I apologize for the delay in writing, writer's block sucks. I think I need to take a break from writing, I know it's only been four days worth of writing, but to someone with BPD, it gets really exhausting. I get emails from people sharing their thoughts, experiences, and even parts of their soul. I find that very refreshing, and encouraging. I believe everything happens for a reason, especially when we struggle. I would argue that if we spent our life seeking out pleasure and happiness, life would grow weary, we would become complacent, and stop growing.
I spent most of my younger years, ok, up until I was 28, apologizing for everything, even those things that weren't my fault. I was probably around ten at the time and was visiting my father. My brother and I spent about a month every year together, visiting the same parent before one of us moved with the other parent. He and I nver had a decent relationship, I think he resented me as he was always charged with taking care of me. This time was no exception. Our father had told my brother that he was in charge and not to eat and spoil dinner, we would eat when dad got home from work. I think it was bareky after noon and I decided I wanted to eat something. My brother met me in the kitchen and we had a few words, very few in fact, because as soon as I talked back to him he lifted me off the floor and threw me across the kitchen. I only stopped when my back hit the oven. It was a good throw, to be honest. I was pretty small at the time, but I'm sure to get the distance he really had to put his ass behind it...valiant effort.
I wish, my dear reader, I could tell you I got up off the ground and stomped his ass, but I didn't. Nope, never mind that he probably would have kicked my ass, my worry was the beating I would have gotten from my father. So, I ran out of the house crying in anger and shame (If you think less of me for that, go fuck yourself. This was I think one of the last times I can recall crying). So I left and went for walk, trying to calm the demons that were raging inside of me. Why was he so adamant about not eating. It was lunch time, we had breakfast, and all I wanted was a small bowl of goddamn ice cream. I think what pissed him off was not that I wanted to eat, but because I said two words in defiance to him, "So, what." Doesn't matter, he was wrong for acting out. Period.
I decided to walk to my grandmother's house, about 200 yards away from my father's and hopefully wait for my father to arrive. As I walked through the woods and arrived at the dirt road, my father pulled up. He stopped in front of me and told me to turn around and go home. I could barely hear him, almost like he was in a tunnel. No, I was intently focused on the smiling, beaming face of the person sitting next to him...my brother. We learned at an early age how to twist things and manipulate the situation to our favor, and we were good. Not good enough to fool our parents, but good enough to fool a lot of people...and he was better, much better than I. When we I got home, they were there. I had to apologize for my actions toward my brother, and that beating I was worried about getting from my father, I got it anyway.
I'm tired of apologizing. I'm tired of secrets and the constant worry that someone will look at me and see them. There are many things I could share with you, many, many demons inside who have names, but somethings I share only with those whom I am very close to. That's my perogative. But I have no secrrets anymore. I have sttod on the house top and shouted them out for all the world to hear. Those very few people (three I can count), who know me, know me well. The one person, knows me so intimately it scares the hell out of me. In that relationship I find grace, acceptance, and I am not ashamed of anything. That one, and the others, give me strength to press on ad learn more about myself. They give me the courage to face my demons and not be afraid of their chaos. I am who I am, and I am free for that. But only because there are those who see me and see beyond my scars and hideousness. And you, my beloved reader, because you have continued with me so far (and there is more to come), have grown also. Maybe you see it in yourself, maybe not yet. But you have grown. You read what I wrote, and the seeds are planted. Something insdie of you stirs, hungers, desires to call out to break the chains that have you bound. You may not know it, but there is strength in you, strength to embrace who you are and what you want. Fight the good fight.