I’ve been so emotional lately. I hate it. I’ve been crying a lot and feeling frantic for attention and feeling like everyone is leaving me or is sick of me. It’s so confusing because I want to suck people in and keep them close but I don’t want to overwhelm them so I also want to push them far and keep a distance. But then what if they think I’m sick of them and they go away because of that? Idk. My panda (stuffed animal) has been a close friend lately. He’s so comforting to me.
I’m sad again today. Not sure why. Just feel like crying. Needy like I need someone but also like fuck everyone, I need no one. Which is probably some sort of defense mechanism to avoid rejection. 😭 it hurts.
So I am sitting here thinking about personalities. I was reading something online about how we are all born with this core personality that follows us through our lives. Even as babies, we are all very different and have our own unique personalities which show themselves more and more within just months after birth.
Unfortunately for myself, somewhere along the line, my personality got damaged. Or rather, it’s been covered up by so many layers of bullshit that I no longer recognize myself, and the personality I had is so far hidden I hardly know where to begin to get it back and bring it back out.
I remember my mom telling me how outgoing and goofy I was as a young child. I was always talking to people, and in fact, would dangerously talk to or go with absolutely anyone, stranger or not, because that’s just how I was. I was always imitating funny things or doing funny voices just to get laughs or be plain silly. I was the girl roaming the camp for monkey gold, looking for seashells on the beach, finding cool rocks, playing in the creek and mud to take home frogs, on the prowl for caterpillars and taking home any stray animal or insect I could find. Getting lost in the neighborhood because I just had to follow that butterfly. And everything just had to go home with me. Even that dead bird that I just couldn’t leave on the side of the road.
Then I remember her telling me how I changed when I started school. She remembers the teacher telling her how quiet and reserved I was and my mom was so confused because that didn’t match my personality at all. My teacher just must have gotten me confused with someone else. But no. She hadn’t. It was me. Or was it?
So what happened? What happened when I started school? Was there a traumatic event that I just don’t remember? Why was there such a sudden and dramatic change to my personality? Honestly, as many layers that are hiding that personality, I still relate to it. I still remember. I was so carefree, free spirited, my own person and I was totally ok with that. Until I started school.
I remember the terror that set in. It was constant. The fear of not being accepted. Suddenly everything I was, was wrong. No one else seemed like me. Kids were so mean and I didn’t want to be the target. I was too afraid to continue being who I was out of fear that it just wasn’t acceptable. I remember those feelings because I still feel them to this day, but they’re even worse now. I was the quiet kid doing everything alone and only speaking up when I would see someone else getting picked on. No one stood up for me but I always stood up for the other loners. Hate on me all you want but I’ll be damned if you’re going to hurt other people. I knew what they were feeling and couldn’t watch someone else be hurt. But me? I was always left to fend for myself and I was stubborn and held it all in. I was strong and I would be fine. Except I wasn’t.
I also remember a lot of conflict with my sister. I would get so angry with her and always felt like she got special treatment. I always felt like the black sheep and can pin point a few times in my childhood that the treatment was legitimately unfair. I always felt like, “What about me?” But I clung to her. She often had to tell me to give her space because I would physically stay too close to her like when we went to the pool. I just couldn’t face all of those people on my own and I never felt like my parents were there for me. Sadly I never felt that she was either. My mom and her were always very close, my dad was scary and had his own issues, and then there was me. So from very early on I have had to try and figure out how to survive on my own without needing anyone.
Why was I so afraid? Why did I feel so different so early in life? People just never seemed to appreciate things the way that I did. No one cared how cool that pine cone or rock looks, how pretty that butterfly was, or how sad that bird’s family must have been for losing it. They were all too busy worrying about designer clothes and shoes and having the latest and greatest of everything and having the best status in the class. Popularity. I didn’t care about that yet it just made me feel so absolutely different that I just felt so alone. Why didn’t I care about those things? Apparently I should. What is wrong with me?
Looking back, it doesn’t matter if I was different. I think I sounded like a pretty cool kid before I started school and became so terrified of the world. Is that still me? Is that who I’m supposed to be?
Why did it have to lead where it did? How did life go from butterflies and caterpillars to the torment I lived through in various situations out of my control as I got older, and to where I am now?
Maybe if I could understand that, I could try to get that person back. I still honestly feel like that personality differs from most. I don’t care about social status. I don’t live for anyone but my kids. I don’t care about the things that most others care about. Maybe being different is just my thing. Maybe it’s ok to be her. And if that means being alone, than so be it. I just have never cared about having the most friends or being “in”. I just don’t want to be bothered. I’d still rather chase butterflies and see where they’re going.
