Archive for the ‘Neglect’ Category

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Control

November 10, 2011

I have none. I really don’t. I watched “The 8 year old Anorexic” yesterday and I was shocked by it but my unstable mind was mostly thinking things like this:

“I wish I had that much control.

Look at all the attention she’s getting, maybe If I starved…

I wish I could starve myself, It’s so extreme even exciting.

I could be emotionally and physically unstable, then I would get looked after forever.”

Although having BPD can be unbearable at the same time to recover from my illness means not having reasons for people to look after me. If I’m ill I need help from people.

Now back to the self control, I write myself a note yesterday it said:

NO BURGERS.

NO PIZZA.

NO CHINESE.

Eat fruit.

Drink Water.

STOP EATING.

I was completely determined to do this, as I am every time I try and start something like this. But then my biggest addiction is food (after sex). It makes me feel so good and I can have it any time (unlike sex) I can just go into the kitchen and stuff my face and it feels so so good. The feeling I get from eating some delicious is euphoric. When I feel stressed or anxious (99.9% of the time, the 0.1% being after I’ve eaten) I eat but it’s not just simply eating it’s gorging myself until I feel sick. And it feels wonderful. I get so determined sometimes when I see anorexia programmes to just not eat and I make a plan but then I get hungry or I feel down and J will say I need to eat something and he’ll tell me that I’m allowed and I’ll use any excuse to stuff myself again. The thing is I feel so determined not to and then when it comes to it I really can’t stop. I can not eat but the days that I don’t I have a hell of a lot that I have done in that day so I have been too distracted to eat. It shows that I can do it I just need more distraction, like writing. I’m not craving anything right now because I’m distracted by this but as soon as I stop I know I’ll want to get some take-out. Although we do need to do food shopping today and I’m going to order loads of fruit because although fatty foods is very pleasurable, I had an apple yesterday and the sweetness was so delicious. So I think If I live off of apples, water, salads and sandwiches I’m not being too dangerous but I’m still tricking my brain into thinking I am by not eating loads of food. This isn’t about hurting myself as such, it’s about satisfying my mind into thinking I am because it is adamant on doing so.

People never think food is an addiction but it really is. Like anything can become an addiction. They just think people are fat and should stop eating, they don’t think that maybe this person is eating to stop all the hurt that is controlling their head. It’s such a stereotype to see a picture of a girl who has recently broken up with her boyfriend eating a big tub of ice cream. Food is a beautiful comfort. It used to just simply be for survival but with our over indulgence nowadays it’s normal to eat too much food just when we feel like it. I do get upset that I’ve put on two stone in a couple of months, I do but then when I feel shit I don’t care. I really don’t. Who cares If I’m huge, I want to eat, it’ll make me feel better. But then I know if I carry on like this by the age of 25 I’ll be so big that I’ll fall into a horrible depression. Then I’ll die. So I have two options, eat feel good, kill myself because I’m obese. Stop comfort eating, find distractions, potential of depression becoming more apparent due to not having comfort eating, kill self with depression.

At least the not eating has only a potential of suicide, right? Maybe I should try that one. Now I know there is one thing that could potentially balance the two things I would want. Eating food as much as I like but then not gaining any weight and abusing my body. But then after having a brief affair with vomiting numerous times a day and not eating a thing, I lost a tooth and losing my teeth is something that would cause any even worse depression than being fat. I can’t get my teeth back. It’s sad though because after I did all of this, I loved my body. I was size 12, I had never been size 12 before, I felt really feminine. It seems strange with the fact that I have constant stress and anxiety that I don’t lose weight but then it shows how much I do eat. I don’t go out a lot, which limits exercise but I do have a very high constant sex drive so that’s my majority exercise.

