Tag: bpd

Master Manipulator

So I’ve not posted for the last few weeks, mainly because I’ve been spending loads of time with friends. I’ve also not really felt the need.

The last couple of days I’ve been thinking about how manipulative I am. It’s not a deliberate thing; I do it without realising. If I hurt myself I make a bigger deal out of it than I would if I was alone, to garner attention. I do all sorts of little things that pull people towards me; make them feel closer to me.

I feel as though I am constantly controlling and manipulating people subconsciously. I even do it with my counsellor, editing the truth sometimes so that she won’t hate me and instead will feel sympathetic. Even though I know she is there to help me, and it would be better if I was completely honest, I still edit myself so that she is manipulated into liking me better.

I have different versions of myself for different people. I suppose we’re all like that, but I’m extremely aware of it. With my boyfriend I look to him almost as a protector. Even though the things I ask of him I can do perfectly well on my own, I ask him to. Do the things make me anxious? Do I do it so he will feel more drawn to me because I need him? With other people, I make myself the protector. But even by becoming the protector I am manipulating. If you’re someone’s protector, they need you. So by protecting others, being their defender, they need me and won’t go away.

Sometimes, I only realise that I’ve been subtly manipulating people when they resist my manipulation/control in some way, and I become mildly frustrated.

My personality confuses me. I don’t much like people, but the ones I do like I need their attention all the time. I need to be the person who walks in the middle when there’s three of us, I need to lead the conversation, I need to make the decisions. I am filled with constant turmoil which I know, not even deep down but right on the surface, I need to let out and express, but when the opportunity to do so arises I force it back down.

It frightens me. It really scares me that I can manipulate people without even knowing it. It worries me as to what else I may be capable of.

Erin

Falling

 

I can feel myself falling back into the worlds in my head.

I didn’t even realise it was happening, though I never do.

It is warm and comforting, but I quickly discover I am trapped, and I cannot navigate my way out. Imaginary worlds are becoming more real than the real world again. They are certainly more desirable. It is not just my mind but my body too, I can feel it crying out to be a part of these worlds.

When I realise I am not in those worlds, it is soul destroying. It crushes me. It feels as though that is where I belong, not here. Why do I exist here? Of all the parallel worlds there are, why am I in this one?

The realisation that life continues beyond this moment is currently terrifying me as well. I will finish university, I will spend time job searching, I will end up with a job eventually, I will marry, I will have children, I will get some illness and die. People are always saying “life is short”, but no it’s not. It’s fucking long. Birth to death is an eternity, because it is the only time we will ever know. Time comes before an after us, but the only time that actually exists is the time we are in.

Before my birth, time did not exist to me. After I die, time will not exist. So, to me, the universe will only exist for maybe another 60 years. And then I’ll be dead and time will stop.

The time I’ve lived up till now is huge. I have lived for 20 years, or 241 months, or 1052 weeks, or 7362 days, or 176688 hours, or 10601280 minutes, or 636076800 seconds. I could go on. And each second has no end. You can cut it up into smaller and smaller pieces, but you can always cut it that little bit smaller. In the time it takes me to write this sentence there will have been about 15 mini infinities.

I feel like I have lived forever. Like I said, I kind of have. My forever is only as long as I am conscious/aware. So much has happened, and so much has already been erased from my memory, never to return. People tell me about things that occurred, and I cannot remember.

If I can’t even remember my own history, then I don’t even know myself.

Erin