If boundaries were brick walls, I’d lose my frontal lobe to ramming.
And when that chunk of brain was laying on the ground all minced to gory pieces, I’d trample over its carcass trying to crash the next lobe in line into that same bloody bricked up spot.
Don’t ask me. I lost that answer to the brick a long time ago.
Post-note: Living with a mental illness is often all about boundaries, lines you simply can’t cross and remain happily sane… Twenty-five years inside and I’m still killing myself trying to bust out.