A while back I wrote a blog for a dear friend of mine, who was battling cancer. For those of you who may not recall, or didn’t read it, my friend is the reason I write. She is the reason I share my story so openly through my writing and on my podcast. We have never met. We’ve only chatted on the phone, text, and Twitter, which is where we met five or six years ago.
I had just been diagnosed with a handful of illnesses including Borderline Personality Disorder and had just started up on Twitter, discovering an enormous mental health community. She was one of the first people I followed. Something about her screamed “safe person” which doesn’t happen for me often. Many people with BPD were traumatized or neglected in childhood, so when we started to chat and no red flags were rising, I started to slowly let her in. We shared our stories, our journeys, and our lives with each other. The paths that led us here were different, but the emotions we felt from our trauma were essentially the same.