What “The Missing Piece” Taught me about Love

Faye Gilbert 

 

Those of us who are lucky enough are often taught young a very naive and hopeful view of love. We are taught of love in the context of power, of its healing properties and purity and ability to conquer all evil with its sheer force. It doesn’t take long in the growing up process to realize that, although a beautiful sentiment, that’s unrealistic. Some people learn that far too young. In my sister’s case, however, despite life’s attempts squelch her hope, she didn't catch on easily. 

                  She has always been a caregiver. I like to think of myself having two Moms growing up, two rooms to run to when I’d have nightmares. It was in her room, especially, that I’d find myself whenever I was sad or lonely. She has a natural ability to console and comfort—a knack for “healing”—and a special kind of heart that always has love to give. 

This outpour of love was partly learned; her and I were lucky enough to grow up hearing of fantastical stories of love. I remember most vividly being read, although it had very few words, Shel Silverstein’s “The Missing Piece.” It is a sweet story told mostly through the rolling forward of disfigured circle and its attempts to fill the triangular shaped gap in its body. It goes through a series of pieces, some too large, too small, too fragile, too brittle, until it finds the piece that fits just right and allows it to comfortably roll along. 

I have a problem with this story. While it teaches truthful lessons about compatibility, it teaches an untruthful sentiment about the nature of love, specifically romantic. It depicts it in this quick-fix, healing light. It implies that the battle is in finding it and that it’s smooth sailing afterwards. In reality, love does not equate to ease. More often love is hard and something you must fight for. 

                  My sister has just learned this, stubbornly and in her twenties, in her relationship with her ex-partner. Her ex-partner is wonderful.They are kind, loving, charismatic, and generous. They light up rooms. They are also an addict and an alcoholic. She had known them vaguely through classes before the they took interest in each other, but the two didn’t begin developing feelings for each other until shortly before her partner relapsed. Although there are obvious implications in beginning a relationship with someone in such a fragile state, and who finds themself there often, it is difficult to use discernment when you’re falling in love. I think, in my sister’s case, as well, she still carried with her that hope of love’s all-healing abilities. 

                  However, in the process, she learned that love is not cookie-cutter in that manner, especially in the case of her partner. Very often those who abuse substances do so as a coping mechanism for underlying mental health issues. This is the case for them. They have borderline personality disorder. While far from a simple disorder, it was somewhat simply defined by its original proposer, Adolph Stern, as fitting “neither into the psychotic nor into the psychoneurotic group.” (NIH). It is thought to “border” on other conditions. BPD is a complex disorder, but it is characterized by an overall instability in self-image and emotions. Patterns of functioning that reflect this instability make it diagnosable: rapid mood swings such elation, depression, emptiness, and self-harming tendencies, periods of heightened confidence or of extreme and detrimental self-loathing, and strong fears of rejection or abandonment. My sister’s partner struggled with many of these symptoms and turned to substances as coping for the incredibly intense and difficult thoughts and feelings they had to deal with. 

                  One would be inclined to think that a loving, supporting relationship would be beneficial to someone very chronically unstable, that it would act as a stabilizing force. However, people with BPD can grow incredibly dependent on stabilizing figures in their life, as they struggle to feel that on their own. The NIH refers to someone whom a person with BPD is severely attached to as a “favorite person” or FP. It’s very common for someone with BPD’s FP to be their romantic partner. 

This dependency can lead to very destructive relationships. In an interview study cited by the NIH, a partner of someone with BPD described feeling a “24-hour sense of duty and constant worry” for their diagnosed significant other.  Unfortunately, this was the case and very destructive for my sister and her partner. My sister became a stabilizing force for her partner, and in turn, assisted in their sobriety. She often felt she couldn’t spend time away from them for fear that they’d relapse. Even time together was taxing. My sister, despite her endless outpour of love, could only provide so much reassurance.

This is not to say they didn’t make each other incredibly happy. Ultimately, my sister and her partner’s relationship ended not for lack of love, but because of implications of being in it. Watching my sister have this experience has challenged my perception of love as much as it has hers. I saw how deeply they cared for one another, but I also saw how that created cycles of hurt neither of them fully understood how to break. For them, the ease was in finding love, and the battle followed. 

Works Cited

Jeong, Hyorim, et al. “Understanding a Mutually Destructive Relationship between Individuals with Borderline Personality Disorder and Their Favorite Person.” Psychiatry Investigation, vol. 19, no. 12, 25 Dec. 2022, pp. 1069–1077, www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC9806505/, https://doi.org/10.30773/pi.2022.0079.

National Collaborating Centre for Mental Health (UK. “Borderline Personality Disorder: Treatment and Management.” Nih.gov, British Psychological Society, 2009, www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK55415/.