Age fourteen is where I found my next milestone on the BPD path - self destruction. If you were a teenager(and I'm guessing you were), a some point you likely made friends will Rebellion. Whether it was smoking, staying out late or even just doing you best Kevin and Perry impression for a while. The kind of things that you might reminisce about in later year; or of you have children of your own you might find yourself uttering the dreaded "When I was your age...". But then there are the other kind of teenager, that girl your parents disapproved of because she was a bit too wild. The boy who made your parents 'thank their lucky stars' that all you did was get caught smoking. The one person in your group who always went one step too far; voted most likely to pass out in her own vomit at a house party. Not all of these ruffians have BPD, but in the case of this miscreant, I did.
When I started second year in school it wasn't all bad. I managed to find a group of friends, a strangely diverse group of girls who ranged from Westlife fans to Marilyn Manson worshipers. And yet, it worked. From what I remember of that year in school it was the most enjoyable out of them all. I wish I could regale you with humorous anecdotes, but at age fourteen I decided that the self harming was no longer enough to hold back the pain inside of me. So I started drinking, with gusto. I stole spirits from the house, topping bottles up with water. I discovered which shops would serve me alcohol without asking for ID. When my mum and stepdad had dinner parties I would search the table for half drunk glasses of wine, and dregs of whiskey. I was desperately trying, and failing, to dull the ache, when everything shifted.
Even now, looking back at that time of my life as (somewhat) mature adult, I struggle to with what happened next. Regardless, will do my best to try and explain it. At fourteen, although I was unaware of it, I was exhibiting many of the traits associated with borderline personality disorder - self harm, substance abuse, mood swings. I had spent so long feeling unwanted, feeling that I was damaged in some way that I had almost completely isolated myself. So when I found myself welcomed by this group of people, people who didn't seem to notice that I was broken; people who all had unique, interesting personalities; I realised that I didn't have much of a personality. MY sense of self had become so distorted that I had no idea who I was. I was terrified that these lovely people, my friends, would quickly realise how dull, and empty I was and leave me(that would be the fear of abandonment trait).
I don't think it was a conscious decision, and even if it was, there was no malice behind it. It was almost an automatic response, to simply start picking up pieces of other people and sticking them to myself. It was easier with one person, but in a group it was harder. I either shrunk myself down or pulled in too many bits of everyone and became too loud, too much. Even the clothes I wore were a costume, a t-shirt to match girl A, the trousers girl B would wear, the dog collar girl C would wear. I talked about the Backstreet Boys with one, and Marilyn Manson with another. I watched them interact with outside people, trying to mimic the social skills I innately lacked. I was a living patchwork doll, made of stolen fabrics and sewn together with a jagged stitch.
This is behaviour is called the chameleon effect, or mirroring. It occurs regularly in normal life, for example in an interview, the job applicant will often subconsciously mirror the body language of the interviewer. In my case, I was trying desperately to ensure that my new friends didn't reject me. I had felt so lonely for so long that I would have done anything not to be abandoned again. I made myself into the person I thought they would like, and everyday was like stepping into a body suit. I'm sure it any of these women read this they would have no idea what I was talking about. Although perhaps one or two would nod their heads knowingly. While I meant to harm to anyone, in fact the opposite was the case, my deceit is still a hard pill to swallow.
At the end of second year my mother and stepfather decided to move house, and with it I moved school. My depressive episodes were occurring more frequently, and more intensely. Miserable, alone and once again in unfamiliar surroundings, I didn't have the energy to try and fit in with a new set of people. I held onto the persona I had created, dragging myself through the weekdays until I could slot back into my group of friends at the weekend.
Over time I shed my false skin and slowly my own personality emerged. I think due to the combination of spending my weekdays mostly alone, and slowly loosing touch with my old friends. There was no need for me to pretend, as there was nobody to pretend for. That isn't to say I liked the person I became, just the opposite. But that's for another post. Or fifty of them.
I can't say that I never mirrored anyone again, of course I have. But no more than anyone else does, and completely unintentionally. As Dolly Parton said
Find out who you are and do it on purpose
No comments:
Post a Comment