“The one who loves the least, controls the relationship.”
(Dr. Robert Anthony - Self Help author)
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
Once again, I'm blogging. My day started out pretty decently -- I slept a little late before going in to work, and my work day was going just fine. But my BPD friend found a way to screw it all up for me. I was on a conference call with my boss, and because I'd slept late, thereby getting to work late, I wasn't able to call my friend to say hello. When he called me (5 times back to back on my cell phone), I was talking with my boss, so I couldn't just hang up the phone or take the call. When I was free, I called him back, and he just raged on me. He complained about how selfish I am and said that I mistreated him by not answering the phone. I explained the circumstances, but it was like I'd said nothing at all. He was unphased and definitely not empathetic.
I tried calling him several times during the day after that, thinking he would ease up, but every time I called, he did the same thing -- blame me for neglecting him. I finally got so angry that I had an outburst myself and told him that I had never been more sick in my entire life than since I'd met him (which is absolutely true and I think it's from the stress of the relationship), and that I was tired of being frustrated and angry all the time. I'm verbally abused by him and I know it. A thought occurred to me tonight that he does spend time telling me how beautiful I am, and how special I am. I think he does that just to make me stay in the relationship, because he also spends plenty of time criticizing my every move -- everything I do. More than one person has noticed how much he criticizes me. And I think the reason he does that is to keep me feeling badly about myself because if I felt really good about myself, he'd have to go. So he alternates between the two, manipulating me like a professional.
I'm so torn because I feel so very badly about the circumstances in which he grew up, which were deplorable. No one should ever have to be treated the way he was. But I too grew up in difficult circumstances, though they were different. I've had problems all my life, and anxiety since I was 18. So what the hell am I doing with this person whose ultimate goal in life is to build me up and then tear me down. We're on a rollercoaster that just won't stop and let me off. I feel sorry for me and I feel sorry for him. I can't wait for the day that "me" is no longer in this "we". My life is a living nightmare. I don't know how to wake up. Sometimes I wish I wouldn't -- literally.
I tried calling him several times during the day after that, thinking he would ease up, but every time I called, he did the same thing -- blame me for neglecting him. I finally got so angry that I had an outburst myself and told him that I had never been more sick in my entire life than since I'd met him (which is absolutely true and I think it's from the stress of the relationship), and that I was tired of being frustrated and angry all the time. I'm verbally abused by him and I know it. A thought occurred to me tonight that he does spend time telling me how beautiful I am, and how special I am. I think he does that just to make me stay in the relationship, because he also spends plenty of time criticizing my every move -- everything I do. More than one person has noticed how much he criticizes me. And I think the reason he does that is to keep me feeling badly about myself because if I felt really good about myself, he'd have to go. So he alternates between the two, manipulating me like a professional.
I'm so torn because I feel so very badly about the circumstances in which he grew up, which were deplorable. No one should ever have to be treated the way he was. But I too grew up in difficult circumstances, though they were different. I've had problems all my life, and anxiety since I was 18. So what the hell am I doing with this person whose ultimate goal in life is to build me up and then tear me down. We're on a rollercoaster that just won't stop and let me off. I feel sorry for me and I feel sorry for him. I can't wait for the day that "me" is no longer in this "we". My life is a living nightmare. I don't know how to wake up. Sometimes I wish I wouldn't -- literally.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Who, What, Where, When, Why?
This weekend has been really difficult. I mean really, really difficult. I'm in a relationship with someone who is BPD. At times, he can be sweet, funny, attentive, loving -- you name it. Anything you want in a relationship, at times he can be that. But then there are those times when you realize that he's in a relationship with you because he's scared to be out of a relationship with you. He hides things (i.e., people) from you. He makes excuses for being around women that just don't make sense. He treats you like you're nothing. He says things to you that let you know he feels like you're property, not a person. He rages, gets angry, accuses you of things you haven't done, and is ever suspicious. He makes hateful statements and then seconds later, can't (or won't) remember saying them. And when you try to end the relationship because of all the pain you feel, he makes you feel guilty...no, I take that back. No one has the power to make you feel anything. They have an action and you have a reaction. My reaction is to feel sorry for him, guilty that he's hurting so much, and it makes me feel like a lowlife to let the relationship go because of all the pain he's experienced in the past? But what about my pain?
Today is one of those days when I don't care whether I live or die. The pain is too much to handle. I try to love his pain away, but I can't. No one can. And the pain inside of me continues to grow. I know that for most people, the answer is easy -- just leave. But, I think I must be an enabler or something because I can find the words to say "I'm done, and it's over," but I can't stick to it once he starts talking about his childhood and how I know he has problems and he doesn't have anybody else but me. But who do I have? Who do I turn to when I want to suck down every last pill I have and screw this world that today, I feel, has so royally screwed me. I'm caught in a cycle of love and hate. Life and death. My heart is empty and I just HURT. And I'm tired of hurting. I am not the savior of the world. I don't want to be. I just want to save ME. Because there are days when I have so much pain, I don't know who I am anymore. I'm lost inside someone else's identity. And they don't care as long as they get what they want. Who is there for me, what can I do to escape this misery, when will this end, where can I find help? Why is this happening?
