#105 My First Big Mistake

You know how farm kids are discouraged from naming the animals so they won't grow attached to them...
and you know how we don't give names to our bad feelings in hope that they will just go away without disrupting our lives...
and you know how it is better not to name our mistakes...

Well, I was that mistake.

My parents had two daughters and then a son; the next year a stillborn son; and then another pregnancy...a replacement for the lost boy.

With months to go, I was named, Wayne Frank.
When the big day arrived, what should appear. Me! A Girl! I was a GIRL!
It was not what they ordered. It was not what they wanted. It was a colossal mistake.

Frequently, throughout my childhood, I would be reminded of this really, really serious error that I made on my very first day of life.
I was NOT-A-BOY.

So I was nameless for 10 days; no likelihood of attachment there; maybe it will just fade away if we ignore it; maybe if we don't name this mistake, it isn't ours.
One day my father met a little girl and asked her name. The borrowed name became mine...Rylee, the mistake.

#104 Here We Go Again!

I know it is typical for us Borderlines to feel rage when our therapist announces she is taking some time off. I am feeling it more this time than usual I guess because I am FEELING it instead of suppressing it.
But I am also feeling the HURT.
Why trust someone??? She says that I am special but she still leaves me!!!
I was special to some people once-upon-a-time...

My Dad got sick when I was 3 and he left me;
my mother got scared and she left me too;
my big sister got married and she left as well;
my big brother went soldeiring and he died.

I wasn't "special" to anyone anymore.and I forgot how to trust!
But I didn't forget how to HURT!

I am oh so angry.
I want the inside pain to hurt on the outside.
The little me could handle outside pain but not the pain of being left again!!!

#103 ...and then there were two

#102 Self Diagnosis

"I Hate You - don't leave me!" The book screams at me from the shelf. I know exactly what that means but the subtitle confuses me, "Understanding Borderline Personality Disorder." I run home and devour it's contents in a few hours. This book is all about me! How can that be? I don't know what B.P.D. is and I've never heard of a personality disorder.

Borderline Personality Disorder is a mental illness that causes intense mood swings, impulsive behaviours and severe problems with relationships and self-worth.

I shove the book across the desk of my family physician and stammer..."this is about me!" Barely looking at it, "of course it is," she snaps. I stop breathing. Which psychiatrist or which hospitalization produced this diagnosis is not to be revealed. Apparently, there is no requirement to share this kind of information with a patient. What good would it do? There is no cure.

For people with this personality disorder long-term relationships are usually impossible and marriage is rare. Relationships with helping agencies also tend to be fraught with problems, making treatment by psychotherapy or drugs difficult.

The more I read about BPD the more humiliated I am. All of it is true but it embarrasses me to see it in print. It feels like everyone knows now, although I have not disclosed my discovery to anyone. My roller coaster life starts to show a pattern. As long as I can remember, valleys of depression have alternated with mountains of panic. When the trolley is about to fly off the track I resort to burning or cutting myself to maintain some feeling of control.

People with BPD exhibit a frantic fear of abandonment that may lead to problems with anger, injuring themselves or suicide attempts.

I am in shock for a long time until I realize that naming the bogeyman gives me power. Since it has a name then there are others like me out there.

I get a new doctor and a new therapist.
I am not alone anymore.

#101 Countdown Living

It is strange to think how much of my life I have spent in countdown mode.

Right now, I am worried about an upcoming event and this morning, as soon as I was awake, I heard myself think...in 72 hours it will be all over.

Being a chronic worrier, there is generally something up ahead that I think might turn out bad.
And so starts the countdown...two weeks, one week, six days, five days, four days, three days, day-after-tomorrow it will be over; in 24 hours I can forget about it (for now).

Forever counting down my life; trying to get to the other side of the bad stuff.
Even I can see that this is not living. It isn't even living in the future.
It's living in fear.