A moment in a thought

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

Who am I? September 5, 2009

And what a question that is.

Who am I?  Really, WHO am I?  I have so often wondered the answer to that question.  In the nature of me, and the nature of the diagnosis of BPD the question Who am I comes up quite often.  If you had asked me 10 years ago… five years ago… I probably would have looked at you like you were out of your mind.  I had no idea who I was, or even how to begin an accurate description of me.  I was whatever I wanted to be, a personal chameleon that could fit well into any situation.  Belong with any group of people.  Only I never really did BELONG, just pretended.  And silently hoped that no one would notice the chameleon in their midst.

Over the years I have developed something that would qualify as a sense of self.  I learned to lable things at put them into perspective and say, yeah, this is me, I like this.  I could even tell you reasons why I liked those things.  I have learned to allow myself to be myself, without questioning that too much.  Granted it doesn’t happen often, but it does happen.

Hoever, today, I took a quiz on a dating site, I decided to join a dating site, yay for me.  But I took this personality profile… I have taken lots… I know my profile personality pretty well.  This profile was different, the questions were aimed to be answered as you were as a child, not as you are now.  Because according to this, everyone is born with their core personality in tact.  Being that I worked in child care for 7 years,  I can tell you that this is probably true.  Babies, even little ones, have outrageously different personalities that they always carry with them through their childhoods.  But anyway, so this test is geared at your core personality, the one you were born with.  There was a disclaimer in there about yeah, people change blah blah blah but your core personality always remained.  So I took the test.  There were four personality groups.  Blue, the intuitive, intimate, emotional type.  Red, the powerful, stubborn, relentless type.  White the gentle, kind, dependable type.  Yellow, the outgoing, spontaneous and fun loving type.  I figured I was a shoo in for blue.

I got yellow, not even just yellow but DEFINITELY yellow (thats what they said, definitely yellow).  Yellow?  Where did that come from?  I am not outgoing, I HATE being around people.  I suck in social situations and avoid them at all costs.  I don’t like to be around people,  revel in being alone!  I don’t like having lots of friends, being the center of attention, I am not outgoing, I am not extroverted… all I could think of is WTF?  YELLOW??  The worst is my next was red, then white, THEN blue.  No no no, they got something wrong.

But then I started thinking.  I was that obnoxious child, the one that was always in trouble, and way too loud.  The one that wanted to be the center of attention and loved making people laugh.  The one that put tacks in her shoes because she liked the clicking noise walking down the hall.  The stubborn and crazy and creative kid.  I was that one.

So what the hell happened?

If our core personalities never change, where did mine go?  And the more I started thinking about it, the more I realized its still there.  Just so locked away and hidden it doesn’t come out often.  When I am with my Dad (my bdad for those followers) I am that person still.  The fun loving, outgoing, silly funny person.  The goofy one who loves to make him laugh.  The one who is always being cheerful and telling him to look at the bright side.  The Yellow me.  Yellow.  When I am with him, I can be yellow.

Every time else, I am Blue.  The emotional, feeling, intuitive, craves intimacy blue.  And I am blue with my Dad too, if it weren’t for the intimacy of our relationship (and NO intimacy does not mean SEX, at least not this definition of it) the yellow in me would never have come out.

So who the hell am I, the Yellow or the Blue?

And if core personalities don’t change, why do I gravitate towards blue?

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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.