Tag: identity

My marriage & divorce (or how my quest for understanding began)

The father of my daughter is a man I met when I was 17 and married when I was 22. At 26 I had my daughter, by 27 I was separated, by 29 divorced. I’ve had one 9 month relationship since then, and one undefinable disaster (I’m now 36). It’s safe to say relationships are not my forte.

When I met the father of my daughter (B), I was 17 and just coming out of a long illness. I’d had glandular fever which had turned into Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS/ME) and I had been very sick for nearly a year. That’s another story, but safe to say that I wasn’t in the best place physically or mentally. I felt abandoned by many of my friends, whose lives had continued on without me, and misunderstood and shafted by life. I had taken on an afterschool/holiday job but found that I just couldn’t go to school and work, it was too much for me. My “recovery” from CFS was still tentative and, unbeknownst to me at the time, working in a supermarket was probably the worst place I could have chosen due to my multiple sensory processing difficulties.

I had gotten to know of B who worked in the department next to mine, but never really spoken to him. On the day I handed in my notice he asked me for my number and I think we texted each other (it was February 2000 but I did have a cellphone 🙂 ) and organised a date to the movies.

I don’t remember thinking that much of him. He talked a lot about himself and the music he liked and he played his guitar for me and I remember thinking I was bored. But I went on a second date with him and during that date he said he could see himself marrying me. All my alarm bells went off – this was our second date, I was 17 (he was 23), I didn’t even know whether I liked him. But I was fascinated – what could he see in me that I couldn’t see? Why did he like me when no one else seemed to?

Needless to say I kept going out with him. There’s something intoxicating about someone who repeatedly professes their love for you, especially when you don’t feel even particularly liked by anyone else. I also wanted to lose my virginity and get that hurdle out of the way, and I was kinda interested in the whole experience in being someone’s girlfriend. I have clear memories of thinking that having a relationship was a normal teenage experience and that’s what I wanted for myself.

That’s not to say I didn’t fall in love with him. I became almost obsessively in love with him. I wanted to be with him all the time, and I changed what I liked and who I was to suit who he was. He didn’t ask me to, or demand that of me, and I’m not sure that I was consciously doing it. But after a lifetime of masking I was an expert at remaking myself to fit what I thought other people would like. So I made changes to the style of music I listened to, the clothes I wore and the things I was interested in.

I’m not going to go in to the ups and downs of our relationship and subsequent marriage here now, but suffice to say that there were a lot of them. Neither of us were good at communicating, and there were faults on both sides. I didn’t know myself or understand even my own behavior, never mind his. I felt trapped and essentially I married him despite the warning signs because I felt I had no where else to go, and no one to turn to. And I was terrified of losing him, the only person who stuck around, even if he treated me badly.

When we split up I realized that I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know what type of music I liked or how I would want to dress. I didn’t like much of our furniture and I hated certain pictures, linens and crockery we had. I guess everyone whose been through a divorce will understand what its like when you suddenly end up with half the stuff you used to have, and almost all of it was a compromise with the other person and not to your taste at all. But I didn’t even know what my taste was. Suddenly I was 27, spat out the other end of a 10 year relationship and I had no idea what I liked or who I was.

And so began my quest to understand myself.

Until next time. Ka Kite.

BPD and identity

I’ve always had a lot of trouble figuring out who I am and what I like. In my life I’ve tried a lot of things but very rarely settled to any one thing for longer than a year or so. I constantly seem to question who I am, what I like, what my values are and what I want out of life. I often feel hopeless and directionless because I can never quite seem to grasp what the purpose of my life is and what I should be doing with it. This is not just about career direction, but hobbies, friends, relationships, goals and values.

This is a fairly common problem for people with BPD. When you oscillate between liking yourself and feeling safe and secure, and hating yourself and shutting yourself off from people, you feel like you can’t get a grip on what your opinion of yourself is, never mind anything else. 

I have a very short attention span and get bored incredibly quickly. I am lucky in some ways that I have been able to find a career that is mentally stimulating, and has just enough routine to make me feel secure and quell some of my anxiety while also offering enough variety that I don’t get too bored and switch off. I have been at my most depressed and mentally unwell when I have had to work at jobs which were not mentally challenging enough. Strangely though I had no problem being at home on maternity leave, although I’d say that was because my daughter did a very good job of providing variety and challenge for me!!

One of the things I have found very difficult to live with is my inability to figure out what my purpose is in life. I have spent numerous hours devoted to trying to understand why I was put here on this earth. As is my habit I have researched this question in the library, and also spent time trying to understand and define my values, read up on altruism and gratitude, attempted to meditate on it, investigated various religions, and questioned a number of people about what they think the meaning of life is. Logically I understand the answers and points of view presented to me, but none of them spoke to me or felt like they were ‘my reason’. This can be incredibly depressing, as my life is often a painful chaotic mess of emotions and their destructive impact on the people I care about. I need to feel like there is some reason for enduring it.

I see other people taking action for things they believe in, making a difference for others, practising their religious beliefs, following their dreams, or doing things they enjoy and I get jealous. I love that people I care about are doing these things. But I wish I had certainty about what I believe in or want, or enjoy. Sometimes I feel like I have a strong opinion, only to feel the opposite two hours later. I enjoy doing something but then never want to do it again. Or like the idea but feel no motivation to follow through. I’m capable of loving something one minute and then hating it an hour later. Or getting bored and abandoning in the process or project two steps in.

In the past I’ve often felt like I am acting a role, saying and doing what is expected of me. When I had my major depressive episode in 2013/14 I remember saying to my psychologist that I felt like a cardboard cut out. That I was presenting this face to the world but there was nothing behind it, no depth to it. I say things that are certainly true in that circumstance but not necessarily how I feel, because I don’t know how I feel. Or how I feel changes like the flick of a switch so I can say something to one person that is the truth but regret what I said or feel like I misrepresented myself later. This can feel to people who don’t have BPD that they are being lied to or manipulated. But for me, I certainly don’t intend to lie, and at the time I am telling the truth. It’s just that I’m erratic and very prone to changing my mind half a dozen times in the following few hours.

The stigma of BPD contributes to identity issues. There is the expectation that you just get on with life when you have a mental illness. You don’t own up to it and you certainly don’t make other people feel uncomfortable by explaining what is really going on or how you feel. You pretend that everything is fine and you suffer in private. This is seen as the acceptable way of coping with a mental illness. Then there’s the argument that you can ‘over identify’ with your illness. That instead of seeing it as something you have, like a heart condition or diabetes, you see it as who you are. People with BPD often call themselves borderlines, defining themselves by their illness. I know I’ve done this myself in the past, and I think in part it’s because having BPD is about identity, it is a personality disorder after all. Identity is all about who you are and what you believe in. But the danger is that in identifying with the illness that you negate the possibility of recovery. Recovery is possible for some people, and there is a percentage of people who do the therapy programs who will recover enough not to meet the diagnosis criteria anymore.

One of my goals is to not focus too much on who I am and what my purpose is. A little bit of self examination is a good thing, but too much navel-gazing makes me feel adrift in a vast sea of possibility and raises my anxiety level. Enjoyment of the journey is still a worthy accomplishment.

Ka Kite Ano