Me!

I have something called Border-line Personality Disorder. If you know me, this is no real surprise. If you google this "disorder" you'll get a long list of things to read... let me save you the time. My mother refers to me as a chameleon. That is to say that i will change my colors to fit in with whomever i am with. Again, if you know me, you shouldn't be surprised. I censour myself, because what if what I want isn't what you want? Then there's conflict. Drama. And nobody likes drama. If i can stop it before it begins, all the better. As i write this, i have no clue who will read it. But i can imagine your thoughts as you read it, and my mentality tells me to tell you the good things about me, not the bad. Well, screw it. To know ME, you must know what ive been thru to get here. I am a rape survivor. I am a kidnap survivor. I am a domestic abuse survivor. I've been in a fatal car accident and ive had 5 major operations. I have lost family members to drugs, AIDS, and cancer. And i keep smiling. Why? Because i crave positive energy. I know what happens when people get angry, and i want to avoid that at all costs. A part of BPD is narcesism. I don't think the world revolves around me, nor do i want it to. But i do constantly think of myself...as in the way. I need constant reassurance, otherside i feel like ive done something wrong. Again, this is where smiling comes in handy. A simple smile tells me i am welcome, im okay. Relax. When you don't smile... i need to be on guard because something is wrong. In my head, how can i keep you happy is constantly on my thoughts. You like brown hair? Red? Blond? Been there, done that. And i'll do it again. Jeans? Slacks? Dresses? Been there, too. Whether I like it or not, its keeping you happy that matters. I don't get jealous; it's not worth it. If being with that other woman makes you happy- go for it! Yes, it'll hurt like hell, but no, you will never know. I have been a witness at an ex's wedding to a female he cheated on me with. Did it hurt? Yes. Did I smile? Yes. The downside to BPD is being undecisive. I've been accused of being flaky, or being uninterested. Believe me, I'm interested! I feel like Johnny-5, waiting for input. How's your day going? (Stop, check for smile. No smile...change subject) How's work/school/home? (Stop, check for smile. Smile? Stay with subject) My mind races thru these thoughts at the speed of light, so if you ever catch me staring off into space, i'm just trying to grab one. My friends ask me my opinion... i freeze. What if mine differs from theirs? What if i open my mouth and say something stupid? It's not a matter of "Whats the worst that can happen" cause my mind knows what can/does/will happen. So my brain tells my mouth to shut up before it can get us in trouble. Decisions are better off left to you, that way i know what you like.
Welcome to me.

Poppin the Blog cherry

Okay, so writing isn't as easy as I assumed. Well, writing a blog at any rate. I’ve been published; that’s not hard. Then again, poetry comes naturally on my father’s side, and that’s one of the two things I inherited from him. The other being eyes and hair that change color with the season, but that’s a different story. Why is a blog so hard? I mean, its not like I’m miss popularity and so many people are going to read it. Or even that one person that can say "This chick has talent" and sign me up with a contract. (If you're reading this and have those kind of connections, we should talk. Seriously.) Writing has always come naturally to me, I was writing before I could read. No, I don’t mean just childish scribble; I mean at 3 years old, I was copying my Winnie-the-pooh books onto tablets of paper. I was the only child in my pre-kindergarten that could read and write. Not bragging, just laying down the facts. Typing is a little different, because all it will take is a push of the delete button and *poof* all gone. Whereas with my paper and pen, I’m always afraid that somebody will come along and read what they shouldn't. Even if I tear that page out! I watch CSI; I know these things. You ever trace a quarter by rubbing a pencil over it lightly?? It’s the same thing basically. So as long as I keep my laptop closed, nobody will be running a pencil over it. Why doesn’t that sound right?