A week had passed since Jake's talk with Jules. Since he'd sat across from Emily, trying to find the words to explain the things he barely understood himself. Nothing had been magically fixed. Jules hadn't changed his mind overnight. Emily hadn't become his emotional anchor. But something had shifted...something small and quiet but real. For the first time in a long time, Jake didn't feel like he was drowning. He was still in the water, sure. But he could float. And maybe if he kept trying he could learn to swim. That's what led him back to Dr. Lane's office. He walked through the familiar hallway, his chest tight but his steps steady. There was a kind of vulnerability that came with returning,not because he had broken down, but because he was finally trying to understand why he always felt like he might. Dr. Lane greeted him with her usual calm warmth. "Come in, Jake. Make yourself comfortable." He sank into the chair, hands folded in his lap. "So," she said gently, "how have you been since our last session?" Jake let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in his chest all week. "I've been… trying. I had a talk with Jules. And Emily, too. I guess I'm starting to see the ways I push people away.....like, I think they'll leave, so I end it before they can." Dr. Lane nodded. "That fear is real, Jake. Fear of abandonment is a core part of what we call borderline personality disorder. And it usually comes from somewhere." Jake hesitated. The word trauma hung in the air like something too big to touch. He wanted to deny it. But part of him already knew. Dr. Lane continued gently. "For many people, it starts early. When love is inconsistent. When emotional needs aren't met. That kind of instability creates a deep sense of uncertainty,especially around relationships." Jake looked away, his throat tight. "I don't remember anything awful. But I remember feeling… invisible. Like no one really saw me. Or they only saw me when I acted out. Otherwise, I was just… too much to deal with." Dr. Lane leaned in slightly. "That is trauma, Jake. It may not look like what people picture when they hear the word,but neglect, emotional absence, unpredictability... all of that shapes how we attach and how we see ourselves." Jake swallowed hard. He wanted to argue. But the truth sat heavy and still in his chest. "I keep thinking," he whispered, "that if I was just easier to love, none of this would've happened." There was a pause. And then, Dr. Lane said: "Jake, your emotions may be intense, but that doesn't make you unlovable. Your intensity isn't a flaw. It's a signal. Something in you is asking to be heard, not silenced." For a moment, he couldn't speak. That knot in his chest—the one that tightened every time someone told him to calm down or move on—loosened just a little. He looked up. "So… what do I do with everything I feel?" Dr. Lane smiled gently. "We begin with mindfulness. It's not about fixing or pushing emotions away. It's about noticing them without judgment. Letting yourself feel without being consumed." The idea felt foreign. But not impossible. "I'll try," Jake said. The words felt like both surrender and resistance. But they were honest. As the session ended, Jake walked out into the afternoon air with a strange weight in his chest—not pain, exactly. Not anymore. It was more like the gravity of truth. Heavy, yes, but real. That night, sitting cross-legged on his bed, he closed his eyes and tried. He breathed in, breathed out. Let himself feel. solve. Not run.Just feel. And in that space between resistance and acceptance, Jake found something he hadn't expected:
a little peace.