Sometimes, I’m the friend to have. I will wake up at 3 in the morning to sit on the phone with someone as they cry. I will jump to stand up for someone who I believe is being treated less than fair. I like to make people smile and laugh, I tell jokes more than I say anything else. I cry with and for people, I get caught up in the high of other’s joy and success. I am proud of my loved ones, and pray for them in hard times. But sometimes, I’m a monster.
I didn’t realize how I was for so long because I only used to act out on my mother. I thought she just pried it out of me. Which in a sense is true, but at some point, we have to stop blaming our parents. To this day, my mother says how terrible of a daughter I was. And I bite my tongue because you can’t tell a mother she did anything wrong after all she has done for you.
I guess I kind of started to notice it when I was going through my drug addiction phase. But if anyone has ever met an addict, self-reflection isn’t usually on their to do list. And afterward, I blamed it on withdrawals. Then relationships. Then stress. Then I noticed something.
The common denominator was me.
Everywhere I went where strong relationships were built, I left ruins in their wake. And why? So they wouldn’t first? Because I am made to destroy? I’m unsure. But I did it.
And then I met my husband. The sweetest man you’d ever meet. Soft spoken, generous, inclusive, everything that someone associates with a good person he represents. He looks at these eyes that magnify every positive I possess, and diminish any negative quality I can’t push away. And I trample all over him.
I yell. I call him names. I pick out his insecurities and bring them up when my spit is still fresh with venom. There are ones even I don’t touch, of course, but there are things I have said that should never have even been a thought.
And I wonder. What am I? Am I a nice person? Or am I a monster? Yes, when we are sitting around hyped up on caffeine playing our Xboxes I’m awesome. Cruising down the highway on the way to a night out I’m fun singing songs, laughing and smiling. I try to do things around the house I know he will appreciate. I stick up for him when I have the opportunity. But I still torture him.
This is supposed to be the man that I love and would do anything for. Which I do, but I sure as sunshine and rain don’t show it. This man has bent over backward to appease my ridiculous demands, and I tear him down for not meeting impossible standards. This is a man who is constantly giving to people in need, and I take advantage of him. He very rarely says anything wrong, and when he does he acknowledges it immediately and apologizes. But I never let it go. He is always there for me, but the second he can’t be it’s the end of the world. He holds his tongue as I make a mess around the house, but I blow up if he doesn’t put his dishes in the sink.
He says “I love you” more than I do…
I do love him. I do care for him. I do want to spend the rest of my life with him. I do think he is the most amazing human being I will ever encounter. But I do not do a very good job of expressing that.
I’d like to say BPD isn’t me, but when I’m happy and laughing I embrace that side of me that can’t control how joyful I get. So I have to own this monster that develops in my anger. This is me, it just is a really crappy version of me. But I don’t want to be a monster anymore.
So I’m gonna figure something out.