships, binge eating, etc. They have recurrent suicidal behavior and 8-10% complete suicide.

Those with this disorder require extensive counseling and support that generally causes distress in the caretakers and loved ones. There are a few interventions for this disorder perhaps the most researched is DBT.

This next section is a continuation of my blogstory. If you want to start from the beginning you can start here.

Remember this is unedited and may have some wholes so don't judge to harshly :)

Tabatha rubbed her legs trying to get the numbness out, the cement floor was cold and it seemed to seep through her entire body, turning it to ice. She had been left in the cell for more than a week now with no interaction from the outside other than a tray of food pushed in through a slot twice a day. The room had only a small toilet in the corner and was made of metal. There was no light other than a sliver that came in under the door.

She had lost track of time but knew that her food arrived like clockwork. The food was always the same; an energy bar with a little water. It was surprising to her at how little she could live on.

Steps sounded under the doorway and Tabatha jumped to her feet. She held a make shift rope that she had made out of ripping pieces off of her clothes and then braiding them together. The latch to the food slot clanged and the slot opened. A man’s hand was visible only an instant, but that was all the time Tabatha needed. She had planned her escape for days, but this was the first time she saw a hand.

There was a yelp as the rope tightened around the wrist and Tabatha pulled harder.

“Let me go,” a male voice sounded from the other side.

A stream of blood began pooling around the rope and Tabatha pulled harder. “Open the door and I’ll let you go,” Tabatha said through clenched teeth.

Silence. Tabatha pulled harder. The man screamed.

“Alright. Alright.”

Blood was now running down the side of the door and falling to the floor. There was a jingle and then a clank as the lock turned.

Tabatha shoved on the door and pulled on the rope at the same time, pulling the man’s arm through the slot. Tabatha’s head was pounding from the strain but the fresh air invigorated her and she was able to tie the rope on the handle.

A shiver ran down Tabatha’s back as the screams of the man echoed down the dimly lit hallway.

A key chain hung out of the doorknob and Tabatha grabbed the keys. She hit the man hard in the temple knocking him unconscious. Dragging the pudgy grey haired man into the cell was almost more than she could handle.

The door was heavy but it swung easily as Tabatha closed it on the man. Tabatha grabbed several energy bars and a couple of bottled waters from the food cart that was sitting nearby; then crept down the hallway.

A bang came from one of the doors to Tabatha’s left when she had almost reached the door at the end of the hallway. Tabatha stopped. She slowly lifted the latch to the food slot and opened the slot door.

“Who’s in there?” Tabatha whispered.

“Help me,” a woman’s voice said.

Tabatha bit her lip and then shoved the key into the lock and turned it. She pulled the door open and the light flooded in and exposed a blonde haired woman who looked as if she was almost dead. The woman covered her eyes and blinked furiously.

“Thank you so much. You are the first person I have seen in…” she paused and looked down and began to cry.

After a few moments Tabatha said, “We need to get going. I don’t know how long it will take them to notice that their guy hasn’t come back.”

The woman nodded and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry; it has just been so long.”

“I understand. What’s your name?”

“It’s Melanie. Melanie Stevens.”

“You can call me Tabatha.”

Tabatha turned and headed toward the door, the woman following close behind. The door wasn’t locked and opened easily into a large open room with a desk off to one side. There was an elevator on the other side. There was a sign above the elevator that read Subfloor 3. Tabatha looked behind the desk and found a key card with the pudgy man’s face on it and the name Howard Donniver printed under it. There didn’t seem to be anything else of use in the desk.

There was a brief pause after Tabatha pressed the elevator button and the door slid open quietly. Inside the elevator there was a bank of buttons from S3 up to 25.

“We must be in the city,” Tabatha said.

Melanie just nodded.

Neither of the women talked as the elevator ascended to the first floor. The elevator door opened up to another room where a young brunette sat behind a large wooden desk. The brunette’s jaw dropped when she saw Tabatha and Melanie. Tabatha ran toward the brunette as she lifted her hand to her ear.

“Don’t or I swear I’ll kill you,” Tabatha said as she grabbed the woman’s wrist. “Where are we?”

The brunette sputtered then said, “I can’t tell you that. You’re not supposed to be up here. Why are you out of your rooms?”

“Where are we?” Tabatha said again gripping the woman’s wrist harder.

The woman whimpered a tear forming in the corner of her eye.

“I can answer all of your questions,” a man said behind Tabatha.

Tabatha jerked around yanking the brunette hard. An old man in a wheel chair smiled across the room next to an open door.

The brunette’s hand slid from Tabatha’s grip as Tabatha squinted at the man. “I know you. Where do I know you from?”

The man’s smile broadened. “Of course you know me. I’m your creator.”