So a couple of weeks ago I posted a blog post http://tinyurl.com/ms2q3x9 about a book I wish to write to help not just the BPD sufferer, but also the family, friend or just someone who cares as I feel there is nothing out there for the supporter and there should be. I am looking for people to help. Preferably people who have a diagnosis, but I will consider those who have the symptoms. Please note that I wont be able to use all of the material and so some of the things will be cut from the final version. This of course will be no reflection on the person who contributed. As a sufferer myself I know how we take things personal and I will do my utmost best to explain things as I go. Feel free to add yourself or simply message me. Thank you for reading.
I feel so bad today, inside it feels like I can’t breathe, I want to cut so badly. I even visualise it, not just doing it, but the pain that comes from it, like unzipping my skin to let myself breathe, the same way one might do to relieve the strain on a tight pair if jeans.
That’s what I need to do. I watch the blood in my mind, it rolls down slowly from where I have cut, it’s warm and soothing, like a miniature carrier, it’s transports my pain to the outside.
I try to ask myself why I’m feeling this way, what’s causing it. Things are happy, I should feel happy. I shouldn’t feel this emptiness inside, but I do.
Then I realise, maybe it’s the child inside, the one fighting and hurt with so many things going around my mind and no one to sooth him.
A dream from a couple of days ago, one of a memory and I think, I can’t share that. I can’t tell anyone. But I can. It isn’t my shame. It’s my mothers it’s all hers. She did it to me, not the other way around.
I feel like I’m choking in the memory of her telling me to touch her tongue with mine, and her doing the same. Hers so much in my mouth that I couldn’t breathe.
It’s not my shame. It’s hers. She did it. Not me. Not me. Not me.
I think about the things she did. Where her hand went, the way she laid on me. I can feel it there, almost like it’s right now.
I get afraid to share this. I want to hide and run away.
But it is not my shame.
She did this to her child. The woman that was my mother. Not me.
Blame is one of those things I keep coming back to. I think I have it right in my head and then it’s gone again. But it’s an essential part of my healing so I keep fighting to see it how everyone else does and not through my eyes.
Guilt and blame seem to go hand in hand with each other. Guilt by association is an odd idea though, but it makes a lot of sense. Have you been at school and some people are talking, but you all get told off and sometimes all end up in detention? Or even more serious things, such as if you were with someone that burgled a house, even though you don’t go in, don’t smash anything or steal, you are still guilty by association.
Children are taught when an authority figure tells them off they listen. It’s something that’s there from such a young age. When children have friends over and that friend does something wrong, the child is told off by the parent, not the friend. They become guilty by association also. So what if the child is being abused?
They may know the abuse is wrong, but they don’t tell, some never tell because they feel the guilt.
No one would ever have believed me with my father. Not a single person. On the outside he was a good man. He helped people. Polite, well spoken, intelligent with a nice house, children etc. Yet there was this secret he and I had.
Isn’t it natural that if a child and parent are doing something bad and wrong together, the child feels guilty? Not because they should, but because the adult has tricked them and pinned some of the guilt on them to retain silence.
Blame: Take Two
I guess, like anyone, blame and shame are my biggest issues. In reality, I would never blame a child for the atrocities of its parents; I would see him or her as innocent, and a victim of their parent’s wrong doings. Yet, when it comes to me, I cannot. I blame myself and no matter how much the evidence is stacked up against my parents, I cannot change it. If I even try, it feels like lies.
One of the factors of blame, is understanding the’ why’ question, and because that is almost impossible to answer, the only conclusion a child can draw on, is that it must be their fault.
He investigated why Nuremberg war criminals in WWII, carried out acts of genocide. Was it simply because Germans were made different and, therefore, cruel?
He believed they were, and tested his theory with an experiment. He asked ordinary people to volunteer as teachers and had actors as the learner. The teachers thought they were simply there for a memory test, but that was not the case.
Milgram set up the teacher and the learner in different rooms. The learner was strapped to a chair and attached to a buzzer that gave them an electric shock. The teacher was in another room and asked the learner a question. For each question they got wrong, the teacher would administer an electric shock. These shocks went along a scale, starting at nothing more than a quick nip of volts, to 450 volts, which was fatal.
In the room with the teacher, was an experimenter, (an actor) who appeared to be taking notes and watching. The teacher could not see the learner, only hear them.
However, what they really heard, was a recorded voice. They weren’t really electrocuting people, they just believed they were. Eventually, as the voltage got higher, the voice would plead, asking for no more, and eventually it went silent, leaving the teacher not knowing if the learner was unconscious or simply not responding.
Of course, as the cries or the silence got worse, the teacher often became stressed, but the experimenter in the room would simply state that it was vital to the experiment and to please continue (they did have the right to leave at any time).
Milgram found that over 60% of people went to the fatal 450volts and, when asked later, he concluded that like the Nazi, it was not down to ethnicity, but rather obedience. If people did not hold the blame, they could continue.
My father, like many the same, told me, it was my fault. I wanted it. I asked for it. I liked it and his personal favourite that I gained everything in my life through sex. It would seem the case, even using it to gain my father’s love and attention. The way he worded thing caused me to take the blame because what he said was logical.
What if Milgram’s theory applies here? My father convinced himself that it was what I wanted. He believed his own lies, removed blame, and gave it to me. He believed he was doing what I wanted, what I liked and what I offered. He was being obedient.
Making it my fault and not his, made it okay for him to do what he did.