Brain caves

My apologies to Neal McClure for not requesting permission to include the picture which precedes these words. I was looking for a picture of a dark cave on google images and all the other caves were too pretty - filled with rays of blue or red light and luminescence or intricate shapes of rock. This picture was the closest approximation of what I had in mind, It has no egress and no windows, only impenetrable stone filled with darkness. This is what it has been like to live with my brain. Since it is very unlikely many people will ever see this post I see no real harm in including it. As far as I can tell though, this is his art and he should get the credit and you should click on the link and go buy it or something else at his Etsy shop. I really appreciate his visual as it will help me set the tone for this post.

I have an appointment scheduled with an online therapist tomorrow. I plan to start the conversation this way: I have suffered from depression and anxiety my whole life, but just recently discovered the diagnosis of borderline personality disorder and I think it fits me. I really need help..

We'll see where it goes from there. As I reflect on all my broken relationships, all my self-hatred, depression, loneliness and brokenness I can see a through line now. A broken brain is that through line. I've spent a lot of my life feeling as though I was innocent and everyone else was mean. My father, my husband, my students, my co-workers, my children were upset with me for no reason. It is occurring to me this week that my personality traits increase the likelihood of conflict becoming unsolvable. I am not the only one walking on eggshells around others. Others are walking on eggshells around me.

From the age of about 3 to the age of 13 I grew up in a sweet 1920s Cape Cod style home in the middle of nowhere. Our city had approximately 150,000 people in it when I was a kid. It has double that now. It was the decade of the 1970s and the drapes were gold, the carpet was dark brown, the furniture was knock off versions of mid-century modern style, and we did not have central air - so summers were awful. I was conceived via marital rape. Why mention it? Not for shock value or victim baiting, but just to tell the truth. My parents were Catholic and so no birth control was used for most of their marriage. They had six kids before me - one girl and 5 boys. Seven years after their last boy was born - I came along. Why the gap in age? Yes, marital rape. I was not expected or longed for - though in that time not many kids were longed for. Of course, I was told stories of what a delight I was to everyone. A little girl to play with. A cute, fat cherub.

My memories were not of family interaction or in being a cute, fat cherub. My memories are of being alone, with a black and white television or a record player to keep me company. They include being afraid of my father, worried about my mother, and incapable of doing anything to please anyone.

My solace was my closet. It was small, square and dark. I could sit nicely on the floor and close the door. There were many times when I was overwhelmed by events of the day and the way I had perceived them, when I went to my closet. I went there when I was a pre-teen who was expected to perform a liturgical dance for my parent's Monday night prayer meeting and I hid from the fright. I was talked out by women who attended the meeting and taught me the dance - they were in their 20s, pretty and young, They convinced me it would be okay - and it was. I went to my closet after being sexually molested by a neighborhood boy. I was so frightened that I ran immediately to the closet and I don't remember coming out. Years later when I told my mother what happened she made me tell my father, who dismissed it as unimportant because the young man did not penetrate me.

My parents sold the house when they separated. I was around 14 at the time. I missed my closet but I wasn't a kid anymore. I moved on to psychological closets. I began to completely shut down.

I had the good fortune as a child to have a best friend. She was lovely and everything that I was not. She was skinny, athletic, popular, assertive and full of fun with a zest for life as a bonus. We spent hours and hours together. We were in the same grade at school and both the youngest of a large Catholic family. Most of the time she protected and defended me, but sometimes she would join in on games where I was ditched, or she would allow other friends to deride me in some way. When my feelings would get hurt I would usually just not want to play with her and I would stay home. Sometimes I would write her letters explaining the injustice I felt I had endured. These rarely resolved the situation, as you might imagine. They would only create more hurt feelings. But eventually I would relent and say I was sorry and we would be friends again.

Our interaction with each other came apart after high school. I had spent countless hours with her making out with a guy in the the backseat, while I sat next to them, or being set up with a dolt of a guy who found me boring and unattractive just so she could be with the current guy of her choosing. I was tired of being her appendage rather than a person on my own. I was always a second, and never a first. So, when my sister and mother (the only people I ever trusted) moved to a different city, I went with them.

This has happened over and over and over again. I feel overwhelmed by a situation or by conflict or by another person's anger at me and I either yell back (which I didn't do until my mid-30s) or I shut down and either freeze or disassociate. The instances of this happening count in the hundreds over the course of my life. Over and over again, no matter how good my intentions are or how hard I work to regulate my emotions I continually sabotage relationships, which is what I have longed for all my life. I'm safe in my cave, but it is awful lonely.

I have been very fortunate to have many lovely people in my life, but I am unsure how to establish relationships with others. I don't know how to give and take. I don't know who I am or what I want. I don't know how to agree to disagree. I don't know how to take other's uncomfortable emotions in stride. I then end up in a state like this and I wonder why everyone is so mean to me/or things are so hard:

I love this picture I found online by Rosie Weldon. It is such a clear visual of how my brain actually hurts sometimes. My brain problems lead not only to relationship problems, which hurt the most, but also to an eating disorder and three bankruptcies under my belt. Now, to be fair, it is a miracle in itself that I have accomplished what I have. I've been a very dysfunctional parent but I have two great young-adult children. I've owned a home in my past. I held a great job for many years. I've had some great experiences. What I haven't had, and can't seem to give to myself or my children is stability.

My dad used to call me "flighty." He disapproved of flighty things. He liked solid people who worked hard at full-time jobs and were reliable. I wanted to be these things - employed and reliable - but I just wasn't. I have always been like Rosie Weldon's brain after a fight - busted, bruised and confused. It has gotten so bad I no longer trust myself. I don't enjoy this state of being. I'd much rather be having warm family time, or enjoying a ride on a boat, or helping someone in a meaningful way. It has gotten to the place in the last few years where my prayer is simply, Lord, please help me to do no harm. I'm scared of being hurt and hurting others. I'm tired of this brain. Time to disassociate.