I blame her
Because children are more resourceful
It’s more respectable if she is the reason
I can’t leave my home
I can’t leave my bed
People understand
In ways they can’t if it was just me
“Oh no worries, I know how it is”
“Lmao, that is just how it is with kids”
I blame her
Because it is easier to believe
Why I scream into my pillow
Why I can’t speaks days on end
They understand her
In ways I just don’t get
So I blame her
Just to fit in
My daughter is in therapy. There really is no reason for it. Mentally, she is fairly healthy. No, this is so she can work through the struggles that came from being raised in a single parent home when said single parent has a personality disorder. I can’t, I won’t let her turn out like me. Instead I put her in therapy so that she can speak to someone who can help her understand that I love her unconditionally even if I do not always show it and that my flaws are not a representation of her at all. So far, I think it has helped her.
But I overheard something the other day. Or was it today. I can’t recall. Well one day I heard something while she was talking to her therapist.
Normally, I do not my best to not listen in. I play music or watch something. There have been times when I will stand outside. Her therapy is her time. But today, or was it last week, maybe it never happened, she read a book to her therapist about people with BPD.
It is a book geared more towards children. A series, in fact, that details a lot of disorders but I gave her the one fo used on mine. She read this book to her therapist and told her how it was one that made me cry every time I read it. How, while reading it, she discovered that the charecter with BPD acted a lot like me. Her therapist asked her opinion on this and my daughter stated
“It’s fine”
….
It’s fine?
As she continued to read she ran across a part that gave her pause. Within this book is a section that talks about people with BPD often having problems with boundaries because they are afraid of being abandoned. So when someone goes a long time without answering text or phone calls, the person with BPD will start to freak out. In the process they may respond in anger or fear. My daughter, being the rather opinionated person that she is, told her therapist that this was something she found to be mean. When her therapist asked her to explain what she meant she just repeated herself and kept on reading.
Now, this is something that I do. But it is an aspect of myself that I tend to ignore. Mainly because I feel justified in my mass text or phone calls if I am repeatedly ignored. Of course I do not do it for long. Because after some time I will just convince myself that the person hates me and wants me dead. That’s exactly why they are ignoring me. It doesn’t matter what the true reasoning is. What I feel is right because I believe it is. They hate me, they want me dead, I annoy them, thus they are no longer my friend.
But this isn’t true. At least that is what reality says. Yet I still feel this way. So when my child looked to her therapist and said that she behavior was mean…I had to check myself.
Am I being mean?
I don’t rightly know.
I miss the mornings when I got to lay in bed with you.
The way your curled around me and grabbed so delicately at my hand
You do not know how afraid I was, that I would break you
I knew you weren’t fragile but I still saw you as unreal.
That by taking my eye of you, you would just disappear
I was afraid. Yet you loved to cuddle close
Would out your head near my chest and let out the biggest fuss if I moved
I was a weak and yet… to you…I was home
This week is not a good one. I feel just so alone. Like no one wants to talk to me. I think it is because people only seem to talk to me on their terms.
But I need that interaction. So I send them message after message until a point is reached where they feel like talking to me. I know that this isn’t the best. Creating random situations to be noticed isn’t ideal, but what else can I do? I was doing so well for a time but now I am empty.
All because no one talks to me. No one is interested in what I have to say.
I have no friends
No family
That bothers to check up on me.
The only people I speak to on a consistent basis is my kid and my therapist.
When others take the time to notice me. I lie
Tell them I am alright and that No, of course everything is ok. Everything is going well. I am not sick. I am not scared. I am not staying up at night wishing that it would be my last but to much of a coward to do anything. Nothing like that is happening.
Instead I tell them about all the great things. How sunny the sky is. How happy me and my daughter are. How I love her and she makes me smile. At no point do I tell them that I hide in my room and only interact with her cause I have to. Not because I am a good parent but because I am a parent. I feed her, bathe her, get her ready for school. I listen to her read and play. We watch videos and tell each other stories. Not because I want to, but because it is expected of me. Given a chance I would not be here.
They don’t care. None of them care.
