A moment in a thought

My thoughts, in my life, of adoption and other such things

What does it feel like to be a borderline? September 13, 2009

Thats an interesting question.   And I could answer it in so many different ways.

Its been a long time since I have defined myself as a borderline, an adoptee, an anything really.  For a while now, I have sorta just accepted some semblance of me and described myself as that. But there are parts of me I suppose that may never really go away.

I read about Borderline Personality Disorder and realize that even if per say, I don’t qualify for the diagnosis, what it feels like to be a borderline will never be far from my mind.   I will never forget what it felt like for me.  Hell still feels sometimes.  (although I feel like I need to put a side note here, that I have recovered from having to feel a lot of these things anymore, I am a lucky one)

It feels like being lost.

It feels like not belonging in your own body, in your own skin.  Sometimes its even hard to feel like you really do exist, that this body you live in exists, and that it is somehow connected to you and to the actions that you put it through.

It feels like sometimes pain is the only way to make you FEEL like you exsist again.  Of course I am not talking mental pain, no that is something that is felt on such a deep level, you have to close it off just to remain somewhat functional.  No physical pain, physical pain is the connection to the reality of everything.  Without it, sometimes you can get compleatly lost in the non-reality of the disconnection you feel.

It feels like your mind is disconnected from everything sometimes, like you can’t quite get a grip on anything because there is just no way to grasp it, instead it just slips through your fingers just when you think you might get ahold of it.

It feels as though other people don’t really exsist once they are gone.  As soon as they walk out the door, or hell even just go to bed in another room, it feels like they don’t exist anymore.  Of course somewhere in that rational mind you know they still exist!  But you can’t feel them any more.  Like a light switch that just gets shut off, every feeling you have, every feeling they give you, dissapears as soon as they do.  As if every essance of there very being is gone until you see them again.  And when its that one person, the one that is the center of your world at that moment, Sometimes the pain of just missing someone is so unbelievable, its like the inner parts of your soul will just come apart until you can just know that they exsist once again. So sometimes you pretend they are there, just so you won’t have to feel what it feels like when they aren’t.  And of course, there is that rational brain telling you that you are nuts… and just deal with it.  But the longing is still there, no matter how many times you try to rationalize your way through it, the longing is still there.  The missing is still there.

It feels like lonelyness… because once you are alone, you are ALONE.  You can’t feel those who love you, you can’t feel their love towards you.  After they are gone, its like they don’t love you anymore.  After all, if they are gone, how can their love remain.  Lonelyness is so central, so inside the core, it feels as though you practically are the only person who exsists in the world, and yet that existance is so fragile, so unreal, that the lonelyness becomes your exsistance, and soon it feels as if the whole world has gone.  And without others, your own exsistance fades, hence herein comes the physical pain, as said before, physical pain can become the only tie you have to actual exsistance.

It feels like dark… dark dark dark.  Like all the light in the world was just somehow sucked out.   All the energy and all the hope, just gone, sucked away to destinations unknown.  Only sometimes then there is light, LIGHT!  So damn bright it almost blinds you.  Your eyes… your body are unaccustomed to so much light and it practiacally blinds you.  Happy is just as stong an emotion as sad, only even more scary.  Because I never quite knew what to do with that light… and before you know it, snap, its gone.

It feels like being compleatly out of control.  Anger, rage, at NOTHING sometimes.  But there is no hope in controlling that anger, none at all.  Let it out, and it is distructive, violent, dangerous.  Keep it in and it makes the darkness even darker, until finally everything just goes black…

or RED

And watch out for red… because when RED comes there is no help.  When there is red, there is no rational, only rage, uncontrollable, uncomprehensible, inexplainable, rage.

It feels like death, like death of your soul, death of your mind.  And you can’t get death OUT of your mind.  Can’t walk by a window without wondering what would happen if you jumped out.  Can’t look at your own wrists without knowing how simple it should be.  Can’t stop obsessing about how or when or if it would work.  Cant look at a bottle of pills without seeing death first.

It feels like black and white, and nothing in between… well except maybe red.  But everything, everyone, every place good or bad.  And every moment the black and white changes.  Good self, bad self, good mother, bad mother.  And somehow the ability to keep the good and the bad compleatly separate.  You can love someone you hate, and hate someone you love.  But never at the same time.  You either love them, or hate them.  But that can change in an instant.  Borderlines can love someone abusive… and be okay with it.

It feels like confusion, like never knowing the answer to a question.  Even one as simple as whats your favorite color?  What IS my favorite color?  Is it black, I’m wearing black today I think I like black.  But Purple is nice too, but wait maybe I like blue… do I like blue?