If I were more like me again, I think I would be a better mom. A better girlfriend. A better everything. Maybe that’s what I need to do. Find her.
I just heard a song and wow it made me bawl while I was driving I could hardly see through my tears. The song was by NF called How Could You Leave Us. The guy is rapping and singing about his mom not being there for him and eventually dying over an overdose from a pill addiction. He talks about the things they will or did miss out on. How he was angry but now wishes he just would have called her. Now one of the few sacred songs I really relate to.
It got me thinking. Ugh and as I type I have such a headache from crying. I was always such a daddy’s girl at heart but it was never a safe environment to allow myself to express that and so the need always got left unfulfilled. I think that’s why I always felt so alone because I just wanted my dad but he was scary or just plain negative and demanding, and eventually was a heroin addict. I don’t feel like he ever took care of me. Not like a good father. Not the way I needed.
Not only did I miss out on all of the child things growing up, but I missed out on him getting to experience and appreciate the person I had become, even in spite of him. I missed out on the adult experiences with him. I couldn’t just call him to meet up for lunch or coffee. I couldn’t go for him for adult or parental advice. I couldn’t expose my kids to him or him to my kids. He never got to see and be proud of my successes even though I was a teenage mother. He never got to tell me how proud he was for graduating. Getting promoted at work. Buying a house for me and my kids. Buying my first car on my own. Nothing. He was too busy and consumed with shooting up. I often just feel sorry for him because I believe he had a lot of the mental issues I now have and while I can understand why he was how he was, sometimes I am still so angry at him. Angry that he just wasn’t there for me. I felt like love always came at an expense or was just not there. He was too consumed to make room for real fatherly love. I’ve always lived in this fantasy world about what it’d be like if he were a good dad. Or if I had one. That’s how I coped. I fantasized constantly when I was little. I still do to this very day. Constantly seeking a replacement to fill this void that is still there.
I am an adult and yet I still feel like I am just as much of a daddy’s girl still waiting for him to show up and make things right. Like I’m stuck in this childlike state that I feel like I will never get out of. This part of me is still terrified, feeling unloved and neglected, has no voice and if I had to put a picture to her, she is huddled in a corner because being surrounded by walls is the safest form of embrace I ever found growing up. I relied on stuffed animals, “blankies”, fantasies and close small places like bathrooms or closets, which I still do.
It makes me wonder so many things. Will I ever be free from her? Will she ever grow up? Will she ever be ok? Did he ever realize, like really realize, what he was missing out on? Did he ever try to be better or did he just give up? Which hurts too but I try to understand.
I guess this causes a lot of inner conflict for me. Sometimes I feel like I have multiple personalities but I think instead I just have many parts of me and depending on what is happening at any given time determines which version of me you will get. And the version of me can change within a split second if my environment changes and I either feel safely vulnerable enough to let the little me come out, or the bigger badder scorned bitch to take over as a protector. And then there is “it”. The it. I haven’t figured out what “it” is but it taunts me. Makes me crazy.
I guess that’s it for now.
Not a good night. I’ve been up since a little past 4am when I was woken up by a terrible dream. I was so relieved when I saw my boyfriend but for a bit I didn’t know where I was. I couldn’t get back to sleep but I tried. And then the voices. I could hear them upstairs talking loudly. I don’t think it was the same men then have often attacked me in the middle of the night but like those men, they didn’t seem to care that we, or I, could hear them and knew they were there. I woke my boyfriend up again and he said no one was here and then they all stopped talking but I couldn’t sleep still. Just waiting for the next bad dream, voice, or room invasion like they’ve done to me before.
I’m trying to chalk it all up to my high stress day but who knows. I’ve been dealing with nightmares and shit like this since I can remember.
My boyfriend just left. I mean, in my mind I think I am aware that he is just going to work for the day, but I can’t help but feeling like he just left. Totally abandoned me.
I’m laying here in bed and should be enjoying my last hour of sleep but I can’t. I just want to cry and freak out. All I can see in my head is the replay of the bedroom door closing behind him.
I remember this feeling. I used to get it when being dropped off at the babysitter’s house when I was little but I never showed up other than completely shutting down once left.
I also remember feeling it when my dad left. While there was a huge relief there also, I couldn’t believe he had just walked out without a fight. He didn’t even want to stay.
“Daddy’s Little Girl” by Frankie J. Watch the video if you care to. It’s how I feel.
