Hi everyone. It’s been two long, grueling years since my last confession.
I’ve been thinking and unpacking and ruminating about what’s transpired in the last two years–or even two decades–and I really just wanted a place to put what I’ve learned. And what I’ve discovered, what’s really at the heart of it for me, is this:
I don’t have low self esteem; I have no self esteem. It’s not that I hate myself. I just don’t consider myself at all. I have become so good at attuning to others that I have completely erased myself from the equation. Other people provide the gravity that keeps me tethered, and I find the most powerful gravity source is romantic connection. I really don’t want to rail on exes and dispense with some missive about how bad pwBPD are and how they’ve ruined my life. I’m actually hoping to speak to the rest of us, “the others”, and I hope that my story might help someone else put into words what they’ve been feeling. Or at least not feel so alone and confused.
I’ll spare you my backstory; you can read about it here:
https://bpdfamily.com/message_board/index.php?topic=356517.msg13200402#msg13200402https://bpdfamily.com/message_board/index.php?topic=356642.msg13201350#msg13201350https://bpdfamily.com/message_board/index.php?topic=356552.msg13200666#msg13200666 But my story is pretty similar to everyone else’s: I was married to a woman for about 13 years who showed many of the signs of BPD in addition to being depressed, distant, detached and an active alcoholic for most of our marriage. The relationship was marked by wild mood swings, baseless accusations, suicide threats and attempts, manipulation, blame shifting, gaslighting, and the overall attitude that none of that really happened, she didn’t do it, it wasn’t her fault and it didn’t need to be acknowledged or addressed.
Two years ago (today, in fact) was the final straw. She put her hands on me during an argument and I just knew it was time. It was minor, no injury or anything, but I knew there was no turning back from this. I left the house about five weeks later and filed for divorce.
I left the relationship feeling good. I mean, this wasn’t what I wanted, but I felt positive and hopeful. I felt free. I had my own place, the kids were with me half the time. We were adjusting and coping and there was reason to believe that the future would be bright. My ex-wife didn’t implode as I had feared. That’s not to say she’s coped well, because she hasn’t. But I feared a devastating relapse and eventual suicide or other major crisis. That hasn’t happened.
And I felt comfortable moving on romantically. I wasn’t pursuing it, but I was open to it. From my vantage point the failure of my marriage wasn’t on me. I wasn’t the one doing the “bad things”, I had been in therapy for years, I was posting and reading here, I was confiding in friends, I’m not an alcoholic or drug addict. And I knew in my heart that I had tried really really hard to make the marriage work. Naturally I concluded:
The marriage failed because of her, not me. I’ve done my learning and growing. I’m good.There were a couple dates here and there, arranged through mutual friends. I kept the dates but wasn’t interested in pursuing these people further. And I was relieved. I thought: “See? Your antenna is up. Your discernment is high. You’re not falling for the first woman with a pulse. You’re good!”
A few months later I met (GF) and was immediately compelled. There was a certain je ne sais quoi about her. An undefinable quality. An energy, a magnetism. Something about her made me want to know more. We really clicked, really seemed to like and enjoy each other and things went from there.
Mind you I had done a full work-up on GF before I let my guard down. And I can honestly say that she was the polar opposite of my ex-wife, everything from her mannerisms, attitude, personality, even her appearance. I looked for the warning signs and saw none. I checked the closet for skeletons and didn’t see any. “Ok. This one checks out. Full speed ahead.”
How wrong I was, how quickly I knew I was wrong and, most importantly:
How willing I was to override my instincts in the name of love and connection.I’ll spare you the story but it went basically like this: we had just started sleeping with each other, and we clicked in the bedroom too. The next evening we were together, with plans on just staying in for a low-energy evening. Suddenly she came out of the bathroom and said “I have to go. I have to be with my cats. I have to be in my own bed,” and just left. I walked her to her car and even then, just a few weeks in, I knew: “This is a trap. This moment, right now, is where you get stuck. Say ‘good night’, give her a peck on the cheek, and let her go.”
We had plans to meet the next day that she blew off. Stood me up, just like in the movies. I finally connected with her later that day and she said “Yea, sorry. I just needed some ‘me time’ and I didn’t want to talk.” Moment #2: “Let her go. Do not chase her. Let this go. This is the moment that will trap you.” But I couldn’t let it go. I had already fallen victim to my dilemma. My own trap, the one I’ve been trying to outrun since I was a child:
This is because she’s not seeing you properly. You must try harder. You must prove yourself.And I did try harder. I stayed in it. And without knowing it–or despite the fact that deep down I did know it–I locked myself into the dance:
she will move away to control her fear of being seen, and I will move closer to control my fear of disappearing.Because that’s just it, right? I have spent my entire fvcking adult life being everyone’s firefighter. Attuning to them, anticipating their needs, serving them, putting them first. It’s all I know. It’s how I buy my right to exist. It’s the only evidence I have that proves I am real. So when GF suddenly ghosts and wants ‘me time’ I don’t have that angel on my shoulder. The one who talks about loving myself first, plenty of fish in the sea, and all of that.
I came up with no real, coherent sense of self. I was a collection of accomplishments, titles, roles, failures, two ex-wives, two children. I adopted this idea that I am only as good as what everyone sees in me. And I never really got the impression that people truly saw ME. They just saw a uniform, or a title, or a role, or some act of selflessness that made THEM feel good, left me hoping for some reciprocity and acceptance and, ultimately, left me feeling used, depleted and unseen. I was so desperate to finally be seen, accepted and kept (especially by a romantic partner) that the thought of abandoning that possibility in the name of self-protection is so foreign to me that it might as well not even be in English.
And who am I when I’m not being reflected in the eyes of others? I have no clue. No idea. I don’t know who I am. In the literal sense. I just don’t. I only know utility, endurance and competence. So that’s what I’ve been trying to sell the world for 45 years. I will love you so well, so competently, that I will become indispensable in your life. You will change. You will get better You will see that I am the only constant. I did not abandon you. Then I am allowed to exist. Then I become immortal.
That’s it for right now. There’s a lot more. So much more in terms of this relationship, what I’ve learned, moments that left me a sobbing mess. Some beautiful memories, some not so nice ones, and a desperate need to believe that there’s a better future for me somewhere.
I’ll try and repost soon. Thank you for reading.
