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I was raised in what I always considered a "normal" environment--two healthy, middle-class parents who didn't physically beat me. They always said I was smart, and encouraged me in my studies. But my dad was always away during the week for work, only home on the weekends, and when he was home, he was highly critical. Never raised his voice, but emotionally he wasn't there for me. My mom had trouble raising 2 kids on her own, so she would lose it and go into fits of rage, screaming at us, banging things around and then yelling at us not to cry. My opinion didn't matter in my house. My sister spoke for me. I always felt I was "different" growing up, but I couldn't understand why. I had trouble making friends, yet I wanted to fit in. I couldn't seem to express myself to other people, instead I just went along with whatever they said or did. I met my husband just out of high school, and he was extremely emotionally and verbally controlling and abusive. I think I never did anything impulsive during all the years I was with him because I was afraid of his reaction. He never once hit me though, so I thought I owed it to him to stay. But the hurtful things he said to me hurt so bad that I felt like killing myself at times. When I left him after 10 years (no kids, luckily), I thought all I had to do was get over the initial depression and I'd be okay, because the abuse was gone from my life. But then I felt so lonely, and I became suicidal. It happened twice in one month, and the only reason I didn't attempt it was because I knew that I was such a perfectionist that there wouldn't be an attempt--I would make sure I was successful the first time. But once I got on anti-depressants, I felt better and I thought things were okay again. I was smoking pot daily, as I had done for the past decade, but I was ready to give it up. When I did, the emotions hit full force again. I quit my anti-depressants cold-turkey. I burned myself with cigarettes. I took overdoses of over-the-counter medication (not in an attempt to kill myself but just to numb the pain). I cut myself. I thought of suicide again. I tried to break my toes by kicking the wall with my bare foot. And this most recent bout--I had sex with a different stranger every night hoping one of them would beat me and kill me. And each time I did one of those crazy things, I would come out of my dissociated way of thinking and think, "Why? Why did I do that?" The pain of loneliness is just so intense for me. I try to make friends, but I just can't connect. And I don't feel like I can be myself. At work, I function well, and am able to focus when I get going to get projects done, but I have trouble getting started on projects and even more trouble relating to other people at work. I try to stay in my corner and stay quiet, separating myself from everyone else. I don't ask questions, don't talk to other people. And I got attached to my therapist and almost died when she said she wouldn't be my friend after therapy was over. My life is hell sometimes, I feel like I'm crazy, yet I've never been committed for any reason. I'm actually glad I discovered I have BPD. At least I have a label for this madness, and I can do something to treat it. I'm starting DBT sometime in the next few months, whenever they can get me in. In the meantime, I'm seeing my therapist twice a week just so I have some stable connection to the world. Because I have no close friends, at least not where I live now. The friends I do have I can't talk to about this. And my family, well, they already think I'm the oddball of the family, so I'm sure they won't be surprised by the news.
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