Today is one of those days when I don't care whether I live or die. The pain is too much to handle. I try to love his pain away, but I can't. No one can. And the pain inside of me continues to grow. I know that for most people, the answer is easy -- just leave. But, I think I must be an enabler or something because I can find the words to say "I'm done, and it's over," but I can't stick to it once he starts talking about his childhood and how I know he has problems and he doesn't have anybody else but me. But who do I have? Who do I turn to when I want to suck down every last pill I have and screw this world that today, I feel, has so royally screwed me. I'm caught in a cycle of love and hate. Life and death. My heart is empty and I just HURT. And I'm tired of hurting. I am not the savior of the world. I don't want to be. I just want to save ME. Because there are days when I have so much pain, I don't know who I am anymore. I'm lost inside someone else's identity. And they don't care as long as they get what they want. Who is there for me, what can I do to escape this misery, when will this end, where can I find help? Why is this happening?
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
No More Secrets
I've had so many panic attacks over so many years that I don't remember them all individually. But some are so horrible, that they just stick out in your mind. The very first one I had, I remember vividly and have described it in a previous blog entry. The worst ones that I tend to have come after serious emotional turmoil and unrelenting stress.
I remember going to the library one day while I was on my lunch break. I was perfectly fine, and standing in line talking to my favorite librarian. He was checking out my books and videos, and all of a sudden, I just got this sick feeling. I mean, it just really hit me hard and fast. My hand started shaking and I felt dizzy, so I put my hands on the counter and leaned over it to steady myself. The librarian continued to chatter away and I felt depersonalization starting to set in, followed by a cold sweat (if that makes any sense -- I suspect it will to those of us who suffer from anxiety/panic attacks). By that time, I looked flushed, and the librarian asked if I was okay. I told him that I wasn't feeling so well, so he came from behind the counter to help me over to a nearby chair. By that time my teeth were chattering, and I do mean loudly.
Once he had me sitting in a chair, I was in full blown panic mode. My arms and legs were violently shaking, I was thrashing about and hyperventilating, and all of a sudden I was transformed into another world. I could hear him asking me if I was okay, but it sounded like I was inside a booth or something and he was talking to me from outside of it. Several people had started to gather around me by that time. They asked if I wanted them to to call someone for me, any after many desperate tries, I finally squeaked out a request for them to call my boss so she could drive me back to work. While they went to make the call, all hell broke loose and I began to have what looked like an epileptic seizure. The paramedics were called, and they came quickly, but could not calm me down. The next thing I knew, I was in an ambulance headed to the emergency room. They gave me oxygen and told me to try to slow my breathing down. I'm not sure what else they did because I couldn't really focus on them. I was in full blown panic attack hell.
When we got to the emergency room, they called my brother and sister, who both came right away. The panic attacks would stop for a few minutes, and then the next thing you know, I would be right back into one, shaking so violently that they had to strap me down on the gurney and continue to give me oxygen. I was there for about two hours as I continued to have one after another repeatedly. They gave me a sedative, and it eventually released me from the nightmare I was in. I cried and cried. I was humiliated. I was embarrased. My secret was no longer a secret. The whole library knew, everyone at my job knew. I was damaged goods. My brother drove me home, and I went to bed and slept for the remainder of the afternoon and early evening.
When I went in to work the next day, everybody gave me that look. You know the one -- the "I'm looking at you, but I don't want you to know that I'm looking at you" look. The "Did you know she's crazy?" look. The "Boy, did you hear what happened to her yesterday?" look. I was a walking nut factory. The joke of the building. When would I explode again? Life sucked for a really long time after that one.
I remember going to the library one day while I was on my lunch break. I was perfectly fine, and standing in line talking to my favorite librarian. He was checking out my books and videos, and all of a sudden, I just got this sick feeling. I mean, it just really hit me hard and fast. My hand started shaking and I felt dizzy, so I put my hands on the counter and leaned over it to steady myself. The librarian continued to chatter away and I felt depersonalization starting to set in, followed by a cold sweat (if that makes any sense -- I suspect it will to those of us who suffer from anxiety/panic attacks). By that time, I looked flushed, and the librarian asked if I was okay. I told him that I wasn't feeling so well, so he came from behind the counter to help me over to a nearby chair. By that time my teeth were chattering, and I do mean loudly.
Once he had me sitting in a chair, I was in full blown panic mode. My arms and legs were violently shaking, I was thrashing about and hyperventilating, and all of a sudden I was transformed into another world. I could hear him asking me if I was okay, but it sounded like I was inside a booth or something and he was talking to me from outside of it. Several people had started to gather around me by that time. They asked if I wanted them to to call someone for me, any after many desperate tries, I finally squeaked out a request for them to call my boss so she could drive me back to work. While they went to make the call, all hell broke loose and I began to have what looked like an epileptic seizure. The paramedics were called, and they came quickly, but could not calm me down. The next thing I knew, I was in an ambulance headed to the emergency room. They gave me oxygen and told me to try to slow my breathing down. I'm not sure what else they did because I couldn't really focus on them. I was in full blown panic attack hell.
When we got to the emergency room, they called my brother and sister, who both came right away. The panic attacks would stop for a few minutes, and then the next thing you know, I would be right back into one, shaking so violently that they had to strap me down on the gurney and continue to give me oxygen. I was there for about two hours as I continued to have one after another repeatedly. They gave me a sedative, and it eventually released me from the nightmare I was in. I cried and cried. I was humiliated. I was embarrased. My secret was no longer a secret. The whole library knew, everyone at my job knew. I was damaged goods. My brother drove me home, and I went to bed and slept for the remainder of the afternoon and early evening.
When I went in to work the next day, everybody gave me that look. You know the one -- the "I'm looking at you, but I don't want you to know that I'm looking at you" look. The "Did you know she's crazy?" look. The "Boy, did you hear what happened to her yesterday?" look. I was a walking nut factory. The joke of the building. When would I explode again? Life sucked for a really long time after that one.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
