canyoufeel-this-blog

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Low-Value Women

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Courage

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Courage

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There is something so powerful in not giving up on someone who has given up on you.

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Beg Again

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How The System Works

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Tinder

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Faith @can_you_feel_this

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How to heal someone when you see their broken places: lay hands on their hurt and say, “I still want you.”

_can you feel this

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The Narcissist and the Borderline

_A Soul-Mate Does Not Create Chaos Only To Disappear

Four common traits of a Borderline are: 1) feelings of emptiness, 2) negative associations 3) fears of abandonment either real or imagined, 4) distrust in themselves and others.

Four common traits of a Narcissist are: 1) invalidating attachment system as a child, 2) an ego that vacillates between pathological hatred and self-aggrandization, 3) hidden rage, 4) need to control others and their environment.

Borderlines are empathic. A healthy empath is an individual who innately takes on the feelings of others, and they have an unwavering need to give. Not only targeted by the Narcissist, but their emotional energy subconsciously seeks the Narcissist. There is a very real danger of these two personality disorders coming together in a romantic relationship. Narcissists are amazing listeners, they love bomb (e.g., constant communication, excessive flattery, pre-mature expressions of devotion), and they use stress, depression, along with their bad childhood, to divert focus off their behavior.

These tactics manage down expectations to erratically push at boundaries and lower standards--all while going undetected by the Borderline. When it's too late, the Narcissist reveals their confidence to be repressed envy, strong opinions are instead a severe lack of tolerance, and the level-headed persona morphs into apathy. As the relationship deteriorates, the Borderline will expend their energy to keep the Narcissist from abandoning them. The result is the Borderline disassociates, experiences psychotic episodes, and loses any sense of reality.

Borderlines relish in intimacy engulfment. Narcissists can pick up on this frequency. The Borderline will adopt whatever identity is necessary to be accepted, and the Narcissist also has chameleon capabilities with their integrated false self. What plays out in this mix is that the Borderline will be who and what the Narcissist wants, but the Borderline is not happy with the way they behave and feel. The Narcissist uses the Borderline's fears to play with their perception, and they're content with the way they behave and what they don't feel.

The pith of the Narcissist is primitive envy that will destroy anyone that gets in their way. The Borderline becomes their trash when the Narcissist has either replaced them, or the power balance is positioned in a way that threatens the Narcissist with exposure.

All of my relationships have been with Narcissists. Before I knew I was Borderline, it was never about my partner's needs because I couldn't hear or see them. I didn't fight fairly or love consistently; I desperately tried to secure their vulnerability without giving mine. There were many high-emotion scenes I take responsibility for. Through years of intense therapy that ensued, I learned how to fight fairly and love consistently; vulnerability was given from me for the strength of the relationship instead of taken for my broken sense of self. The problem though is that while I have changed, the Narcissists that seek me out can't.

Colin was a great deal of sadness. Just after we started dating, we sat beside a fire, he was drinking but I was not. He went silent, paused, turned his gaze towards the cracking orange flames against the wood, said, "The person who withholds the most emotion is the person the most in control." When I questioned him about it the next day he responded with, "No, you just misheard me."

I had a biochemical bond to his abuse. Colin told me what I was experiencing from him wasn't real. It took a year for me to see he wasn't loving me but robbing my perception of reality. He needed control over my mental health because to the Narcissist, that is power. I told him these final words, "Whatever you do in this life, do something that makes up for what you have done."

A soul-mate does not create chaos only to disappear. The Narcissist waits for the Borderline's hope to die last.

_Can You Feel This

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Why They Leave Us

Borderline Personality Disorder

_Can You Feel This

Are you going to leave me? Those six words are the Borderline’s lie.

It’s hard to write about this, and that’s ok, it has to be hard.

I’ve done things in relationships that are disgraceful, but not because I wanted to hurt those people, but because I have nascent vocabulary in how-to-give-and-receive-love language.

The one who had the rock-bottom worst of me was Bill. A lawyer in DC with southern roots. We went golfing on Saturdays, grocery shopped by searching stamped expiration dates instead of the price, decorated his apartment with Crate and Barrel furniture, gambled laundry duties on Miss America contestants, and fell into a routine I didn’t know how to handle.

Borderlines, we try on personalities like costumes desperate for one that fits. He needed from me a to-be housewife, and so I fictionally gave it. He needed from me a partner that inhales and exhales at the same pace as the other, and so I designed our existence that was fully him. And because I cut off from my truths to barely stand in his, the Borderline in me focused harder and grew louder.

Unzipping out of the to-be housewife costume for air, I would say things to hurt him while he was at work; judged him against people I didn’t know; threw his clothes into the hallway for no reason; left him at restaurants or dinner parties without explanation; cut all my hair off because he treasured it long; stabbed our Halloween pumpkin when he came home late after a weeknight out with friends; threw his art collection off the balcony and laughed as he begged me to stop, but subsequently terrified asked him, “Are you going to leave me?”

