Difficulty trusting, which is sometimes accompanied by irrational fear of other people's intentions.
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Despite how much love I'm shown, I can't shake the nagging voice in the back of my head that tells me not to trust others.
For those who have never given me a reason to doubt them, I still carry a weighted fear that I'll be hurt by them. The knowledge that others can hurt me in the worst way possible, even when they've never shown any intentions to do so, continues to follow me like a shadow.
Coming out was — and is — one of the scariest things I've experienced. Even though I know my family loves me, I felt crippled by the worry that my family would disown me, hit me, cut me off. I fretted that my in-laws would tell my husband to divorce me, or that someone would try to take my daughter from me.
In retrospect, those fears were unfair to place on a family that has shown me nothing but love. While they don't accept me for who I am, I should've known they wouldn't hurt me over it or try to break up my little family.
This feeling of reluctancy didn't start recently. Back when I was in middle school and high school, I was extremely wary of new people. What did they want from me? I wasn't the type of person to make friends easily, and the ones I had, I typically knew for years already. So when someone new tried to get to know me, my instinct was to not trust them.
Call it vain, but my first reaction was to think they only wanted to get close to me because of my status. Which isn't too far fetched, if you think about it. In high school, I was president of the advanced choirs, the advanced acting class, and the drama club. I had a lot of pull in the arts department, and it caused others to want to know me.
But did they really want to know me, or did they just want to be close to someone in a high position?
It's always been hard for me to believe that someone actually wants to know me.
Know me for me. Not for what position I hold. Not for the fact that I'm a writer. No, know me for the person I am inside. The one who's insecure and struggles to accept the smallest bits of affection.
But then again, even if they did want to know me, what could I possibly tell them? I barely understand myself as it is.
DU LIEST GERADE
MEMOIR OF THE SPLINTERED
Sachbücher"Borderline personality disorder (BPD) is a serious mental illness that centers on the inability to manage emotions effectively. While some persons with BPD are high functioning in certain settings, their private lives may be in turmoil." ~~~ They s...