They talk to me on their own time and the interactions never last long. I can send them a message, an email, but it all gets ignored. Phones calls are regulated to once a blue moon conversations. Only call when they need money.
I hate it here.
I made this blog so that I can share my stories but also so people can have a small glimpse into what it is like for those who have BPD. And well…this is it.
And I am sorry for that
“Do you regret it?”
“No, why should I?”
“Because you gave up!”
“No…I didn’t…”
“But you did! Had you listened to me-“
“What? Had I listened to you what!?”
“…We would be happy…a family.”
“No, we wouldn’t. We would be content. A mix of shame and regrets. We would have hated each other in the end”
“But-“
“And you wanna know what the worst part is?”
“…what? What could be worst than being a murderer?”
“That…that right there. We were never be fit to be more than friends. Yet you wished to make something out of what was not meant to be? Why? For such a little thing that we would both abandon. You despise me without reason and yet you scream about what ‘could have happened’ what ‘could have been’. When right now! Yes! Now! You hide behind a smirk. You want to be so woke yet you expect things. Grand things that bring about disorder. All because you felt as though a bundle of cell could bring us closer. “
“BUT OUR DAUGHTER”
“…”
“Or our son. Should have had fighting chance to become one”
“But you don’t want me”
“But…yes, still it would have been worth it since you already let me inside your dress. What a little bit more for both our sakes. Someone around to tie us to the stake. Sure we would burn and we may hate. But it would be worth it over this mistake. “
“So you would rather live in misery?”
“I rather IT live”
“My daughter…”
“Yes?”
“I do not think I am enough…”
“That is ok, no one ever does.”
it is 6 am and i am still stuck
largely because
i do not think i am enough
i could ask her to clarify
but i am to afraid to hear a lie
it’s 6:03 and i can’t breathe
yet i write such meaningless things
in the hope that it will get better
with time
I am not a momma to be held with contempt. I think I am exempt
From such animosity because there is no one, surely no one
Who can hate me as much as me
Such a belittling feeling and yet so deserved
For who else can ignore such a girl
One with a smile so sweetly filled with love
Who else would dare turn away from her hugs
Crying cause their skin is burning
Sleeping well into midmorning
Could you do it and still hold yourself on high
Or would you feel as I do? Despair beside a happy child
Making up excuses to stay a while
Could you really believe yourself worthy of praise
When not a day goes by that doesn’t end in a haze
This is what it is like to parent with depression
To parent in a borderline state of obsession
This desire to leave sticks to the bones
Yet, I know, I truly know, that this small child is home
Honestly_ what a terrible poem
I made this blog as a way to work through my own emotions. But there are times when I wish I could something a bit more meaningful. This is not one of those times. Today is a different day. A day in which I truly do wish to die.
I think about it often enough but overall I am scared. I think that is because I might possibly actually want to lie and it is the pain and depression that I suffer with that I want to go. But every Avenue leads to more depression and more suffering. I have people I talk to but it seems as though I have to constantly update them on the fact that I have not gotten better. Because as soon as I do something that seems a bit abnormal they fight back with “Oh what but I that things were better now”
No, but shall I wear a scarlet letter upon mine breast so that you may see that I am, in fact, quit ill.
But if I were to send them updates they will do something drastic. Like take away my child and deem me an unfit parent. Or go out of there way to make my life hell in other ways. Such as sending me to the mental ward of a nearby hospital.
Which, mind you, I have been to those hospitals. Enough times that I could probably teach a class within it. I know the material by heart and am currently going to school for psychology and social work. So really how exactly are any of these supposed to help me or make me trust others.
Instead I wish people would listen. I want them to actually sit down and talk to me and help me build a plan. Hold me accountable yes, but also make sure you hold up your end of the bargain.
I am almost positive that I want to die. I crave not feeling anything anymore. But I can’t do that to my little one. I can’t ruin her life for the sake of my own salvation. Instead I will suffer along hoping that someone takes the time to listen to me.
I wonder about the glue
That binds your little soul to me
Will it hold steady as you age
Or will it slowly fade away
NIGHTMARE FANTASY 