Saint of Splinters: A Borderline Gospel

She feels too much. Loves too hard. Falls too fast. And burns too bright for a world that prefers its women quiet, polished, and easy to carry. Kaela didn't come to the Gold Coast to heal. She came to disappear. To vanish in the noise, fade between the hostel walls, maybe get a bar job and forget how badly her chest ached when people looked through her like furniture. But the world had other plans. Flickering lights. Blistering heat. A boy with ocean eyes. A splinter support group who spoke the language she'd been crying in for years. And the unraveling? It didn't ask permission. This isn't the kind of story that ends with a breakthrough. There's no soft landing. No tidy arc. No miracle cure. Saint of Splinters isn't a love story. It's a reckoning. A fourth-wall-shattering, lipstick-smeared, mascara-running dive into what it feels like to live with Borderline Personality Disorder-not the diagnosis, not the bullet points, but the ache beneath it all. It's the panic after a smile. The high of validation and the crash that follows. It's bar shifts and journal entries, shared cigarettes and Splinter sermons. It's a girl loving so hard it leaves marks-and vanishing the second she's left unread. If you've ever been told you're too much, if you've ever whispered "please see me" into a silence that never answered- Kaela's already been waiting for you. This isn't the story of a girl who gets better. This is the story of a girl who gets seen. And that? That changes everything.