My Loner, My Sex Kitten, My Mother

To follow up with my IFS info post...

Today I felt a deep sorrow for one of my "parts", especially since I often try to ignore her and am quite successful. This is my loner child, the girl I was growing up. She was so undesirable, so friendless and awkward, that I do my best to keep her from resurfacing and ruining the facade I've put up of being confident, happy, nonchalant, ect. I feel like I'm a more desirable person now to be around...is that the facade, though, or is that really me? I can list dozens of things that are good about myself, and when my therapist asked me to do so, it was easy for me. What she pointed out that is interesting, though, is that the way I describe myself is as if I was talking about someone else. There is, without a doubt, a complete dissociation and disconnect. What I always wonder is if the facade is really me...perhaps I only think its a facade because I have so many issue that conflict with my "true self", and since I have a problem believing that I can be insecure in a moment but overall be a confident woman (black and white thinking at work...), it makes it seem as if who I am is actually a front. Or maybe I am just a failure; just insecure, annoying, undesirable and weak...I may be a strong person, and I'm trying hard, but I'm also a wonderful little actress. And the bottom line is, I have to TRY to be who I WANT to be. I would think that the "true self" would just be. The personality disorder may make it difficult to just "be" who I am though. I really don't know. Talk about identity crisis.


So back to my loner part. I really don't want to acknowledge that she ever existed, because she threatens who I want to be very much so. But today, I was so sad. I felt her pain. And I just meditated about her for awhile, and I was able to watch her grow. I saw the ghost of her, the sweet, confident, secure little girl. She had a best friend, Rebecca. And when she switched schools, all the kids teased her for being smart. In the 2nd grade, I was tested at 11th grade reading level. But she didn't care. She kept reading classic literature at recess, and she was, for the most part, okay being different, because reading made her happy and she had a best friend anyways. She still tried very hard to fit in at times, but her mother wouldn't let her listen to spice girls or play sports like the other kids. But this little girl wasn't ruined yet. Then, when she was able to go back to school with Rebecca, young Holly had changed. Her parents had divorced, and her mom had emotionally abandoned her, replacing her old life with a completely new one, with a new husband and a new baby. It was a life that Holly wasn't encouraged to fit in. And Holly's mom was mean...the emotional abuse started to get really bad after the divorce when Holly was 8. And suddenly, Rebecca didn't want to be friends with Holly anymore. People teased Holly for being flat chested, for not be able to play any sport or recess game well, and for being "boy crazy". And it broke Holly's heart to lose her "Best Friend for Forever".

So once again, Holly switched schools. This time, she went to a Catholic School that had 30 kids in each grade, and nearly all of them had been together since Kindergarten. She went there starting in 6th grade, and by this point she was desperate for friends. I can see the identity crisis starting, I can see her attaching to ANYTHING if it meant being approved of. One girl did Irish Dancing, and even though Holly is Mexican and German, she wanted to Irish Dance. The girls all had soccer moms, but Holly couldn't get her mom to put her in sports. It was a Catholic School, so Holly tried to become religious. But everyone saw right through her. She was annoying, a copycat, a loner.

One of the things that traumatized my Loner Child the most was the game "Dynamite". There was a square area that you played in, and everyone ran around. It was every kid for himself. You would get the ball and throw it at someone to tag them out, like dodge ball. If you caught a ball, the person who threw it had to sit down. Well, needless to say, Holly sucked at Dynamite. And so they'd always gang up on her. One day, a day where she was trying SO hard to not to fail and lose, a couple girls grabbed her arms and held her down. The other kids circled around, and they kept throwing the ball at her, over and over and over again. And no one ever came to rescue her. And she was just held there by her classmates, being hit by a red dodge ball until the bell rang. And no one knew that they were torturing and traumatizing a girl who would go home to an abusive mother. I feel so bad for my Loner Child. I feel bad that she was so alone, so desperate. And it's sad, because even though the kids did that to her, she would still do anything for their approval, to be a part of something.

And that tendency, to keep seeking approval from people who hurt me, comes from my mother's abuse. One time when I was about 5 years old I really wanted a book from the top of the bookshelf. My mom wouldn't come help me even though she was just a few feet away, so I started to climb the bookshelf. But it started to fall a little bit, and my mom came and grabbed me. She hit me so hard across the face that my nose started to bleed. At first I ran away, but I needed comfort, love and acceptance so badly (I didn't think that then, I just know that's what I needed in retrospect) that I immediately turned around and ran into her arms. She held me close and pet my hair with the hands that had just hit me. And I didn't care. All I cared about was the fact that she was holding me.

When Loner Child went to High School, she found a good niche of friends that were studious like her. She joined Cross Country, Swimming, Mock Trial, Get Up/Stand Up, and Earthwise. She found Buddhism. She was Varsity Captain of Swim, President of Mock Trial (won Best Prosecution Attorney in Bay Area), President of Get Up, Stand Up club and Vice President of Earthwise Club. She had a list of things that created  an identity. She started finding herself, and she also started finding out what people wanted. She is a good little actress. I am a good little actress. And once I grew out of my awkward stage and developed into a woman, I realized that I could for sure find a way to not be rejected. I know that I am objectively beautiful, and sexy. I don't go a day without being stared at and compliment, by men and women of all ages, in a sexual way and in a platonic, objective way. And that's how my "fire fighter" was born. My "Sex Kitten" part. She can have her pick of guys, for the most part, and she knows it. She distracts herself from intense, unbearable emotions by escaping through sex and flirting. She knows what men want, and she can give it to them. And no one rejects the Sex Kitten.