I hate this feeling. I just want to sleep.
So last night turned into another full swing episode. I tried to reach out to my boyfriend. I ended up going and laying in bed and realized at one point what I was doing and that I needed to fight it. I texted him and asked him to come hold me.
About 10 minutes later. He did. I could feel it growing inside me. Consuming me. It was coming and it was almost ready to strike. I tried to stay still. Keep my eyes closed. Not make a sound. Like I was hiding from a monster, except the monster was growing inside me. I remember my eyes shooting open and just searching. It was telling me all of the things I could throw and destroy if I got up out of bed.
My boyfriend told me to roll over and look at him but I didn’t want to unleash this demon. When I did try to roll over, the crazy set in. I wrestled him a little and told him if I got my hands on the water bottle on the table I was going to throw it across the room. Well I got it, I think twice.
He got mad and left me. I was so broken. He left me. I raced out the front door and started my walking. Talking out loud and repeating shit over and over. I felt out of my mind. I eventually came to a bench and sat down. I hate watching myself be stupid and destructive and this time I could sort of hear myself telling me to stop. Thank God I did because last time I got pretty far from home; as far as walking is concerned.
After blowing up my boyfriend’s phone, I texted my sister. I could feel it going away but I knew it wasn’t quite done with me yet. Then the tears set in. I kept thinking about my family. My boyfriend and all of the kids and I just wanted to be part of it. I was so ashamed though and didn’t know how to go back home. How do I just rejoin the family? I felt so undeserving and confused; unworthy.
I talked to my sister. She drove to me so we could talk and it helped. We ended up laughing about something totally unrelated. It was nice though. Then she drove me home and we did my boyfriend’s son’s belated birthday cake. It was nice.
The rest of the night was ok but I felt like the little girl that I used to always talk about. I don’t talk about her much anymore. She’s too vulnerable. It’s easier to suppress. But this fucking demon loves the extra attention.
It’s draining. It literally sucks the energy out of me. I could have curled up and slept on the ground last night had my sister not shown up. I just needed someone to be there, talk to me, help me to reset and to give me the strength and confidence to go back home.
Wow I am not ok. I stopped taking my meds. I won’t say why due to people reading my blog that I’d rather not read it. You know who you are asshole.
Anyway, I stopped them. Cold turkey. I know. Dangerous. Don’t do it. Well I did it. I guess I could always start back up. It’s only been a couple of days. I am going crazy too so maybe I should but I don’t want to. Stubbornness? Maybe.
I guess part of me was hoping that I’d be just fine. I mean, I’ve been going to therapy for, what, almost a year? Yea, something like that. I thought therapy maybe was what was helping me, but screw that too. I just feel like pure borderline shit. No one gets it. No one but my fellow borderlines that is.
I’m paranoid as fuck. I’m terrified as fuck. I feel like a little kid afraid of the big bad world. Well the world is big and guess what, it is fucking bad. Truthfully. So maybe I’m valid for feeling afraid of it. I don’t know. I’m a fucking train wreck, and ye who reads my blog but shouldn’t can sadly vouch for the fact that I’m a fucking lunatic.
Don’t get me wrong. I can be the actress as needed when mom needs to be mom. That’s something I always am ok with. I can be mom. Other than that, I’m a fucking mess. I’m sick. Sick to my stomach I mean. Sick with anxiety. Rage. Rage at what I think is going on in the world around me. People are surely screwing me left and right behind my back. People are fucking liars. Liars and users. They just want to use you for what they can and keep you around for, well, I have no idea what for. Why would someone keep me around if they were just screwing with me? I mean seriously. Why keep a fucking raging borderline bitch by your side when you can go and have your fun without her? Why hurt her in the process?
Again, let me get this straight and be realistic for one god damn second and say that I have no reason that I can think of to lead me to believe that someone is doing me wrong. I just believe it anyway. I feel it in my bones.
The bitch. The evil bitch inside is back full on. She’s fucking with me like a fucking rag doll. A fucking helpless rag doll. She’s feeding me shit and it’s working. Tearing me down. Self harm? Want to. Did it yet? No. My boyfriend wouldn’t be happy and the last thing I want to do is anything that may make him want to leave me. Suicide? Want to. Obviously I haven’t done it yet. I’m here typing this shit.
All my followers are probably going to read this and think, “Wow, she really is a fucking nutjob.” Yea, it’s true. I held my shit together for awhile to write some well thought out posts but now here I am. Broken and fucked up. Are you happy (you know who you are)?
I’ll be back. Dinner time.