The residue of shame, after, turned anything good left in me to a yellow-green. Zipping back into my to-be housewife costume, Bill chiseled away to find trapped angels. To carve on me helped him reason against the Borderline.

“I don’t know how to find my way out of this,” I said and meant it.

“I just always knew I was meant to be with someone,” he said and meant it.

I had never been so presumptively cared for but so lonely.

It shifted; he grew exhausted. Urgently I would ask over and over, “Are you going to leave me?” The force of resentment bubbled in the place of his expired devotion, and he stopped answering. Loving me became as difficult as kissing his own lips.

I remember the blue in his eyes, as he turned away, because he was no longer in them.

“You’re not coming back,” I cried and knew it.

No love can teach a Borderline to become an un-Borderline way of being by any means. This is to say, even if it were to erase the fallacious knee-jerk reactions we give, or compound the selfish wounds we lick with discipline to be what they need; even to respect compassion that is freely gifted without levying a war of words to unhinge it, we will still be Borderline.

Borderlines are starving for the secrets between the heart and the soul. To connect, really connect, means to feel all that was lost. It’s a depressingly beautiful thing that place, because that is where we become hurt instead of hate.

They leave us because we cannot see or hear that we are lovable through their suffering to love us.

So as they go, how much time we wasted waiting for that walk-away instead of knowing them. The very raw truth, they can’t fix us, and I think that injures them more, because they want to, and it really does pain them to watch us bleed Borderline.

Are you going to leave me? This is the Borderline lie we tell ourselves to avoid seeing ourselves. We must fall harder, practice how to walk into the soul as broken, run out of options, and independently accept the friction that must be to learn how to live. Only there, in that horribly terrifying place of loneliness, is where we will meet ourselves for the very first time—without stabbing pumpkins, throwing paintings off the balcony or clothes into the hallway. Without trying to control what inevitably is out of control and surrender, to all that is us, because it’s the only way out.

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Comfort doesn’t mean you have learned to live without disappointment. It means you have learned to live with it.

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Remember When

I know, one day, I will be able to look back and say remember when, I just assumed you were the person I would say it to.

The truth is, the raw-hard truth, men are not purchases of furniture; I run away, regret and come back, but they, you, are no longer there. Even when you give me the worst of you, I still have some of you; and I would like to pretend that I might love myself enough to leave, but I don't. I climb up to my chamber of doom to catch a look at the life I never wanted but helped create. Suddenly all the histories I forecast not to be are me and I am them. They braid my hair at night.

If I could love you how you need to be loved, I would. Can I give you traditional when my days are dictated by blue pills swallowed after green pills? Children when my reactions cannot be trusted; I cannot be trusted. Then do you see, Darling, it bubbles through my skin to drip lava pools on the floor: you will not erase my lack of self-worth, but stand by me as I learn to detach from the past that groomed it. For once, everything needs to be right.

Close to the middle you wanted to give me everything, after. Up in my cedar-block sanctuary there was a wedge of patience when we became salvageable. (I packed it with cement to practice your values as mine.) Perhaps I forgot to climb down from my chamber of doom and ask why we both had to change each other to be with each other. There will never be enough. I can manipulate myself to wear a forgettable shade of white wedding gown, but that would be the worst death of all. Just love me, my angels and my demons, and you never have to because like witches and ghosts, some things are better left alone than burned for empty answers. Then if we must stop hunting for each other and disappear, let us go cleanly to not imprint our nerves further with dirty tracks.

At the fork, shake hands on a job finished, not well done. We can both dissipate into the world we neglected but as separates. Ask me if I adore you and this time I will not lie, I look for your side of the bed in others; I will not think of you touching someone else. The round-trip fiction on forgiveness and bold promises, after, left me alone still. So surely I can sit in this awhile to chew over the what-ifs. Tell your friends I am a constant state of psychosis because I will tell mine about your tainted perspective.

How rich and crisp our vocabularies will become on the pros of moving forward, untainted. Where were we then, my dear, when we fought over the concrete ambiguity of our souls? We threw dated regrets into the fire until we had nothing left to burn but ourselves. Now, no matter how thin I get, I will never fit into the cracks of your mind the way I once could. The way that left everything unspoken feel like sheets of skin peeled back with pliers. Until, the comfort of us reduced that time we needed.

With the season change, we are back at our core. We tackle through building sized blades of grass, with leftover seeds that forgot to bloom, to suck some more water from its stock. It travels past our bones, to the soggy pit of our stomachs, rests in the invisible holes of our flesh. We exist again to nurse an aseptic love until that high fades into sober.

As I tell you this, I just want more time with the you that cannot rip me apart by one sentence. So I will put things into our core that you will not to find that you again: my money, my time, my friends, my will. Then as you and I picnic under the chamber of doom's silhouette, I take a bite from an apple and ask why you no longer put things into our core?

So then, one day, you and I will say remember when, together, but under the script of friends as opposed to lovers.

_Can You Feel This