The Mystery As to Why I Suck

This week has been an emotional roller coaster. Not only am I coming off of five psych meds and switching to two but I also have a possible new diagnosis. The dreaded Borderline Personality Disorder.

Let me be clear on this, I do NOT want this diagnosis.

I’ve done a lot of reading on bpd in the past few days and the conclusion I have come to is it fits and also I suck.

You may argue with me on that, however, I have a list of experiences and proof that says otherwise.

Exhibit A: a great injustice was done to me at a very young age. Age 5 to be exact. My experience with my family surrounding this event cemented my self loathing and constant blaming of myself. It seems we live in a society where the victim, or survivor, to be P.C. , is punished for weakness while the perpetrator is rewarded.

I remember my moms exact words when I finally told her at age 11.

“You are a whore. I’m going to tell your dad. You’re going to die of AIDS.”

Then she blacked it all out until age 16 when I had my first mental breakdown.

I was to face it again, only this time with my father. At age 16 I was forced to make the parental decision of how to handle this. Obviously because during a mental breakdown and being underage that made me the best candidate to make logical and well thought out decisions. So I chose.

I chose poorly.

I stopped getting invited to family gatherings, especially on holidays. This is because HE would be there. So once again, the perpetrator wins. I started to view myself as absolute garbage.

Shortly after I started cutting myself. Let me try to explain this logic to you.

When the whole family, or whoever the group of people is, believes you can easily be thrown away, that’s what your self identity becomes. Cutting is a form of self abuse because you believe you should be punished. The act of self harm also dulls the emotional pain. Physical pain is a distraction. So it’s kinda like killing two birds with one stone. You punish yourself and then feel dead inside. Relief is in the deadness.

This is however not a healthy way of coping according to the professionals.

I can’t even begin to cover everything that took place over my lifetime that proved to me what garbage I was.

Mostly just my family beating me up for my mistakes. I have it so incredibly programmed in my head that everything is my fault, I deserve what I get, I’m lousy at making decisions, and that no matter what I do it’s going to be wrong.

I don’t know what I did but about a year ago my brother cut me out of his life. I have tried to talk to him. He hung up after saying I’ve done too many things wrong. I am not allowed to see my nephew.

I have obsessed over this for awhile now. What did I do?

Perhaps it was because I didn’t say hi to his wife at the family breakfast, as they had stated. If that’s a strike against me then maybe they should listen to my explanation. I had a ptsd attack that morning. I put out 3 cigarettes into my arm. I was outside of my body at that point, but did the responsible thing, I thought, and went to breakfast. I honestly didn’t notice anyone. It was like they were all just faceless blobs of people. I don’t know who I said hi to or didn’t. I was on autopilot. I suppose I could have made the decision not to go, but that would have been seen as not being a team player, or just good ol predictable Candice not being there once again.

I couldn’t afford to go to my brother or sisters wedding. At the time I was barely surviving. I am disabled and have been trying to make it on my own since 19. I was told repeatedly that I could never come home to live again. I was near homelessness when a friend took me in. I lived in a garage filled with bedbugs. I was barely working because of my mental health and I remember my father telling me it was my poor choices that got me to that point and was I actually proud of myself?!

There are so many more examples of why I think I’m garbage.

What kills me is the more I tried the more I got beaten down.

This new diagnosis of bpd will just be more ammunition as my brothers psychologist had diagnosed me with it years ago without ever meeting me. My dad read a book on bpd and has since been convinced that I have it.

So, if I do in fact have Borderline Personality Disorder it will just reinforce their beliefs about me.

I feel emotionally overwhelmed at this point. I have been crying for about an hour now.

There is no proving myself, there is no winning, there is no forgiveness, there is simply nothing left I can do.

I have to accept that this is their viewpoint on me and that nothing I do or say will ever change it.

At this point I don’t even want to try anymore. Honestly what is the point?

Almost everyone in my life has molded my self image into a grotesque form.

I will never be seen as the fighter who was left standing after 40 years of battle. I will never be the hero, or understood, or respected.

Best I can do now is try not to succeed at suicide. And quite honestly I think it would be a relief to everyone concerned if I just didn’t exist anymore.

So in summation, everything I do is wrong, everything that goes wrong is my fault, and basically I suck at being alive.

Who wants to switch places? I’m tired of being me.