I cannot celebrate my earthly father. And for that, I am sad. I hear in my head people saying, "Surely there was something he did right that you can be thankful for." If there is, it eludes me.
I hate Father's Day in every way imaginable. I hate it because it reminds me of all the abuse that I may never heal from. I hate it because it reminds me that I'm supposed to be thankful for him and I'm not. I hate it because he is dead and I feel guilt or shame for being grateful he's no longer here so I don't have to deal with him.
The tears I shed are not for him or about him. I cry because I am so afraid of doing something wrong in the very few friendships I do have. When I feel like I've done something wrong because that's how I interpret people pulling away from me, I want to delete them out of my life. Quickly, so I don't get hurt anymore.
I'm having a lot of difficulty not doing it to two people. Part of me pretends everything is okay. The other part of me is ready to bolt. Huge fear of abandonment causes me to leave before they do. Then again, it's the hint of them leaving that causes me to cut the cord.
Sometimes, the only word I can find to drive the point home of how hard it is to live with BPD is a curse word. But since I don't use those words except in extreme circumstances, I guess I will say:
It's a bleep.
A List of Borderline Personality Disorder Symptoms