The reason behind BPD’s high sex drive and lack of self control is the extreme want of that thrill, that excitement to alleviate boredom and give pleasure. It takes you away from everything. The pleasure may not last as long as we wish but it’s something and if we can access it easily then all the better. Food is easy to get. Sex is easier to get if you’re in a relationship but then BPD promiscuity is of course a big issue in a relationship or not. I wouldn’t say it’s “sex addiction” I would call it simply addiction to things that make you feel good. Which with BPD is very limited. Simple things cannot please someone with BPD. I must say here again I am not promiscuous and I am faithful to J. But as a woman with a high sex drive, he can even  get frustrated with it. So I eat instead. When you’re so used to being ignored by parents as a child and often neglected you realise as you get older that sex can be a very good tool for attention. Again, I say this here that I know I’m started to sound like I sleep around and try and get men’s attention with my body but I’m only referring to the what I do around my Husband. My father loved my mother but only ever really wanted sex from her, so at a young age I learnt that men just want sex. Which, isn’t true but it is a dominating part of their lives. I won’t lie, I know women who when they feel a little neglected, walk past their partner in the nude and it usually get the desired result. Although I know that my husband doesn’t want JUST sex from me, it is so much easier to get his attention and time from offering it. It’s more enticing that sitting down for a nice chat. I just need to control it, I will use innuendos without noticing it and sometimes I just wish I would stop but then I’m so desperate for full attention that it just happens.

It’s sad to see how my father treats and looks at women because to a young daughter it teaches her to feel the need to degrade herself for a man to love her. I remember in the earlier stages of mine and J’s relationship and I would try and act a way that wasn’t me and he knew it. He would say to me, “you don’t have to do things like that to make me love you” and I was baffled. What was this? It had to be a trick. How could he love me if I didn’t take my top off. Was this what real, genuine men were like? It still confuses me and I’m still learning that J doesn’t just love me because I have breasts. My fathers view on women has really shaped the idea of who I am and his ideas are WRONG. We were be watching motorbike racing together and he would always say, “Look! You could be one of those starting line girl who wear mini shorts and hold up a sign”. He had some good future plans for me, he did. I know my dad was always a “lad” but then it doesn’t help your daughter to have any respect for herself. I never wore revealing clothes or caked my face in make-up. I had a lot of respect for my body and that was mainly down the the church I was in. But now I am not a part of it, I’m not AS strict as I was then. I still don’t walk around with my breasts out but If I want to wear a pair of shorts I will. J doesn’t like me wearing revealing clothing but he’s not one of those controlling men who will force me to change if I did. He just doesn’t want other men seeing me half naked.

Yes, I did completely steer off the subject but I always do.

I have learnt many dangerous things from my parents and this means that I do find it hard to have control over my actions because I know extreme actions get equally as extreme reactions. I would only get cared for if I was dying so sometimes dying can be very appealing. Not being dead, but dying. I want to be begged to stop harming myself. The fall that comes with that though is often with these actions, if you do them too many times, the person who has to experience what you’re doing can often just start to block it out. They think well you do this all the time and I give you the reaction you want yet you do it again so telling you I care doesn’t seem to help. As with everything, validation is temporary.

When being told to recover from BPD, it mean unlearning that bad things mean you get looked after. It means unlearning that para-suicide and suicide is the way to go when things get rough. It means unlearning that addictions will keep you going forever. But then it means learning that my husband does love me and I don’t need to keep asking him again and again and again whether he really does love me. It means learning that I have to look after myself sometimes and accept that everyone can’t look after me for me. It means learning Independence. It means you can’t just kill yourself when you miss the bus because you don’t want to have to feel any negative emotion. It means learning that food will help in the short term but in the long run your problems won’t just dissapear.

Both paths are hell but only one can lead to potential recovery. But then do I really want to recover. Not right now.

The reason I don’t go out much, why I study with distance courses is so I don’t have to be around people. Because the horror stories I hear about people with BPD  and how out of control their actions become scares me a lot. And I know I have a lack of control with sex, food and money and to put myself into the world gives a greater risk. I mean If I can have those problems when I don’t get out much what could happen if I were out there. I’m not willing to risk it.

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Catherine likes to paint.

November 8, 2011

Catherine is 19 and she likes to paint.

As a child Catherine lived with her mother, not knowing much about her father other than the negative.

I met Catherine in Primary School.

She was a quiet girl, who had a infectious laugh and beautiful fuzzy Afro hair.

And Catherine liked to paint.

Catherine was a sensitive child and grew to be a sensitive adult, a hurtful word could break her heart.

Catherine was alone a lot, her mother worked more than one job and often nights.

So Catherine would paint.

Catherine’s mother had high expectation of her daughter and told her she should dress more sexy so she could get a boyfriend.

Catherine was plain but beautiful, with dark bistre skin. She didn’t need to change.

Then Catherine became a mother. To her sister’s children.

Catherine was a young teen when her sister had her first child.

