I had my first crush on a boy that I met in preschool. I was fixated on that kid until middle school, when the pool of candidates widened dramatically and I found another boy to fill my daydreams.

Middle school was also where I was first introduced to the idea of same-sex relationships. We had a “gay-straight alliance” student club that provided information and support on these issues. I attended one meeting at the invitation of some friends, but it didn’t really feel like my scene…

I had my first boyfriend in seventh grade. Then another. Then another…

Later, I went to an alternative high school. Though I hadn’t yet been diagnosed with BPD, I had exhibited a pattern of problematic behaviors. My parents sent me to this “therapeutic” school that was very small; the entire student body was only about fifty kids.

Girls were overrepresented in the school, probably because it is more socially acceptable for females than males to receive help for emotional problems.

LGBTQIA+ individuals were also overrepresented. As a marginalized group, this demographic is more than twice as likely to face mental health challenges.

As a result of this disproportionate representation, I counted only six “straight guys” at school (on my first day). I was immediately concerned that there weren’t enough for my purposes…

As I made my way through high school (and all these guys), one of my good friends went through the process of changing her preference in partners from boys to girls. I watched her blossom into a truer version of herself, but never felt inspired to “have what she was having.”

I graduated (from boys to men) and went to college. One late night, a girl who identified as bisexual was talking to me about her boyfriend. He had a part-time job as a nanny. She expressed finding joy and sexual appeal in such a modern man. In her words: “I’ve always liked more feminine guys.”

I literally wrinkled my nose at this comment—thankfully, it was dark, and she couldn’t see my reaction. “We’re actually in an open relationship.” She tossed the statement out there and it sank like a rock. Suddenly, I realized that the two of us migrating away from the group to go skinny-dipping meant something different to her.

“We should go back.” I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, but the words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them. We didn’t spend much time together after that night. Had I been leading her on? I didn’t know, but I tried to be more thoughtful from then on.

College came and went. I dated lots of guys. As you have probably picked up from reading this much, my love life was intense from the get-go. This relates to one symptom of borderline personality disorder: intense and unstable relationships. I flipped between idealizing and devaluing my partners, and my actions reflected this cognitive parkour. This is why I became intimate with so many people.

A couple years into graduate school, however, I was starting to get bored of dating men. I didn’t want to be vulnerable and let a relationship play out on its own, so I kept things superficial. Superficial was safe, but the interactions eventually felt painfully predictable, like an ad you’ve seen a hundred times.

Some spectacular mental gymnastics later, I told my therapist that I thought I was gay. He encouraged me to explore this idea, and I did. I went on dates, went to sapphic club nights, and put a rainbow flag emoji in my Snapchat username. (This might remind you of another BPD symptom: unstable self-image.)

Despite my enthusiasm for putting myself out there, I held back in several telling ways. I never felt sexual desire for a woman, so I never went past kissing. I never went on a second date with a woman because I couldn’t see myself in a real relationship with one, let alone a lifetime partnership.

Deep down, I knew the whole time that I wasn’t truly interested in women. I thought it would be a harmless detour, but it really wasn’t—I hurt some nice people in my inauthenticity.

It was time to do the hard work of creating a strong and healthy relationship that could withstand my patterns of idealization and devaluation. To learn to be vulnerable and invest in a relationship that was important to me. To take a real risk and put myself out there, rather than continuing to chase cheap highs from surface-level relationships. (You can read more about that process here.)

Why am I sharing this story? I am not suggesting that sexuality is “just a phase,” or anything like that. I respect everyone’s right to be who they are and love who they love.

Our world has traditionally commodified women and their sexuality. In my opinion, this is part of what has caused me (and many other “straight girls” I know) to fetishize sapphism. Just as we are not immune from internalizing other types of misogyny, neither are we immune from objectifying ourselves and other women.

I am sharing this story because it is my truth. Identity is complicated and people with BPD are statistically more likely to explore their sexuality as part of developing a sense of self. My hope and motivation for sharing this personal story is to help another person sort out their truth.