After the divorce mom and I moved back in with gramma. For me it wasn’t really a move at all. Most of my earlier childhood was spent with gramma. Mom went back to work when I was 9 months old and Dad worked too.

Gramma spoiled me some, but I wasn’t an ungracious kid I always tried to be a good girl. She would always find fairs, carnivals, and activities I could enjoy. We baked, we picked berries, we rode bikes, we took showers together, we even slept in the same bed.

I know she felt badly for me. She told me recently, “I don’t think either of my kids should’ve been parents.” That must’ve hurt her; the kids she raised aren’t fit for the children they had. She saw how much mom ignored me and tried to make me feel special. I loved her for that so I tried to remain innocent and childish for as long as I could. I was participating in events and activities way below my age group, because they were things she enjoyed and it made her feel special to see me do them.

After my mom remarried I went to live with them; which meant I left gramma. But every break at school mom drove me back to her house to stay.

One night (8-9 years old) when mom was supposed to pick me up I felt dread (not that I knew that then I just didn’t want to go), so I hid in the closet. I thought if she didn’t find me she’d give up and leave. I thought about her looking all over for me and wondered if she would cry. Would she be desperate to find me? I hoped so, but, sadly, I knew she wouldn’t. I knew if she was to look for me and didn’t find me she’d just be angry, and if I stayed hidden she would just leave. And I didn’t want that. I wanted her to want me. I couldn’t take seeing her just leave me behind. I’d rather go back to the home where I was treated like an unwelcome guest than face the truth that my own mother rejects me. So I came out. I’m not sure if she saw me come out of hiding, or if I told her I was hiding, but she knew. The entire way home (2 hours) she berated me. Why would you do that?!? Why would you hide from me?!? What did I do to you?!? Why do you love gramma more than me?!? I didn’t have the words to express myself then. I couldn’t explain myself to her. But it hurt me that she was yelling at me. I wanted her to love me and I just wanted to see it, some outward evidence. Getting in the car I was even hopeful that maybe this could help us start to form new bonds. Maybe she’ll talk to me and decide to spend more time with me. Alas this was not to be. Mom simply screamed accusations. She was judge, jury, and executioner. I needed to see a therapist- she proclaimed. This is no way for a child to act. You are supposed to love your mother more than your grandmother. I said she thinks I’m crazy if she wants me to go to a therapist. I didn’t think that. I actually liked the idea of having someone to talk to, but I knew she thought it was a punishment so I played the part. I was trying not to cry and told her that my throat hurt. She said very smugly and full of self-satisfaction, “Because you want to cry.” I’m sure, in her mind, she believed I was upset because she had so rightly guessed the nature of my transgression. She’s crying out of guilt. She knows exactly what she was doing. Good. Let her cry. She deserves it for trying to hurt me. You were wrong, mom. But I loved you so much I let you believe anything you wanted just to help you feel better.

That’s how it started. Slowly she began poisoning my thinking against gramma. She’d tell me about how lucky I was to have nice cloths, gramma never cared what her kids wore she just took them to Value City. Gramma was never there for her emotionally, she said. I found something I could get mom to talk with me about, and I could learn about her past at the same time. Gradually I began to sympathize with mom more and more. Whenever she’d pick me up from gramma’s I’d tell her whatever dirt I knew she’d love to hear. I was happy to be able to connect with her any way I could. But, in doing so, I began to...

[ Continued ]

*I still consider myself mostly AvPD, but I also believe I could have BPD*

When I first heard about personality disorders I latched onto Borderline Personality Disorder. I read about how someone with BPD can be misunderstood as being manipulative to others. However the manipulation is just a coping mechanism for getting something they need. Like if a burn victim wasn’t supposed to have any water, but was dying of thirst they would use any tactic they could to get that water. Not because they need to control the actions of those around them, but because they are so thirsty.

I can understand how people can think I’m manipulative. When I need to ask for something I’m afraid and embarrassed, so I often smile and look up at them from under my brow when asking someone to do something. This results in them being rather disgusted by me, insulting me, and refusing to listen to me. They think I’m being manipulative when I’m really being apologetic for my request.

As a result of my fear of being mislabeled as a manipulator I try to never need another person’s help. I try to always be self-sufficient. It kills me to have to ask someone to show me something because I know they aren’t going to be nice to me.

