It’s been a while HE
A while back a psychologist friend of mine had me checked and eventually had my BPD confirmed. I don’t really have any money so I can’t afford to get counseling. But she has given me resources to help me deal with it on my own. Since then I have improved greatly.
Recently I have run into a fit of being honest with myself, and today I ran into a bit of honesty that effects my entire life and has been doing so since jr. high all the way to the present (age 23). This piece of honesty is a 2 level mess.
1 – I don’t finish anything at all (even if I’m always doing something no matter how hard I work)
2 – nothing means anything to me at all other than not failing
You see, I put a ton of effort into things that just don’t mean a damned thing to me. Not even a little. Well, maybe a little. But really, nothing by any real standard. I will rework something over and over. The only aim being to be perfect or as perfect as possible. Anything less is a failure and that is the most frightening thing to me. I can admit I have a decent eye at the very least. But it means that I see lots of what is wrong. As long as I see them, I can’t rest. If I don’t see them, I don’t feel right and look for something to be wrong. Sometimes going to the extreme of scrapping everything and redoing everything. I will take it to person to person to hear something is wrong. I simultaneously want something to be wrong and nothing to be wrong. But the only thing that matters is not failing.
But I don’t even know what that means anymore.
More on the second part
I have taken all meaning out of the things that I do. I suppose to relieve any stress or fear of failing on something that does mean something to me. But this is the part of the problem which makes me forget about projects and pretty much everything else completely or just quit. This becomes a glaring juxtaposition when I remember the way things meant so very much when I was a despair, hope, hate, and love driven teen and young adult fighting for justice in my own little world,,, or when I smoke pot, which I haven’t done in a while.
When I smoke pot, everything comes back even more wonderfully than when I was a teen especially because I understand things better now. Again, smoking is a very rare event for me so I don’t get to experience that injection of meaning very often. It is always so good. Even when I end up crying…which does happen. I assume this is because of the euphorics dumped into my brain.
I have a few ideas
I think I need to try and deal with my fear somehow. I have already made a discovery which helps to not be stressed about the problems I see in my art (I’m a concept artist/illustrator btw). I realized that the dunning kruger effect held significance for me. People with the ability to asses their work and find faults in it, usually have greater ability in the things they find their faults in. This is because they are able to see those faults and in seeing them, they have the ability to solve those problems. Those that do not have the ability to see the issues will not even know they should be fixing anything. So they won’t likely advance very much.
If I see problems in my work, it’s good. It means that I can improve and that I’m not actually stuck. I just need to be brave and face those things. When those are done, I can see new ones. I will always have something to do and a way to get better. So in this manner, the dunning kruger effect works in my favor. Yet, this does nothing to help me finish things. It only means that I can make my chances of failing to ‘perfect’ something much greater over time. This of course is common knowledge.
So I have deduced that meaning is far more important in this situation. It is the deeper problem I need to deal with. Yet it is not the core problem. Why doesn’t anything mean anything? I feel that it is because I do not want anything to mean anything. Why is that? I believe it is likely due to my experiences with things that have meant something to me in the past. What happened? I have been subject to abuse from many sources. Both physical and more notably, psychologically. (As it was easier for everyone to get away with, I assume) What happened to me? Well, the way I grew up, if I showed interest, joy, or any kind of positive reaction to something, it would be used against me or taken away, But of course, I was not an obedient child because of that very treatment and disrespect. I became very good at being covert and was able to indulge myself in private moments I often had because of the very neglect which should have been hurting me. Isolation became my friend. It still is. I see no problem with it, but I do need people sometimes, yet I often forget. In any case, I grew older. Soon, I was far away from the people that held contempt for me and my passions. Or so I thought. These people are everywhere. Even worse, when you are older, the recourse is much worse. So hit after hit, I died a little more. I’m sure it is similar to many of you. But I had no support to fall back on. None at all. To make it worse, I had already contracted BPD at a young age and had no idea what to call it. In fact, I denied it.
Yes, this story goes that way.
I am as we all are in this awful stereotypical and mundane play. A creative being cut down. “I used to be grand”, some might say. I might say. But today, I cannot say…
“THAT’S THE REAL WORLD”, they might say. They do say. I refuse to say.
But the truth is that I don’t think that not feeling things is unhealthy (unless your genes are configured that way and that it is actually your natural state). Pot has shown me that I can still feel. It reminds me that I have potential to be myself once more, or rather, the most me that I can be. I have personal experience as to how meaninglessness leads to a life devoid of meaning. It isn’t a stretch in the least to believe, I would imagine. In fact, I don’t care very much about myself either. This is so cruel and it is so shameful for me to admit after working so very hard in my buddhist studies. But I have to be honest. I just don’t care.
At this point, I just don’t want to suffer anymore.
Yet, I don’t want to be a failure.
Though I’m so very sure i already am.
This has gone very off topic. But still relevant.
I wish to put meaning back into my work. If I care, I believe I will be more likely to finish my projects. My books. My current series on netflix. My studies. My anything. Fixing my life. But to care, I have to have a reason to care. I have worked very long and hard to develop a self that is devoid of vulnerability. But as chevelle (the band) says in their song, Bend the Bracket, “The more we tense up. Avoiding pain. You’ll never learn a thing.”
Now I have made it a point to take the things I know will not kill me, yet still make me hesitate and cower and retreat, then to just do them. Let myself show my vulnerabilities once more. Letting the pain teach me what I need to learn. Accepting the rewards of my actions gracefully.
This post is my very first attempt and I have to admit something.
I had to get a few beers to let myself even begin to write this. To let the reigns slip enough to allow myself to become weak. I recognize that substances are not a solution. But in this case, it was a necessary tool as I am truly desperate.
I plan to post here and there. To help me have a conversation with people more apt to caring, as the people in my life are simply not good for this kind of support. Love them as I do, or rather as much as I am capable of at this moment. I realize now, that this is something that should be a priority. I do not care that everything is essentially meaningless as we are less than a spec in the universe. It matters not to me that nothing matters. I desire to let things mean something to me once more. I wish to have sentiment. I wish to experience nostalgia.
I hope that I and anyone else in this situation, will get better and improve their life.
I really am weak at this moment, so please. I ask that you be kind. With that said, please comment if you have anything at all to say.
Until next time
I’ll try and follow my bliss