Love

As I mentioned in my previous post, what happened in the wooded area changed something in me. For years my mind, my identity, had been a source of contempt and loathing. I had taken my frustration and anger out on my body by punishing it, etching my pain across my flesh with vehemence. After that night however, I knew that I was not the only one who saw me for what I truly was; my flaws were clearly visible to others. I was defective, and my feelings of worthlessness pushed me ever closer to that black hole. I was desperate to find something I could be good at, something I could offer so that people would like me. To put it simply, all I wanted was to be wanted by someone. Anyone. To be needed for just a moment, one moment to kill the growing emptiness inside me.

So I sought comfort in the one place I knew I would find it - the arms of men. I wish I could express to you how I felt during that time, but I can't. In order to move on from that time in my life I have had to leave it where it belongs, firmly in the past, and to do that I have to emotionally disconnect from it. When I look back at my actions, at how I treated myself, it is as a dispassionate observer. I can tell you that I became trapped in a vicious cycle - if a random guy in a bar 'chose' me, it meant they liked or wanted something I had. I had a purpose. Then in the cold light of day, usually nursing a hangover, I would feel nothing but disgust at myself. Disgust and rejection, because they had, to put it crudely, sampled my goods and not wanted seconds. So I would go back out again, looking for that validation I had been missing all of my life. I don't blame these men for how I felt, the terms of our encounters were perfectly clear to them. They had no way of knowing the anguish I felt each morning, the shame. And yet again and again I would go home with them, the master of my own destruction. Dying inside, one night at a time.

Then I met a boy, a boy who wanted to hold my hand and get to know me. This was new and uncharted territory. I was amazed by this new land, a place where you could return to one person over and over again for acceptance. Instantly I was hooked; how stupid I had been all this time, looking for approval in dark corners and seedy bars. There was someone in the world who couldn't see the corruption inside me, who thought I was interesting. Funny. Maybe even acceptable to look at.

When you spend so long feeling unwanted and undeserving, you are powerless to resist any signs of affection. I grabbed onto it like a life raft, clutching it tightly to my chest to keep me afloat. I felt everything so intensely, and I shared these feelings with the world. I was in love after 3 weeks, I picked up new hobbies and interests to match theirs with gusto. I did everything I could to mold myself into what they wanted, to become what I thought was the perfect girlfriend. The relief and happiness I felt was empowering, but with it came fear like nothing I had felt before. Here was this marvelous thing called a relationship, with these wonderful feelings of acceptance, that had been gifted to me by the universe. I should have been content, enjoying my first true foray into romance and love. But my relief was short lived, because I knew the truth about life. I knew that as quickly as things come to you, they can be taken away. I was consumed with the need to keep hold of this new world. The higher you climb, the further the fall.

Now that I knew what it was to be deemed worthy by another, I couldn't loose it. Most people will experience a level of insecurity in a relationship at one time or another. Maybe a stab of jealousy when he smiled at a pretty barmaid, leading to an overt display of affection and ownership. Wondering for a moment how she could really find you attractive when you see a picture of her ex, sometimes even demanding an explanation from her. Felt suspicious when they liked someone's status and engaged in a bit of Facebook stalking. Or maybe you've let your self-doubt get the better of you and checked his phone or Facebook messages. It happens to the best of us, there are very few people who believe in themselves 100% of the time, and I have yet to meet any of them. But there is a very fine line between 'normal' or acceptable insecurity and the insecurity someone with borderline personality disorder (and indeed most personality disorders) can experience. It's like living in a constant state of threat; the fear that the love and acceptance you have craved all your life can be snatched away; the constant anxiety that your girlfriend/boyfriend will realise what a terrible mistake they have made; knowing that this person could do so much better than you, and the world is full of people lining up to take your spot. You are completely addicted to being loved, and you will do anything to keep it. Which usually means you become the most neurotic and needy partner in the world. If you haven't dated someone with BPD, please trust me when I say it is a whole other level of crazy ass bitch.

The irony is, we spend so much of our time trying to hold onto this thing called love, and yet we don't trust it at all. Who could love me? They can see me, they know how stupid and useless I am, they can do better; and yet they say they love us? Utter nonsense, this must be a trick of some kind. Under no circumstances can we allow this proffered love to become part of us. Better to keep it on the surface, so that when they take it away, we will be protected from the worst of it. Even better, if we do these things we can push them away. And when they leave, like we always knew the would, they'll have proved what we knew all along: we are unlovable.

It is a horrible place to be, needing and fearing something at the same time. You want to be loved so badly it aches, but you do not trust anyone who says they love you. How can you? In my life to that point, love meant shouting and anger and departures. Love meant you could be hurt.

From the ages of 19 to 27 I had three serious relationships. I am not going to share with you any tales of woe or joy from them for the following reasons:
1) It is not necessary to reveal the minute details of my past relationships in order to explain who I was or who I am now.
2) They aren't just my stories to tell. Only half of each memory belongs to me, and it is not up to me to share another persons history.
3) While many things happened over the course of our relationships, I am not some blameless victim. I made plenty of mistakes, as humans do, and I have neither the desire nor higher ground to lay blame.
4) Most importantly, at some point I loved them and I have no regrets for having known them; and while I'm sure they (justifiably) feel the opposite, I have no animosity towards them. Plus, as I may have mentioned, I was bat shit crazy a lot of the time, I'd probably come off on the losing side :)

What is important for me to share with you is that for a period of eight years, I became completely and utterly consumed by the need to love and be loved. In my mind I had found a new, and brilliant, way to get validation. But in reality, I just gave myself even more opportunities to fail. In all that time I never once felt I deserved to be cared for, I never believed I was good enough, I never trusted that anyone could love me. I became more and more emotionally unstable, increasingly impulsive and destructive and would journey down the rabbit hole, into the world of mental health services.