BPD Chronicles

It started during one of those strange, suspended moments in time — early in the pandemic, when the world had gone quiet and people were reaching across borders just to feel close to something again.

I was living in Latin America, trying to stretch my budget while working remotely, like so many others who had left the high cost of living behind. I downloaded a language exchange app mostly to practice Spanish again — hoping to pick it up naturally through conversation. That’s where I met her. We matched quickly, and our first few chats were light and easy — playful even. She had this energy that felt warm and inviting, even through text.

After a couple of months of messaging, I told her I’d be near her city on business. She hesitated for days before finally agreeing to meet — just two days before I was scheduled to leave. We met in a crowded café, in the middle of the day, surrounded by noise and movement. But between us? Silence.

She barely spoke. Sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap, eyes mostly downcast. When I tried to engage her, she gave short, hesitant answers. It was like talking to someone who wasn’t really there. I left feeling confused — like maybe we were better off online.

But later that week, she messaged me. Apologized. Said she hadn’t been herself. That she was nervous — not because she didn’t want to see me, but because she cared too much about how I saw her. Said she wanted me to like her, and that made her freeze up. Promised me the next time would be different.

So I went back. And it was.

Suddenly, she was warm. Affectionate. Present. Her whole demeanor had shifted — like she’d unlocked a part of herself she’d been holding back. The same person, but somehow… more. More attentive. More expressive. More connected. We spent hours together, walking around the city, laughing, talking about everything under the sun.

As I was getting ready to return to my temporary home in another city, she asked if we could still be together — even if just for the remainder of my time in her country. I warned her it might not be fair. That I didn’t want either of us getting attached. She insisted she could handle it.

A friend mentioned a business idea he wanted to run by me, so I scheduled another trip to her city after a couple of weeks. Upon my return to her city, and in that time, D and I started seeing each other more seriously. She wanted to know everything about me — my childhood, my dreams, my previous marriage and even the parts I rarely shared. So I opened up. Told her about my past marriage based on her 21 questions — how it began with grand declarations of love, how she seemed to read my mind, say exactly what I needed to hear. How it all unraveled once we said “I do.” How she changed — became cold, selfish, emotionally distant. How she’d threaten divorce every time we argued, only to apologize and promise to change. And how those changes never lasted — they were performative, temporary, and exhausting. I told D that I never wanted to get involve with someone who didn’t already embody all of the traits I wanted in a partner.

D listened quietly. Then she cried. Said she couldn’t understand how anyone could treat me that way. Said I deserved better. Deserved kindness. Said I was loving, gentle, patient — and that I didn’t deserve to feel small in someone else’s world.

From that moment on, she gave me everything I’d longed for — too much, too fast. She wanted to make up for every wrong I’d ever endured. Every gesture, every word, every touch felt like a promise: You won’t be hurt like that here.

We had a beautiful couple of months together, it felt like we were inseparable, until I finally had to return home. She cried and told me that she didn’t want us to break up. We agreed to keep talking and to see if we could overcome the long-distance relationship.

I returned to my home country. We talked constantly — long calls, endless messages. She said the distance made her love grow stronger. I told her I missed her, but that being together wasn’t simple. So much stood between us — geography, culture, politics, and the reality that I couldn’t leave my family behind while my father’s health (Alzheimers and Dementia) was declining.

Then, out of nowhere, she started to research more and more about my faith. Not because she had to — but because she wanted to become what I believed in. She started reading our holy texts, attending virtual classes, learning the prayers. Within months, she converted to my faith and she’d made the full transition. I was touched. Confused, maybe. But flattered, too.

Even being worlds apart, she said she could adapt and would adapt. So I tested the idea. Brought her over for a month. She fell in love with everything — the food, the traditions, the rhythm of life here. And with me.

That month passed like a dream. She embraced everything — from the local holidays to the family customs. She even picked up some of the local phrases, surprising everyone with how quickly she adapted. She was affectionate, supportive, always smiling. We never argued. Not once. It felt surreal — like we were immune to conflict.

Nearly five months later, I had another opportunity to visit her country for a few months and this time I knew what I wanted. I wanted her by myself forever, I wanted to marry her.

We lived together almost every day, doing everything together — laughing, exploring, building a life out of moments. I told her I wanted to ask her father’s blessing. She was ecstatic. Planned our future in real time — where we’d live, how many children we would have, she wanted 5 kids and I jokingly said I wanted 1.5 kids, so that we could meet in the middle and settle on 3 kids. She told me that she’d leave behind everything she knew, even her family just to be with me.

She said she didn’t need her mother’s drama anymore — not after years of emotional abuse. Said she could start fresh, as long as she had me. Said she could live anywhere in the world, as long as it was with me. That she could give up anything — language, culture, family — because none of it mattered compared to being with me.

Her father gave his blessing. We married soon after. And then, we packed up her life and moved across the world to start ours.