I am not a normal person. As in, when someone starts laughing and I didn't hear the reason why I don't automatically assume, "Oh, someone must have told a joke." Instead, I'm convinced that they are laughing at my expense. It's ludicrous that everyone on the planet would care so much about me that they would feel the need to not only laugh at me but tell jokes behind my back. Perhaps there is a touch of narcissism in there? Doubtful. I'm my own worst critic.
The sad thing about BPD is that 10 times out of 10, any compliment that is given to me will be deflected. For no other reason that I am incapable of believing myself worthy of any praise. Whether this is a product of my upbringing or simple insecurity over years of rejection and betrayal or maybe a combination of the two, it doesn't matter because no matter how much willpower I use (or soul searching I do) I still end up being right back where I started which is: nowhere. (Cue a Boondock Saints reference, if you must.)
What is truly sad is that 27 years of my life has been wasted on torn relationships, ended friendship, betrayal, etc. and easily 85% of it is due to my own behavior. According to one of the books I've been reading, The Essential Family Guide to Borderline Personality Disorder: New Tools and Techniques to Stop Walking on Eggshells by Randi Kreger, that is the true tragedy of BPD. The emotional distress that results in "lashing out" and "crises" is also the very thing that prevents the kind of relationship (long-term and everlasting) that the BP craves. So, when their partner/spouse/what-have-you finally decides to leave, it just jump starts the abandonment-fear-shame cycle all over again. If you get the chance, you should really take a gander at that book. Some parts of it will make you feel like the scum of the earth, while other parts will make you look at yourself in a new light. It's hard to hate yourself when you are compared to a third-degree burn victim, even if it is an emotional burn.
One of these days, I'll begin to love myself. I pretend to have an ego but the truth is that I am so unbelievably fragile that is kind of pathetic. Thankfully, my children and current job keeps me busy. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure that the chaos that consistently takes over my brain would have me put in an asylum. (Those still exist, right?)
Rachel, BPD, Mama of Three, and also a Wifey
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