This past week has been so difficult for me. I wanted to write some positive message for today but I’m not sure that’s going to happen. Let me see if I can pull some joyful moments out. It will do me some good.
When I have a bad day or week, I often am left unable to see the trigger or where it began. This week is no different as I sit here thinking about it. I’m not sure where the turn of events were. I’m not sure if it just comes and goes that quickly, or my poor memory which has been unwavering lately.
I look back on struggles wondering who I am. I am like an outsider looking in and not recognizing who I see. I see someone so full of anger and rage. Someone who’s aim is to kill (or at least severely wound) the “enemy”. How could I have an enemy? Oh, but I do. Those I love most are my usual enemies. They are so “hurtful” and “ill-willing”.
But I cannot imagine the person I become in those times ever being a semblance of me or my character. Yet when it all is done, there I am. Guilty as ever. So embarrassed. So shameful. See, those are the typical curves in the road I call my life. A hill in the road and then all of the guilt and shame. Each curve the emotion changes.
I have talked with my therapist about this exact problem. Yes, problem. So hard to think of not being “perfect”, or having a problem. Most people know they have problems, but those of us blessed with borderline personality disorder try as hard as we can to please everyone and show we are “good” people. This is because we feel guilt or believe we are”bad” and don’t want others to see.
So my therapist has me working my butt off to change all of these hindering behaviors. She wants me to see who I really am and be that person. This is daunting alone but that’s for another day.
Who am I? This question makes me hurt, makes me sick. Do people really know the answer? I have never known a life that I did know, so I truly am baffled that others know who they are as a person. I’m a mom. I’m a wife. That’s all I know. That feels sad.
The thing is, BPD (borderline personality disorder) is as simple, to me, as this: push and pull. They say it’s the “I hate you, don’t leave me” disorder. There are no truer words. I believe everyone is against me. At one curve I am begging for your love and attention. At the other, I am running and doing ANYTHING to get away from you, even if I hurt you along the way. It never ends.
So, this week? Another bad week. Another attack on my husband, who gets about 90% of them. I love him so much, but I put him through so much hell. In the moment, there is me. Only me. I only care about me, focus on me, protect me. I will throw you under a bus if I think you are going to hurt me. And everyone is going to hurt me. This is my everyday life. EVERY DAY.
I did some of the worst things to my husband. I don’t want to share all of our intimate details, but I don’t want you to wonder too much. I do want you to get a glimpse of BPD since that’s the purpose of this blog. I will give you a taste.
One small conversation that shouldn’t have been a big deal at all. Oh, but that’s not what MY brain hears. I felt judged. I felt attacked. I felt invalidated. I felt like I didn’t matter. So, in defense mode, I went. Like I always do, I turned into a demon. I throw things. Today it was a small protein drink for the kids. They weren’t right there and I didn’t throw it at them. Actually throw wasn’t a good choice of word. Sadly, I mostly just tossed it in the fridge because it was pissing me off. But throwing is my usual go to. I was so mad that I couldn’t get the damn thing to sit right in the fridge so I could slam the door and go yell and scream. So I let it drop and left to to yell and, vein pop out of my neck, scream. I remind myself of a toddler tantrum and I feel so ashamed. Ugh, I hate it. You could ask me what I said and I wouldn’t have a clue. Yet my husband does as HE was blessed with a forever and detailed memory. Making it all the more shameful.
I stood up for myself because I felt I didn’t have a choice. I was being attacked, right? It ended with me yelling and pushing away the love of my life. Now, I know this may not sound severe. It’s hard to give all detail when I struggle to even tell my therapist. But I also have to keep some privacy for my family. Let’s say I looked like one of those crazy angry people you might see on YouTube going off on someone who offended them.
I hate sharing this. It makes me want to curl up in my bed and never come out. How can I admit the fact that my kids have to deal with a crappy mom? They see me like this far too often. How can I face those I know when they see my demon side? When they see the sharp curves in my road? I paint a picture that I am fine. Most of those outside of my home (possibly outside of Daniel and my therapist?) know that side of me. It has to be someone whom I am close enough to that I feel the need to defend myself. I used to do it as a child to my family but I am too detached from them now so that’s not something that happens much.
I must say before I end this post that I do know it’s not all one sided. So many people try to remind me of that. I hear you. It truly isn’t only me. In the calm aftermath, I see the errors on both sides. But truthfully I end up embarrassed and shameful at how I over-correct the curves.
I think the thing that makes it worse for me, is that it is preventable. If just a handful of things would have been different in my younger years, this disorder wouldn’t have attached itself to me. Now I’m not going to lie, some days I don’t care. I know others have done all they can, the best they can. But other days, I rage inside with anger at the lot I’ve been dealt. The extra baggage. Did you know there is no medication for BPD? Only therapy and hard work. I am certain this feeds into my curvy road.
So, for that positive event? I said I’d try to find something joyful. Well I do know that I have a husband who, obviously, loves me. He’s tender and understanding, and FORGIVING. I have found my therapist. MY therapist. The one who gets me and walks me through the bad. She lets me text her through the bad days. Not many therapists do that. I had a glimpse of how bad I am and an outsider (or a few) were able to vouch for that. That may not sound like a positive, but when you have outside observances who are basically calling you out on your bull-shit behavior, and it opens your eyes, I call that a positive. maybe that’s the straight part of the road I need.
Roses are Red 