Her sister would use her as a babysitter whenever she felt like it. Catherine was guilt tripped if she said no.

So Catherine would paint.

Her sister had another child. Catherine’s sister was badly treated by her boyfriend.

He would frequently leave her and never see the children.

Catherine tried to tell her he was no good. Catherine was shouted at.

So Catherine would paint.

Catherine was rejected from entering sixth form.

She didn’t know what she did wrong.

Catherine was diagnosed with dyslexia.

So Catherine painted.

Catherine got a boyfriend. He was white.

Her mother dissaproved. She wanted her daughter to be with a black Christian boy.

Catherine began to struggle with identity. Most of her friends were white. There was nothing wrong with them.

Catherine moved out of her mothers house to live with her sister.

Catherine was a constant mother to the children now.

But Catherine still painted.

Catherine went to University to do art.

Her sister and mother didn’t understand what she would achieve from art and weren’t supportive.

So, Catherine paints. She paints despite everything being against her.

Catherine will always paint.

I love you Catherine, you inspire me<3

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The drinking culture.

October 17, 2011

There are two kinds of people who don’t drink. The extreme religious types and recovering alcoholics. I am neither and I don’t drink, yes I used to be very religious and learned my morals from a church but now I am no longer part of a religion I have chosen to keep the values which I feel will benefit my life. I don’t know if I will ever understand the concept of getting drunk for fun. I am not slating any of you who drink as I respect your right do to so, so please don’t attack me unnecessarily. I just don’t get it? I understand how someone would drink to numb the pain or self abuse but for fun? I am someone who constantly feels out of control and the last thing I would want is to really be out of control. As a young adult it does make me feel a bit of an outcast that I don’t want to drink alcohol and get drunk but then I’ve tried it once or twice and just felt like a fraud. It just wasn’t me, it wasn’t what I wanted to do. So now I’m weird because I don’t do it. I just don’t see how making an idiot out of yourself and then throwing up continuously can be seen as exciting? It sounds frightening to me. I don’t want to lose self respect or wonder who I may have slept with. I’ve had so many people really attack me for saying I don’t want to drink, it’s like instead of people hearing “I don’t like drinking alcohol” they hear “I hate black people”. I wrote this post because I was discussing Uni with a friend and he said “I’ve heard the first year of Uni is great because you get to get pissed all the time!” Great…I thought, isn’t University about studying for your future? All I hear outside my window every night are drunk people screaming or shouting at or attacking each other and it makes me scared. I remember a “friend” who said I was very high and mighty because I don’t like getting drunk and I just felt like I was talking to a brick wall. Everything I said was wrong and to him I hated everyone who drank alcohol but that’s not true. I dislike the alcohol. I have people in my family who NEED to drink to be sociable or loosen up and it makes me sad that they can’t achieve these things without being a little intoxicated. It’s a problem that nobody sees as a problem. We should be able to have fun without alcohol shouldn’t we? I can’t even count how many time I’ve heard “How can you have fun without drinking?!” And I just think well, I just don’t drink and enjoy other people’s company or whatever I’m doing. Isn’t it that simple? I’m not saying don’t have a drink to have fun I’m just saying people shouldn’t think it’s impossible to enjoy life without a few drinks. I’ve known alcoholics and how destroyed their lives can become and how it effects the people around them. Yet we freely allow ourselves to say “I need a few drinks to get loosened up.” There shouldn’t be a need…right? Or am I just horribly ignorant…Why am I so horribly different? And why do I have to feel so outcast because I want to have control and don’t enjoy the taste of alcohol. I don’t understand. All addictions are harmful and I just wish people were more careful. There are so many people who when they are upset, get a drink. That’s one of the bad habits that can turn anyone into an alcoholic. And nobody deserves to have to suffer with addiction. That’s why I don’t drink. If only I didn’t feel the need to have an excuse to not drink.

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September 1, 2011

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Self pity.