It feels like insanity, because through it all Borderlines are just intelligent normal people… with some kind of messed up brain sequence.  We know we are messed up, but don’t know how to make it stop.  Don’t know how to just BE NORMAL.  Don’t know how to just be ourselves.  Have no off button… have no on button.  Have no button that turns the black and white into gray.  Have no button that makes it easier when someone walks away.  Have nothing like that.  But do have an intense need to be loved… which proves difficult for others to do.  Which in turn makes our lives more difficult too.  It feels like insanity because you just can’t understand what the hell is wrong with you.  Why you can’t make sense of anything or anyone.  Why people look at you funny and ask you what the hell is wrong with you.  It feels like a complete lack of understanding and place in the world.

Because it feels like being able to function completely normally while no one around you has a clue.

No one around you knows the war you fight within.

Advertisements
 

The death of childhood December 17, 2008

Life has thrown many obstacles at me, as I am sure is the same for many others.  Some people just seem to go through life without too much difficulty, without ever knowing what it feels like to be abused, depressed, suicidal or any of those other fun things that come along.  

I on the other hand, am not one of those people.  Because of that I have been in therapy for what seems like an eternity but is really only six years.  I have a myriad of diagnosis including chronic depression, PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) and Borderline Personality Disorder.   However, I don’t really think of myself by those things.  In all reality I am just a person, thats all it is.  A person with things I have to deal with, and have dealt with, tremendously well all considering.  I am a completely different person now than I was six years ago, three years ago, even one year ago.  However, some things just never cease to amaze me.  New things pop up that I hadn’t even thought about.  

One of those was in a therapy session I had yesterday.  My therapist asked me to write a letter to my mother, and start it with Dear Mom, I hate when you…. and list all the things from my childhood that I hated when she did.  So I did.  I started with the pen to the paper and Dear Mom, I hate when you scream at me… and so on from there.  Without too much time passing, I found myself in tears and with a list that was four pages long.  The saddest part was that none of the things were one time only things.  They were ALL things that she had done to me, more than once, and not I hate it when you wouldn’t let me go to so and sos house.  Nothing like that, all things that were regulars in the list of I hate it when yous… 

When I got to the fourth page I stopped.  Simply because I was crying too hard and I didn’t want to go on.  I closed the notebook I had written it in and didn’t think about it again.  Didn’t remember a lot of the things I put in that list because I was writing from the heart and not from my head.  

In Session yesterday my Therapist, J, made me read the letter out loud.  I surprised even myself when I had a hard time doing so.  I don’t know why, I guess because A.  I knew it would hurt her, and B.  I knew it would hurt ME.  I knew that reading that list would transfer what I had written from a secret place locked deep in my heart, to a conscious place in my head.  I didn’t really want to do that.  I needed to do it.  

I did it.  In reading the list of things I myself wasn’t even ready to hear, I made yet another realization.  Well really J made the realization through the tears in her eyes that I didn’t want to put there.  My mother was abusive.  

I was abused.  Not just sexually abused, that I already know about… a little hard to forget, even though my mind had done a good job of it.  But I was abused, by the person who was supposed to love and nurture me and care for me forever and ever.  Not physically, no she didn’t hit me any more than the slaps when I did something wrong.  No she was verbally and emotionally abusive.  

I don’t know why this comes as a surprise to me.  But it does.  It hurts, it brings up things I don’t want to feel.  My mother was abusive.  Not an easy thing to deal with.  

Particularly since the worst part of it is, I love my mother.  I really do.  I don’t know why, I guess that deep part within me that loves her because she is my mother.  I love her because she isn’t ALL bad.  She isn’t a terrible awful person who belongs somewhere in the pits of hell.  Which is hard for me, because I would think that all abusers belong somewhere in the pits of hell.  

My mother does not.  She is a good person <BAH> really, she is.  Well I guess I should say she TRYS to be a good person.  She was the girl scout leader, the mom who always went on field trips, the one every other kid loved!  She made the best cookies, she made the best projects, she was creative, she is all sorts of good things.  

However, she is also abusive.  It wasn’t on purpose, I KNOW that.  All she ever wanted in the world was to be a mother (I know right?  Barf) I just wasn’t the right daughter for her.  Too bad there isn’t a store or something where you can pick the right kid.  Had things been different perhaps it would have worked better, but I was just not the right kid for her. 

I do not allow myself to still be abused, we have come to this relationship that seems to work, where we both pretend that the past never happened and we are just this happy family la te da.  

So how does one go about dealing with something like this?  Dealing with a rationalization that comes in adulthood.  I guess I just keep going about doing what I am doing and hoping the eventually the majority of my demons will settle.  That hopefully I will know how to be someone that is not anywhere NEAR my mother.   I can’t make the past better, I can’t make it different.  I can keep going toward the future but I wonder how to effectively let go of the past, without burying it in a non healthy way, as I have done for so long.