Part of being Borderline is the fact that you just feel things. Your emotions go from one end of the spectrum to the other in a matter of seconds, so fast it seems hard to put a finger on it. I dread answering the question: “how are you feeling” because honestly, 98% of the time I don’t know how I’m feeling, or at least how to describe it to people. Hence why Ms. Super Mega Extrovert is a writer. Sitting down to organize my thoughts is my most effective way to communicate the firestorm of feels that are happening in my head.
Until now, where I’ve reached a weird point in my journey. Growing up in the throws of an abusive household my emotions were always off kilter, or on the negative end of the emotional spectrum. I was very rarely a truly happy person for more than a few hours at a time. It was the best, most effective way to keep me under my mother’s narcissistic control. Now that I’m in the process of healing, and really allowing myself out of that negative emotional prison I’m not entirely sure what to do. I can’t say I feel happy because it isn’t the usual ecstatic, mega high I feel flying toward the positive end of the spectrum, but I’m also not sad, or grieving which is my go to negative emotion when I hurtle toward the negative end of the spectrum. The best way I can find to describe my feelings at the moment is this: “There’s nothing wrong.”
I mean I’ve encountered a load of writer’s block in recent days too, simply because there’s nothing wrong. There is no need for me to sit down and put my thoughts on paper trying to hash out what’s happening in my head. Which… I don’t know how to feel about that, or how to think about how I feel about that. Sure my writing has always been a way to purge instead of bottling up the emotions, but I don’t understand why I can’t purge the happy emotions as well as the negative emotions. Why don’t I feel comfortable sharing my success just as much as I feel comfortable sharing my frustrations and failures?
Perhaps it goes back once again to the abusive environment I was raised in. I wasn’t allowed to be happy if my mother was suffering. The old adage “If mama aint happy aint nobody happy” was a literal frame of mind in my childhood home. It also feels a bit like gloating, or boasting when I write about the happy things in my life, which polite society tells us not to do. It’s not that I don’t have struggles or daily challenges I face, even in the midst of my successes, but… I don’t know. See what I mean? I’m getting completely rambly and not making any sense trying to figure out how I feel.
Imagine these incoherent thoughts flying around in your head constantly at a million miles an hour 24/7 and you might get a glimpse into the world of a borderline. The innocent Chameleon Souls, only a slight contrast to our malicious Narcissist counterparts.