August 28, 2011

I’m not usually this bad. I simply have to turn the TV on now and I started crying. I watched the simpsons and Homer told Lisa he loved her and I started crying so I turned over to supernanny and the mother was playing happily with her children and I started crying so I turned over to X factor (as a last resort) and the singer was getting praise from the judges and his family and himself were so happy with his achievement so I just turned the bloody thing off. Everything was reducing me to tears. Everything is such a mess. Yes I may be getting away from it all but I’m leaving behind a hospitalised father and a mother who I suspect has autism. She doesn’t recognise that I have ever done anything to make her life any better, although I have been dad’s carer all my life and slept in the same bed with her for 5 years of my late childhood because she said if I didn’t dad would rape her. I’m leaving and all she can do is tell me how useless I am. I’m trying to think of moving forward and starting the new but seeing what a mess my parents are in tears me apart. I don’t feel guilt, I just feel shame and pity. Most teens moving out of home have parental support, while I’m still crying over the fact that my dad can’t even see me off into a new life because he’s in the psych ward. What a way to leave. I’ve always hated the expression “why me?” because the people who use it are often getting upset over a tiny matter in their otherwise okay life but I’m going to say it…Why me? I’m a good person. I don’t know what I did to make all of this happen.

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Dear me,

June 29, 2011

Dear Little Me,

Why did you have to be so awkward. There are reasons why they never liked you, why they used you. Even your parents couldn’t love you enough, especially her, she only loved you if she wanted something. And he was always selfish, you were always second. Why couldn’t you just be good enough. You were always overweight and disgusting, that’s why they laughed at you. That’s why they called you a freak. You were just weird, not good enough to be their friends. They were better than you. Sure, you were smart but who cared about that? You thought maybe being smart would get you somewhere even if you weren’t attractive but you were just too quiet to be noticed. Plus, your friends were smarter than you anyway, so you were never smart enough. I know you tried to look nice but you made a fool of yourself. They laughed and asked what was on your face or what had you done to your hair. You just could never get it right. Your clumsiness made you stupid, your clumsiness made them hit you. You stupid child. Nothing made sense in your world anymore, you could never figure out why you were hated. But did they need a reason, you were just destined to be locked away. You hid a lot, I know, it was safer to be alone. You cried and made sure no one heard and if there was a knock on your door, your face was immediately bright and cheerful, of course nothing was wrong. But maybe you deserved to cry? Not that it mattered. No one would come. No one would know what to do with you. Even if they did, they would get sick of you and leave at the first chance. Why did you keep going? I don’t know what possessed you. Did you believe that one day, you would be saved? What made you think they would suddenly change and take care of you. Are you delusional? I think so. Who in your life has never stabbed you through the heart? Everyone is destined to break you because you are breakable. And hell, do you deserve it.

Love Adult Me.

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Competing.

June 25, 2011

So here I am, decided against self harm so I’m not a dissapointment and decide to go on a late night stroll. There’s not many people out and It’s deathly quiet so I thought I’d do some writing.

I thought I would write about the 3 people who (are supposed) to love me most. My parents and my husband. All 3 of them have something in common, something that drains the life out of me on a daily basis and makes the hole inside of me bigger.

Obsessions.

Now, from a young age I have had to compete against my parents obsessions, Merrill Osmond of the Osmond Brothers and Football. I always knew my mum loved Merrill more than me and my dad would never stop talking about football. The only way to ever be with them was to go to an Osmond concert or go to the football. Otherwise I was alone. I felt neglected for these obsessions, passions, whatever you want to call them and It meant I was always fighting for their love and attention although I never believed they would love me more than those things. I was fighting a losing battle so at one point I guess I just gave up fighting for their love and accepted that I wouldn’t get it and I didn’t want to keep havig to do what they wanted to be with them, I wanted to be their choice not their option. My dad has started to be with me more, my mum has never changed.

My husband spends more time gaming than he spends being with me. It feels like exactly the same thing I’ve got through, I feel neglected, unloved and at some points I just leave because I would rather sit in a dark street than sit in a room with my husband feeling more lonely than ever. You can feel lonely if you are alone but the worst lonliness is when you’re with other people and they choose
Not to be with you. At that point, I just wish I didn’t exist, to see if that would make them come away from their obsession and see that I’m alive too.

I’ve screamed, I’ve cried, I’ve cut. In the end they use their passions to further ignore. All of these people have been damaged in their childhood and need something to fill a hole, yet I don’t seem to fit the bill and that makes my hole even bigger.

I try and justify it by thinking maybe it’s just me, maybe I make it all up. Maybe I just want attention too much. Maybe they get so damn sick of me that It’s my fault they would rather be elsewhere and with other people. Maybe if I were better they might love me enough to fill that gap. And that I come back to reality and go and cut myself again.