Because I am such a diligent worker and self-sufficient individual I am routinely insulted. They call me ‘Miss Perfect’. They tell me I make everyone else look bad because I work so hard.

When I do manage to relax a little I get singled-out. Several times I’ve just been standing around, looking out the window while everyone else was in their little groups chit-chatting. NO WORK was being done by anyone. I decided to stand near the phones in case we got a call. All of a sudden the manager comes out, takes a look at me and yells, “OK! We don’t need to be standing around, waiting for the phones to ring! Find something to do!” Jesus. The only thing different about me was that I wasn’t socializing. I was an easy target. Oh, and by the way, after my manager yelled at us (me) I went back to cleaning. I had hardly stopped cleaning when he yelled as us (me) but anyway I went back to cleaning. And, you know what? Nobody else picked up a broom. Nobody else started working. They went right back to chit-chatting. And, you know what else? The manager joined them, and they stood around, watching me clean the whole place. It wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.

I can see how SO thought I was being manipulative when I suggested how we pay for our vacations. It’s not what I say it’s how I say it. I don’t have confidence. I’m apologetic. I’m anticipating a negative response and I just want a quick answer. I can understand how that can seem manipulative to someone who doesn’t understand how debilitating social anxiety can be. When I say, “I’ll pay for the flights and you can pay for the other stuff.” He hears, “I’m giving myself the easy part to make it look like I’m helping, but once we are there I’m going to splurge my ass off and you can’t do anything about it.” I know that’s the way it comes out but what I’m really saying is, “I feel bad that I can’t pay for more, but I’d like to help as much as possible. I don’t know how much this trip will end up costing and I’d really appreciate it if I can pay for my part up front, so I know how to plan my finances.”

Suggesting ideas, starting a conversation, and asking for help fall more in the SA category for me. I feel a definite physical response. The pit of my stomach drops, I feel light-headed, I feel like I’m in a tunnel, the sound becomes muted, my heart pounds/palpitates, and I feel nauseous.

Sorry to the mod for so many blogs but I need to write.

My dear SO gave me 12 horseback riding lessons for my birthday. It was a terrific present. But lately it’s been harder and harder to go.

It’s a family operation and they always have a ton of people around. Every time I go to my lesson there’s kids there staring at me, glaring at me in some cases. I don’t know what to do and I’m afraid of looking at someone wrong or saying something wrong so I just stand outside and play fetch with the dog until my trainer calls me over.

I can’t escape the negative image people have of me. If I try to talk I end up freaking people out and if I don’t talk they look at me like I’m stupid or a serial killer.

I figure if I just stay out of the way it’s better for everyone.

Then it’s time for my lesson and my trainer calls me over and the tone is like, “What the hell are you doing, weirdo? Why aren’t you paying attention?”

I AM paying attention! I’m just trying to stay out of the way! Why can’t you see that?

And she’s getting the horse ready but there’s still people talking to her and I’m just standing there because I don’t know what else to do. And she looks at me and says in an annoyed voice, “I’m TRYING.” Like I’m standing there with my arms crossed, tapping my foot, and checking my watch barking out, “Will this be much longer?!?” No. I’m not doing that! I’m petting the cats, I’m getting the brushes, I’m picking out a helmet. I’m doing EVERYTHING I can think of to be helpful and patient, but that’s not good enough. I’m still a monster somehow.

Speaking of helmets on a previous lesson my trainer told me to grab a helmet, so I grabbed one. This girl was staring at me very strangely and when I went back to the horse it was like I had committed a crime. “No. That’s Grrl’s helmet. Don’t you know where the helmets are?” No I didn’t. I’d never been shown. Just the way her eyes got really big and the tone of voice was very negative made me feel like she thought I took someone’s helmet on purpose. Then she walked me back and pointed out the ones that I could use. She could’ve said, ‘On the hooks next to all the brushes.’ I felt very shamed.

During the lesson I felt so down because there were so many people around and I felt so unappealing.

My horse wasn’t listening to me. I was kicking, squeezing, making noise and he still wouldn’t trot when I asked. When she told me to cantor I wanted to ask ‘Why?’ because if I couldn’t get him to trot I wasn’t going to get a cantor. But I tried. And I tried. And I tried. Nothing. I came so close to crying I was one step away from blinking away tears.

