Exhibit B: Impostor
One of the traits of someone with BPD is that we take on the traits of the people around us. We have no idea who we are and generally just feel empty. So liking or disliking whatever the people around us likes or dislikes makes us feel more grounded. But we end up losing ourselves in the process. We still don't know who we are. And if and when that person leaves, we are empty and lost again and go into a panic.
I didn't start to learn anything about myself until I moved 1600 miles away from my home state. Once my (then) boyfriend was sent to Japan by the Navy, I was alone. I'd only made on friend so far and I was still learning my way around. I had no choice but to figure things out for myself. I learned what foods I really liked. I loved sushi once I tried it because no one was telling me how gross it was. I could listen to the music I preferred because no one was telling me it was awful. The boyfriend used to tell me that my Tori Amos CD made him want to slit his writs because it was so bad. So we always listened to his choice of music. Finally I could listen to Tori all day long if I wanted to. And I often did. Singing along as loudly and as badly as I wanted.
I had to meet new people and choose my own friends. I wasn't fitting myself into someone else's friendships or groups. I could make and choose my own friends and build my own relationships. Some I am still friends with and some I'm not.
No one else was choosing my clothing or disagreeing with what I wanted to wear. A friend started referring to me as a "yuppie goth". She was right. My closet and outfits were a blend of yuppie and goth styled. I loved it.
I dyed my hair red. The black with purple streaks. Then just black. I loved it the black color.
Now I am back in my home state. Surrounded by people who have always known me. Mostly not allowed to be myself anymore.
The black hair color is gone because it's frowned on. The clothes have become mostly conservative and not yuppie or goth. Just plain clothes. I never get to dress up and go out except for a special occasion. And again, the music that I love is hated and I only get to listen to it when I'm alone.
I have three friends. Two of them live hours aways. I don't get to see the other very often because of different schedules. In fact, I haven't seen her since my birthday in December.
I rarely leave the house. I can happily stay at home for weeks at a time. I am trying to change that. I have a gym membership and paying for it but not going makes me feel guilty. I also want to lose weight and tone up. So, I force myself out the door even though I know I'll feel better once I get there. I feel accomplished when I leave the gym. I've been out, I've exercised, I am working toward a goal of my own.
I take a medicine cabinet of meds every night before I go to bed. I hate it. Sometimes the thought of taking them makes me feel sick. But I know they help and that it's expected that I take them. So I do. They do help. I know it even though I wish I didn't need them.
There is no cure for BPD. No magical solution. I'll live with it my whole life even if some symptoms lessen.
The funny thing is that even my two therapists have said that I always seem so put together compared to other people with BPD. Even funnier is that they think that. I feel almost insulted when they say it. I'm a mess inside. Just a crazy scribble inside with just my own fears and spinning thoughts trying to take over.
I'm not "put together". I'm a mess. I'm just a good impostor.
I didn't start to learn anything about myself until I moved 1600 miles away from my home state. Once my (then) boyfriend was sent to Japan by the Navy, I was alone. I'd only made on friend so far and I was still learning my way around. I had no choice but to figure things out for myself. I learned what foods I really liked. I loved sushi once I tried it because no one was telling me how gross it was. I could listen to the music I preferred because no one was telling me it was awful. The boyfriend used to tell me that my Tori Amos CD made him want to slit his writs because it was so bad. So we always listened to his choice of music. Finally I could listen to Tori all day long if I wanted to. And I often did. Singing along as loudly and as badly as I wanted.
I had to meet new people and choose my own friends. I wasn't fitting myself into someone else's friendships or groups. I could make and choose my own friends and build my own relationships. Some I am still friends with and some I'm not.
No one else was choosing my clothing or disagreeing with what I wanted to wear. A friend started referring to me as a "yuppie goth". She was right. My closet and outfits were a blend of yuppie and goth styled. I loved it.
I dyed my hair red. The black with purple streaks. Then just black. I loved it the black color.
Now I am back in my home state. Surrounded by people who have always known me. Mostly not allowed to be myself anymore.
The black hair color is gone because it's frowned on. The clothes have become mostly conservative and not yuppie or goth. Just plain clothes. I never get to dress up and go out except for a special occasion. And again, the music that I love is hated and I only get to listen to it when I'm alone.
I have three friends. Two of them live hours aways. I don't get to see the other very often because of different schedules. In fact, I haven't seen her since my birthday in December.
I rarely leave the house. I can happily stay at home for weeks at a time. I am trying to change that. I have a gym membership and paying for it but not going makes me feel guilty. I also want to lose weight and tone up. So, I force myself out the door even though I know I'll feel better once I get there. I feel accomplished when I leave the gym. I've been out, I've exercised, I am working toward a goal of my own.
I take a medicine cabinet of meds every night before I go to bed. I hate it. Sometimes the thought of taking them makes me feel sick. But I know they help and that it's expected that I take them. So I do. They do help. I know it even though I wish I didn't need them.
There is no cure for BPD. No magical solution. I'll live with it my whole life even if some symptoms lessen.
The funny thing is that even my two therapists have said that I always seem so put together compared to other people with BPD. Even funnier is that they think that. I feel almost insulted when they say it. I'm a mess inside. Just a crazy scribble inside with just my own fears and spinning thoughts trying to take over.
I'm not "put together". I'm a mess. I'm just a good impostor.