A glimpse into my head

My self-esteem has fluctuated widely over the past three+ decades. I used to think I was bipolar, because I knew something wasn’t right. Then I saw Girl, Interrupted and bought the book by Susanna Kaysen. And some of the chapters really struck a chord with me. I didn’t know at the time that I had/have many of the symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder. [Googling the term will bring up over 1 million results, but start here and here.]

I think I determined, personally, that I have Borderline Personality Disorder [hereafter referred to as BPD] in 2005. My ex-husband and I read about it, and talked about it. I was officially diagnosed by a mental health clinic’s prescribing nurse and a therapist in January, 2008, along with two others: Anti-Social Personality Disorder and Dependent Personality Disorder. [Note: I was diagnosed with Depression in September, 1999, but had been depressed for years, and was also suggested to have Social Phobia/Anxiety. Also an introvert and slightly paranoid.] The nurse also diagnosed me with internet addiction, but I tell you… take away my internet and I will focus completely on something else. My brother actually rationed my internet usage for a few months when I first moved in with him, and I created a lot of clothing for Second Life during that ‘offtime’.

Anyway…after the official diagnosis, I really started reading what I could about BPD (initially rejecting the other personality disorder diagnoses) and a lot of time on the phone and texting with a small circle of friends, many I consider to be like family.

Let me stop here and give you a bit of background. 2007 sucked for me. Mostly. On my 31st birthday, I went to see my favorite band, VAST, play in St. Paul, MN. The day after until the end of the year and into 2008 really sucked. I shall spare you the (now) boring story and give you the short version: I flipped out, got divorced, made some bad choices, and moved in with my brother. A couple of my closest friends have heard the entire wretched story. One of them spent many a day with me on the phone. I thank the wireless phone gods for unlimited calling for five friends, by the way.

2008 started off a bit crazy, but slowly got better. I got stronger. I took that diagnosis and started working on things. If you don’t have anyone in your life who is a borderline, you may not understand any of this. I can probably safely say that my closest friends ride a roller coaster with me daily. I try to limit the number of people who see me flake out and lose my cool. I’m a difficult person to get to know, because I really don’t know who I am most days. Not like basic things. I know I’m Misty. I know I’m someone’s daughter, sister, ex, girlfriend, friend. What I mean is who I really am. What I stand for. What my identity is on any given day. Or hour, for that matter. You know the phrase “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes”? Translate that to my mood swing. Sam can attest to this. So can my ex-husband. And my closest friends.

I’m still trying to figure myself out. I”m sure there are some who’d say I should just live my life and everything will come with time. Maybe they’re right. Maybe they’re full of crap. What I do know: interacting with people is hard for me. (Yes, I know…probably for you, too.) If I went to the local bar and tried to have a conversation, I’d fidget, babble and have major anxiety. Conciseness would cease. There’d be no following my train of thought, because that train would have left the station and gone off into dark territory.

So really, thanking the internet gods for sites like Twitter and Facebook. And even LiveJournal. And I posted the same message on all three sites Thursday night: Right now, i feel like a complete loser who will never get to hang with the cool kids. I really hope this feeling is different tomorrow.

Then, I sent Sam a message through Yahoo IM (me on my phone, him at his computer on the other side of our apartment) that I needed him, and finally let the tears fall. All of Thursday was spent feeling mad at myself for not creating. For not posting things in this blog that will make people want to read. For living in a numb little bubble when I try not to feel anything. And I did feel. I felt terrible.

I know a guy who’s standard answer to “How are you?” is “I”m so bored.” And I don’t like to listen to whining, so I feel bad whining myself. And being pessimistic does get old, believe it or not. So I try to reserve the whining to a few people, who understand where I’m coming from, as well as they can, and try to be at least even-keel with everyone else. The message I posted was done partly to say ‘I need help’ and partly because I had given in to whining.

To my surprise, and I really was surprised, I received two responses. One said, “The cool kids are the real losers, hun, not you.” The other: “I think you’re awesomer than the cool kids.” Also, Sam said I am too hard on myself.

See, I’ve wanted to be part of the cool crowd ever since I was a kid. I grew up in a family that not only liked country music, but lived because of it (one parent is a musician). I was a heavy child (and a heavy adult; I think they call that plus-sized, though). The cool kids were nice to me, because I was, and am, a nice person. And I’m smart, which meant that I could help them. In truth, I was on the fringe of most of the groups in school, cause I have a difficult time relating to people. So now, as an adult, I see the “cool kids” on Twitter, and on blogs, and these people with thousands of fans, subscribers, followers, and I have to admit that I feel a little left out. Like not being invited to all the parties in high school.

And I honestly feel like a hack sometimes. Likely the esteem talking.

If I know you well, you get to see the wit. The intelligence. The cheekiness. You get to see me be the other half of Vas Littlecrow’s brain (and she has said this). The people close to me think I’m this incredible person and for the life of me, I can kinda see it. Sort of. If I look really hard on a clear day and all of the planets are aligned. Maybe with a magnifying glass.

I read a lot of blogs. And so many of them have this voice that makes me think this person would so get me if they knew me…we must be great friends in another life. And then I wonder if that’s because I don’t really know what my voice is and OMG they would think I’m boring and lame and then I feel like I’m in high school again, cause high school is never over, and I had my first major meltdown when I was 16 and within 10 years I’d had tried to die three times cause this pain doesn’t go away for crying out loud. (Yeah, I know that’s probably a run-on sentence.)

Living life as a borderline is a journey in trying to get through the day without losing it cause who knows if we’ll find it again. What’s funny to me is that in my most rational state, I know I’m a great woman with wit and charm and I’m involved with this fabulous guy who totally gets me. I have an ‘adopted’ sister who says that seeing me get married (again someday) is probably the only event to get her to cross the border, cause she’s never been out of Canada.

When the doubts start to chip away, and fear starts whispering that I’m not good enough….well, welcome to Emotional Storm Central. (That’s what meltdowns are called, by the way, in one BPD book I read. Well, not the word ‘central’, but the rest. You get it.) I get stuck in place and even if I can make a piece of jewelry, or knit a nearly perfect row, or paint something fantastically…it doesn’t matter. To me, it’s okay, but nothing to write home about. I’ll downplay the great piece of creativeness. Ehh…who cares if I made this piece of awesomeness. I have no real talent, so whatever. That fear monster is pretty mean, huh?