What’s sad and what really made me almost cry was that my trainer saw how upset I was and stopped me and gave me this big pep talk. That kindness is so hard to take. I’m used to people thinking I’m stupid or a monster. But when someone is genuinely caring I lose it.

I managed to control myself and made it through. But I wasn’t really upset because I couldn’t do the cantor. I was upset because I am not valuable by any other measure. I can’t be social, happy, pleasant most of the time so I have no value to society. If I’m not instantly good at everything I try what good am I? (For some background on this see my earlier blog entry: Pieces)

Yeah I know: boyfriend, horseback riding? Must be nice. Some people are so down that they can’t leave their room, can’t hold jobs, can’t even bath. So what right do I have to complain? I’m not here to compete with you. All I can do is express myself. Sometimes I wish I were a little crazier maybe then I’d be taken seriously. Maybe people wouldn’t hurt me when I try to explain the way I act. Maybe they wouldn’t think I was just making up excuses for a behavior and would see it as a real disorder.

“Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray, The Lord, my soul to keep
And guide me safely through the night
And wake me with the morning light.”

Every night I’d say this prayer before going to sleep. I always resented the last part: wake me with the morning light? Why?

Secretly I’d only say the first half over and over again. I’d pray that God took my soul in the night and I’d die so I never had to wake up again. I started this when I was very young, maybe 5-6 I started and by the time I was 8 it was my nightly ritual.

Every night I can’t wait to go to sleep. I keep telling myself that if I really believe and pray hard enough I’ll make myself die.

I heard a story of a girl in her 20’s who lay down for a nap and a few hours later her parents discovered she died: internal bleeding from a burst cyst on the ovaries.

“Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease! Pleeeaaaassssseee let me go next!”

I don’t want pain. I just want peace.

I wish I could just phase out of my body and watch the world go by. Listen and laugh to the people and their conversations, without fear of judgement.

You think I’m being melodramatic? You think I don’t deserve to feel like I want to die?

I never said I had the worst life in the world. I know many people reading this have experienced real physical and sexual abuses that I was spared.

I never had a tragic life. I had a net-zero life. Someone told me the opposite of love isn’t hate; it’s indifference. That’s how life has treated me: with indifference.

There’s more to our story, but I won’t get into that now. The important thing is the last few years we’ve been together have been the best so far.

Our love isn’t fiery passion; it’s more caring and comforting each other.

There was a time I dreaded the weekends; how will be treat me? How will I react? How will I make him hate me?

But now I dread Mondays because he’s gone all week.

It wasn’t easy to get where we are now, and it didn’t happen overnight. Our relationship isn’t perfect, but it’s a lot closer.

I had to make him understand that I was being hurt. That meant I needed to clearly express myself in the moment. It was, and still is, very scary and difficult to do. My heart jack-hammers in my chest, I feel like I’m falling down a tunnel, and I struggle to put my thoughts into words, but I push through and do my best.
Sometimes I still have a hard time understanding why I hurt. When I figure it out I try to say what bothers me. I’m embarrassed that it took me so long to find the words.

Example: SO and I had a couple over for cards and dinner. While we were talking SO was cleaning up and saw that I didn’t put the dishes away. He made a very passive-aggressive remark and looked at me very darkly and coldly.
I felt shame, guilt and frustration. But in the moment I could only be ashamed and guilty. It took me a few hours to understand the frustration.
When they left and SO started to ask me about the evening I said it was good except the dishwasher thing. That wasn’t fair for him make me look like a slob in front of guests. It wasn’t fair that he require I must remember every single thing all the time. I forgot and I feel bad about it, so why make me feel worse? I don’t hassle him when he forgets things (and he forgets A LOT of things) why can’t he treat me like I treat him?
He thought about it and sat back and told me I was right and that wasn’t fair of him. He didn’t think about it like that. He even told Bi about it and she told him that was a really dickish thing to do.

And that’s how it’s been. Slowly we’ve learned how to respect one another. Instead of calling me 10 times a day I call him on the way to and from work. Establishing a routine has helped us both feel more secure in our relationship.

On the weekends he cooked me lovely meals, we snuggle, and I fall asleep with him playing with my hair.

End of SO Story