Momming; it’s not for the faint of heart

 

Parenting while living with Borderline Personality Disorder is probably the hardest thing I’ve done in my life; more so than labour & delivery, seriously. No one warns you and tells you just how heartbreaking and paranoia-inducing BPD is while you’re a parent. Most people think of bratty teenagers who scream threats of suicide and self harm are the faces of BPD. They are, but they’re one of MANY faces of it. My face is another; a lonely, desperate-for-attention, desperate-for-a-friend, mother of 5, who’s been married to her best friend for 14 years.

And it’s so much more than the anxieties of being judged by other parents, because that’s the normal anxiety a first-time and maybe even a second-time mother experiences at the park or even the preschool, where the better-than-you0in-every-possible-way mommies, stand there are judge you and don’t offer an opening to the conversation for your opinion. What I’m talking about is being a 5th time mom; who had only 5 immediate family members and no friends show up to her baby shower, so the paranoia kicks in. I’m talking about being the mom who has more than 3 kids in the same school and not one person knows who you are, despite having paid for PTA fees, volunteering and bringing in the goods (cupcakes) for the kids to share since it’s your little one’s birthday. I’m talking about scrolling through social media; being jealous of these amazing (on screen) mothers, who seem to have it all together and #humblebrag about their awesome #momtribe and we’re sitting over here like; “I’ll take ONE friend who gets me–I don’t NEED a tribe.” It’s the moms like me with such a loving openness of acceptance because we’ve been so lonely for the longest time, that we “stand up for the little guys” in hopes that someone will witness our advocacy and WANT to befriend us. But that hope fizzles out way too quick.

It’s hard being a medicated mom. Because you’re not really mending your heartache or loneliness, you’re kind of putting a band-aid on a wound that needs stitches. I take medications that “numb” me from the constant feeling of strong emotions. And I take them day and night. But there are afternoons like today–when the mood stabilizers wear off a bit too soon and I’m left with the sad, pathetic realization that my life will never be what I hoped it would be and suicidal ideation comes into play. You brain starts thinking you’ll never be good enough. If they didn’t like you at 19, why would they at 32? They didn’t get you when you have 1 kid, so why does you having 5 kids supposedly make you somehow appealing, it doesn’t.

I keep thinking there’s more to this life of mine than waking around the clock to breastfeed, change diapers, make the bed, wash and fold the laundry, plan meals, shop for meals, cook the meals, clean up, shower and go to bed, just to do it all over again.

But I’m wrong. Or at least my brain has me thinking I’m wrong.

And it’s hard to reach out to people about this sort of thing because there are only a few standard replies, you’ve got the “Oh, you have friends, don’t be so negative.” or “You’re being so over-dramatic, quit being a crybaby.” or the “You just have to get out and make yourself have friends.”

None of these replies are helpful when you have mental illness. You can’t just turn the paranoia off. You can’t just blink away anxieties and concerns and worries.

I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation that didn’t pertain to the kids or some crude, sexual remark from my always-horny husband.

I just wanna meet like minded friends, who either have kids or don’t, but don’t’ judge me for being 32 and a mother of 5. I wanna sit up and talk about the planet and the government and women’s rights and so many other things, over a beer or three and just be chill and still like and respect each other afterwards, even if our opinions don’t mesh.

And having to explain triggers SUCKS when trying to make new friends.

It seems like everyone is pro-weed, pro-smoking pot these days and I just can’t. It’s too triggering for me; and rather than people respecting me enough to understand or learn WHY marijuana is a trigger to me, they cut ties and I’m once again screwed in the friends-department.

I feel like when I meet someone new, I have to immediately apologize for who I am. I hate that. Even right now, I am struggling with whether or not I should delete this post, because it’s embarrassing. But I wanna keep going to show how a BPD mind works.

And every time I feel rejected, I have to FIGHT with my entire being, against self-harm. Some people don’t even realize the type of pain they’re inflicting when they either say the wrong thing or don’t say anything at all.

For example; a few weeks ago, this mommy group I am trying to become comfortable with, is hosting a MNO (Mom’s Night Out) without the kids, to a stand-up comic series at the Irvine Spectrum. There was talk about carpooling, which would have been fantastic because Derrick works and needs the SUV and I wouldn’t be back in time to pick him up, so carpooling would’ve worked perfectly. Except when the lady hosting the carpooling updated that we all needed to meet at her house at 4 to leave together….which negated the who carpooling thing. I replied that this wouldn’t work for me and that reply went ignored for DAYS, WEEKS and when I finally replied to my own reply about getting a rental car and driving myself, SUDDENLY they replied about how someone could’ve picked me up and brought me. But rather than being short and rude with my reply, I just said “No worries, it’ll give this stressed out mama of 5 an excuse to blare her music without hesitation.” While on the inside I was sobbing and wondering if I could hide a cut on my inner thigh since Derrick and I haven’t been having sex that often, maybe it’d go unnoticed.

And I can’t blame them. For not liking me. When the ONLY examples of Borderline Personality Disorder are two insane movies “Thirteen” and “Fatal Attraction”, which neither help my case when it comes to inviting people to be my friend.

So I sit here, depressed, lonely, crying and crying more because Ivy is crying while I asked Evelyn to hold her just so I could write this, while drinking my second beer because clearly I suck at handling emotions. And really, all I want to do is go to bed before my brain makes this worse for me.

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