No one told me that I have borderline.
But they told my wife.
They put me through borderline therapy.
But they never actually told me,
That stings.
Some people get worse.
When they find out.
Maybe I would have.
Maybe they’re right.
Still.
That sting.
Like I’m a child.
There’s a huge stigma with borderline.
I’ve seen it.
Those who think you’re sub human.
Those who live up to that.
I try to be more than a diagnosis.
I finally asked my wife.
Told her that I thought I had it.
She knew already.
A unicorn she called me.
Wanting to get better.
So many don’t.
But I am no unicorn.
That’s too special.
I am just a guy.
Trying to be a father,
and a husband.
Screwing up,
but trying to fix it,
whenever I can.
If that makes me a unicorn.
I’ll accept that.
But it makes me sad too.
Too many settle for less.
Refuse to see themselves.
Refuse to get better.
If you have it.
Then accept it.
And try to get better.
Maybe,
we can all be unicorns.
Poetry
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