Today was okay. Fred said I could use his credit card to buy myself an iPad 2, which I have wanted for a long time and really want to use for work. They're sold out everywhere, but I'm showing up when Target opens tomorrow at 8am since they have a truck coming in. I have therapy at 9am, so it'll be good timing.

Fred is amazing. He's been in my life since I was fifteen, so we've known each other for just short of six years. Our connection is unlike anything I've ever experienced, seen, read about or heard about. Its better than the Notebook. Yeah, I know, right? AND he knows I have BPD. And he's so kind and patient, and he does everything to help me through it. He gives me unconditional love and holds me when I need to be held. He shows up late at night with prosciutto and cantaloupe when I'm feeling extremely depressed. He leaves me alone when I need to run away. He's also my baby's father. Yes, I have a fifteen month old son. And my son is amazing. He is incredibly intelligent, intuitive, and adorable. He has big blue eyes and is going to be tall like Fred (he's 6'4"). Fred is so understanding of how everything is for me, and he does everything he can to help me be a good mother. I'm actually a really good mom, despite my BPD. I've always wanted to be a mother more than anything (probably because I wanted to give what I never got), and I'm very maternal and great with kids. I taught swimming for 4 years and was always the best teacher. I could get ANY kid to stop crying and teach ANY kid to swim, even the autistic ones. Fred just knows that I can't be mom 100% of the time right now. My son is so young that he does require a lot of attention and energy, and with my depression, energy isn't something I always have.

I've hurt Fred a lot, and the amazing thing is that he doesn't hold it against me because he knows exactly why I did everything I've done. He understand BPD, and even though he doesn't understand Depression, he validates my experiences as real nonetheless. I've asked him why he loves someone like me, someone so messed up, especially after all the hurt I've caused him. And he told me that it's because he sees my soul. Maybe he knows my "true self". I know what he sees as my true self, and I sure hope that is my true self. Around him, I never have to put up any walls. I never have to put on a face or act a certain way. I can get emotional, irritated, and angry around him. I can be completely needy.

And that's exactly why I ran away from him (numerous times). Well, I thought I was running away from him, but what I was really doing was running away from myself. Since I could be ALL of me around him, since all of my "parts" could come out and be accepted, I was terrified, because I can't accept them. Being with him was forcing me to look myself in the mirror, and I just couldn't do that. And I felt like I was suffocating, like I was in a cage. On one hand I could be completely relaxed with him, but at the same time, since he didn't make me put on a facade, I felt like I had lost my identity. I realize now that this is called "fear of engulfment", and it's a fear as terrifying to borderlines as abandonment.

He proposed to me. He took me on an Eastern Caribbean Cruise on the largest cruise ship in the world at the time. I wore a gorgeous deep, pacific blue evening gown that matched his eyes perfectly. During dinner, in front of thousands of people, he had our song (Always and Forever by Heatwave) start to play and he asked me to dance. He held me close and told me how much he loved me, how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, how he wanted to make me happy because I make him the happiest man in the world. And he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. The diamond was nearly flawless (literally). He even put it in a Tiffany's box since Breakfast at Tiffany's is my favorite movie (in case you haven't noticed). A couple months later he started looking into buying us a house. And the "fear of engulfment" set in so deep that I ended the engagement and was immediately dating someone else. I was so scared. But the new guy had a strong identity, which I loved, because it was something to attach to. The escape was perfect, because I had a well defined facade that I needed to act out.

I ended up breaking his heart, too. Although, I don't think he really loved me because I never let him know me. Fred, on the other hand, adores me. He doesn't identify me as my personality disorder. He sees something else. I really wish I could believe in that something else, but my Manager Part gets in the way...and that part is the voice of my mother.

I grew up listening to my mother telling me I was disgusting, worthless, a failure, fucked up, stupid, selfish...she told me that she wanted me to cry, she wanted to see me suffer. She told me that I was the reason she got cancer. She told me that if I left her, if I abandoned her, she would die and it would be my fault. She told me that I disgusted her, that I needed to get away because she didn't want to look at me. She never spent time with me, she never went to my swim meets, mock trial competitions or senior activities. She didn't even go to my eighth grade graduation. She always acted as if everything I did wasn't good enough. She was never proud, never impressed. It didn't matter that I was taking 5 advanced classes and had a 4.3 GPA.

She didn't defend me, either. My stepdad caught me hugging Fred (my boyfriend of one year, at the time) and he took me outside and called me a "fucking slut" over and over again. I went crying to my mother, and she told me "You know he doesn't like public displays of affection". I went to my dad's house, and he was PISSED. He called my mom, demanding to talk to my stepdad. When I saw my mom again, she was infuriated with me. She told me "what happens in the house, stays in the house". I said, "Nothing should happen in this house that I can't tell my FATHER about". She said, "No, what happens here stays here". I asked her, "So, if my stepdad hits me, I can't tell my father?" And you know what she said, "No. The first time it happens, I deal with it. The second time, we talk about taking it out of the house."

Talk about a slap in the face. My own mother wouldn't protect her sixteen year old daughter. After she said that, I moved out of her house and into my dad's. I still had to go there every other weekend, though. And even though they live in a mansion, they turned my room into a storage room. They wouldn't make enough food for me to eat dinner.

And so in my mind, my borderline, my manager, and my mother are all one voice. Hers is the voice of hatred that seeps into everything. She makes me feel like I can never be good enough. And its that voice, though, that makes me keep trying, because I am the type of person who wants to succeed. But now I've realized that I never think I'm good enough because I don't know what enough is. Since my mother was never proud of me, never satisfied, her voice inside of me has no concept of success, either. So I'm in this perpetual state of hopelessness, because I'm working my ass off towards a goal that doesn't exist.