Some times I find myself thinking of my own mortality. I suppose this is normal considering my disorder and the recent overdoses. But I can’t help but wonder what will happen to me in the future. There are times I’m filled with dread at what’s to come. I can feel it simmering beneath my veins, just waiting for that fresh wound to explode out of me. Then there are the times I wonder what Lyndsay in 10 years is doing. Most of the time I wonder about future relationships.
I will admit I am scared of relationships. I’m scared of developing feelings for another human being when I am so often consumed by feelings that are ordinary. On the groups I am in that are filled with borderlines, I see hundred posts a day about how the relationship effects them, the constant up and down, the negatives and I don’t know if I could ever put myself in that position. Where I could be that vulnerable with another person, or if I could put another person in the position to deal with my disorder and it’s all glory and sadness. There are times I wish for nothing more than to have someone with me, to have what everyone else has but I don’t feel like I can’t. I’m not normal, my brain isn’t normal. So, in my eyes to hope for anything normal is stupid. I realise that a big part of my fear is that I am not good enough. So I turn people away before that could happen. I don’t let myself have anything good because it won’t last anyway. I’m good at ruining things, I let my fear take over and I let my anxiety take over. It is what it is, I guess.
I’m scared of my friendships with people. I am scared because these friendships often at times feel fleeting. They pass in no time at all and I’m left alone again. I know that this is my disorder talking, the intense fear of abandonment taking over my thoughts like usual. I find it hard to keep contact with my friends because I feel like a bother. Being friends with me is hard, I know this. I’m not an easy person to be around. My personality is intense and not everyone can handle it. They can’t handle it at times, and I get that and I don’t blame them when they pull away. I know they need to take time away because being friends with a borderline is hard, being friends with me can be draining at times. I don’t help the situation, I don’t talk to them, I don’t initiate contact with them, I seclude myself from them for days at a time. Essentially, I give them all the power in my friendships. Which is sometimes difficult for me to swallow. I wait for them to contact me, I wait for them to visit me, I wait for them to initiate contact with me. I wish I was different and I wish I was a different friend. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so blunt and I could be a different person but then I realise that they are my friends even though I am difficult. I can’t be a different person for them, I can’t change who I am and I don’t want too. I have grown with these people. I have experienced traumas with them, I have experienced happiness, I have experienced the better part of my adulthood with these people. Two of them have no problem putting me in my place, they will tell me that I’m being a dickhead, they will tell me when I need to change my attitude. We all have strong personalities, we’re all blunt and excuse my language but we’re all cunts. But there my tribe, and I have to remind myself of this on a daily basis. Sometimes, they appreciate my bluntness. They come to me with something and I’ll give them my perspective in a way only I can. These friends are the ones who visit me in hospital, they bring my biscuits, they take me to the marina when I need to be near water, they will sit with me for hours in the hospital on their days off, they live with me and know how to handle my moods. They are my support system and even though I don’t show it and I can’t say it, I’m thankful for them.
My relationship with my parents is difficult as well. My mother and I don’t have a standard relationship. I wouldn’t call what we have a relationship either. I’ve grown up without her there like every other little girl and I learned how to cope without my Mum. But there are times when I can not fault her. There are times she pulled through when no one else did. She has her own life now and I’m happy for her. She still sees us, but I think that having not been in each others lives as much, we learned to live without each other. And that’s okay. My relationship with my father is sometimes strained because of my mental health and I get it. I’m his daughter and it’s hard to watch her deal with something he can’t control, something he has no power in. We have a relationship where most of the time he’s my best friend. He took in three kids and brought them up on his own, which I will be forever grateful for. Not many men will do that but he did. He went to work everyday, he provided, and he made sure we had everything we needed. But sometimes, relationships are rocky and mine and his was. We were too alike, we each had a temper that rivalled each others, and we would speak without thinking. I was a teenager with mental health issues and that is not easy, I know that. He made mistakes but still at every doctors appointment, every therapy appointment he was there. When I spent some time in a psychiatric unit 40 miles away from him, he rang every night and he visited twice a week. We pushed at each other but in the end, he always came through. My father is a strong man, one of the strongest man I’ve ever known and I’m not just saying that because he’s my dad, but because of his life. He’s been through stuff and it’s changed him in a way no one can understand. My dad is a strong man because he’s lived through it all and still he gets up at 6am and goes to work everyday. He takes everything in his stride, he will take on the whole world for the people he cares about. He has his faults, but sometimes those are his greatest strengths. Understanding mental health is hard, understanding why we do what we do is hard, but I imagine being a father and seeing your daughter going through that and not having a clue why, is terrifying. I understand that now, and I respect him as a parent, but also as man who stuck by his child when they were both in hell. I am my fathers daughter, and I’m proud of that. But god, the man is infuriating at times. Just like I am.
This got really personal but I guess I needed to say it. If you’ve made it this far, congratulations. I would give you a medal but I don’t want to buy one so instead I’ll give you a virtual high five. I started this at 3:50am when my brain wouldn’t stop so hopefully I’ll finally be able to sleep after I’ve posted. Thank you for reading, when I wake up I’ll probably be really uncomfortable at how personal this blog post is, but right now, I don’t care. These are my thoughts, the thoughts of a borderline, and they needed a place to be and here is as good a place as any.