Fake It Until You Make ItA few months ago I tried to kill myself. All my life I've had crippling depression. I came from a ****** up childhood full of violence drugs and rape. When I ran away from home, all I wanted to do was be normal. I read books on breaking the cycle of abuse, books on how to behave, self help books on depression and trauma. These books taught me how to chamillion, how to blend in and seem normal. They filled me with the vocabulary and mannerisims of normalcy, but it was all a lie. I may have intellectualized the information, but it wasn't enough. The more I read the more I realized I wasn't normal at all. I could fake it, but it was all a sham.
I am a self harmer, so I learned how to do it in less obvious ways. I don't cut any more, instead I starve myself, or my personal favorite, denying myself medical help when I need it. I used to be very clingy, not wanting to be alone. But my books told me that was wrong, so now I push people away, What is the oppisite of clingy? Teflon? I get rid of people at the drop of a hat. One day you are my friend, the next, I don't even know you, you are out of my life.
I have no empathy. Or maybe I should say I have an over flow of empathy, I understand all to well. I have no sympathy. I hate people in general. But who can hold a job when they show the hate, so I pretend I like you, in truth I am just barley tolorating your pressence. The only people who have any value to me are my husband and daughter, but I will run from them too. I'd rather be alone. I'm such a downer to be around, I'd just rather be alone.
I wear a mask, a heavy disguise. It wieghs me down and wears me out. I've learned how to fake it so well that most of the time no body even knows whats going on. That deep down inside I couldn't care less...about anything. The only emotion I really have is anger, but again my manuals to a normal life tell me that is wrong, so I keep it inside. Rage boils in me until my bowels run hot. If I could I would strangle some one with my bare hands, but I won't. So instead I won't eat, I won't see a doctor, I burn myself.
A few months ago I tried to kill myself. I was and still am ready to die. But I got caught, and now I am in therapy. Two weeks ago was my first session, and I asked will therapy work, or will it just make me a better liar. She asked me had I ever heard the saying Fake it until you Make it? So then yes, it will just make me a better liar. I already fake it, I already wear the mask.
Wouldn't it be better to help me find my authentic self? Wouldn't it make more sence to drop the mask, not put more sparkles on it? I've all but convinced myself that this isn't going to work at all.
I've read that adults who come from a severly traumatizing back ground are not helped as much be therapy. That the abilty to dissasociate is only amplified. That people with BPD are resentful of therapy. That they ar being reinforced to believe they are not good enough as they are. That they are unlovable the way they are now. They may only go because the fear that they will be left pushes them into a cornor. That they (we, I) are selfish in nature. I know thats true, I am the most selfish person I know. Even when I do something nice for others it's only because I want to be thought of as a good person, not because I actually am.
So here I am. Stuck in therapy hell. Not there to learn to accept myslf as I am, but to bedazzle the mask a bit more. It gets heavier every day.