My first blog will be a background into my mental struggles and my on-going journey in overcoming them.
Anger, frustration, desperation. Crying endlessly and never feeling good enough. Unable to get out of bed, to feel happiness or excitement in anything because life has become pointless. Hurting the ones you love with words and becoming angry at them when you’re truly angry at yourself. Never ending tiredness, physically and emotionally.
These were just a few daily realities that I woke up to for years. I’ve come a long way, but it’s something I still struggle with to this day, and something that affects my partner, our kids, and my relationship with others. At school, I’m able to hide my personal demons, shield my tantrums from unknowing outsiders. I’m pretty good at it too, those who “know” the pretend me are always in shock when I give them a glimpse into the inner obstacles I battle.
It all stems from the regular “bad childhood,” the verbally and physically abusive family members, the alcoholic mother, the absent father. All my life I was told by my family that I was stupid, fat, ugly, and made to feel unworthy of love or affection. They embedded into my seven-year-old head that simple mistakes such as forgetting an item I was told to get at the grocery store is cause for punishment, either with lethal words or the sting of metal belt buckles. It’s like things you only see at the movie, except it was my upbringing.
Verbal abuse lead to low self esteem which lead to promiscuity which lead to becoming a teen mother. I found solace in anyone who told me things I never heard: that I was loved and I was beautiful. My soul was hungry for attention and I took all that was offered to me. More often than not, these paths took me to even further self-destruction with people who were more than happy to help me extinguish any hope for bright futures.
Until I found my partner. So unlike anyone else who told me they loved me only to hurt me. Because unlike them and unlike me, he is not broken. He is whole and complete and filled with love and gentleness, and luckily, saw in me the person my family broke into pieces, who just wanted some help. He gave me love, support, and two beautiful boys. We’ve nurtured each other, built each other up, and despite the statistics being against us as young parents, he’s managed to finish college, enter a career he enjoys, and now supports me as I go through nursing school as a young mom.
It’s been nine years of his unending encouragement which has fueled my determination, and over powers all my episodes of crying, anger and self-hatred. The doctor says it’s “borderline personality disorder” and requires therapy, not medication. I tell him I’m crazy, and I feel it’s true. He says he loves all of me regardless, and even though at times I don’t believe I’m deserving of any of it, even when I don’t believe I’m worth the pain I cause him, he hugs me until I do.