Once upon a time I was who I wanted to be and I was unapologetic for it. I did whatever I wanted. Said what I wanted. Didn’t worry that people didn’t like me. I was proud, very proud, of the fact that I often came across as a heartless bitch. And everyone I knew (that wasn’t bio-family) would have agreed.
I’m not quite sure when the shift happened, but it doesn’t feel as if it was just a flip of a switch. I could definitely be wrong though because of all the things that I don’t remember. Plus, I have bipolar disorder and borderline personality disorder and sometimes it really is just as simple as a flip of a switch I have no control over.. And boom, new me. Not necessarily a better me, or even a worse me, just a new one. Whenever it did happen, it made me lose myself.
Once upon a time I wanted to be a lawyer.
Once upon a time I wasn’t afraid to be myself.
Once upon a time I didn’t care what people thought of me.
Once upon a time I didn’t just shut up to try to stomp out the overwhelming anxiety.
And somewhere in the years of trauma I can’t remember. Somewhere in the neglect of my emotional well-being. Somewhere in there that was all buried under piles of the need to people-please. Piles of the need to be accepted and liked. Piles of the fear of being abandoned.
The thing is, I didn’t even realize it. I didn’t even fucking see it. I thought I was just growing up. I was under the impression that growing up meant I had to conform to what others said I should be. I was under the impression that if I didn’t, I wouldn’t amount to a fucking thing. That no one would love me. That no one would be there for me.
And do you know what that thinking got me? It got me all the things that I thought it would avoid. It got me feeling alone in my own family. It got me to a point where I don’t feel anything for my family. (And before you think that is untrue… BPD brain can 1000% just turn that off past a certain point for absolutely anyone — they aren’t the only ones in my life it has applied to)
And I’m not moving the blame from myself to them for what I turned into. I let what they said and how they thought I should be change who I was. I did that. I wanted so badly to feel like I mattered to them that I conformed to what they thought I should be.
And the thing is, if you asked them, they would probably say that I didn’t. Because I did drugs. I did stupid things. I was not a responsible adult many times over. They spent money and time fixing mistakes that I made. I was still labeled as the bad kid. The one that fucked everything up and continued to do so.
It doesn’t matter that I have 2 associate’s degrees. That I have lots of life experience. That I fucking tried so hard to be what they wanted that I broke myself more than I was already broken. And until I started to really figure out who I was, after losing what was left of myself in a 4 year abusive relationship, I didn’t even start to realize that’s how it all happened.
Until I found out that I wasn’t just bipolar, I was also borderline… none of it made any sense to me. And once things clicked about why I do some of the things that I do. Why my brain sees things and interprets them how they do. Why I feel things so much more than others. It blew my mind and I couldn’t just stop at that. I had to figure out who I really am and who I’m really supposed to be.
I can look back now and see how much of what I did that was considered “acting out” was trying to deal with mental illness. Was my brain trying to have just the tiniest bit of space where it felt like I was being myself instead of constantly masking. That I masked so hard that I would just blow up and start burning it all down and not have any idea why.
The realization that once upon a time I was someone who lived for themself instead of someone who does what she thinks she is supposed to is mind-blowing. The fact that I’ve somehow found my way back to becoming that person again. To becoming someone that cares less about what others think and more about what I think of myself… is awesome and I wish it would have happened earlier in my life.
Once upon a time I wanted to be a lawyer. I loved to argue. I got fired up about things I was passionate for and standing up for things I believed in. And somehow that was buried and turned into a fear of conflict. Turned into biting my tongue because it feels easier to do that than to deal with whatever will happen if I don’t. And I didn’t even see it. I thought it was normal. I thought that was just being an adult.
Turns out, it isn’t. Turns out that doing that isn’t beneficial. It’s actually harmful. It’s actually a trauma response. And until I was forced back into my parents house, I didn’t realize how bad of one it is. Or how often I do it. Because I had just learned to do that less with people in my life (bio-family not included) and doing it so much with my parents makes me painfully aware of how draining it is.
But this people pleasing that all of me has been buried under… some of it is still covering up who I am. And it feels like the more I’m here the more it starts to get covered up again. The more anger seeps in. The more I go into a different kind of survival mode than the one I’ve been in the past few years. A worse one.
Once upon a time I wasn’t afraid of conflict. I didn’t hide from politics and things in the world that upset me, or angered me or I felt were just fucking bullshit. And I didn’t realize that I had avoided things like politics (saying I just hate them) for so many years was because of the conflicts they raise. Because my view of it is so fucking different than my families.
Recently my father told me to be careful because I “almost sounded like a liberal.” And that sounded like an insult. And since that day I’ve paid more attention. I’ve poked the bear, but only slightly to see how it would react. And it turns out that my parents are so out of touch. Are so blind to actual reality that we’re never going to see eye to eye.
And to be honest. I don’t want to. I would rather be someone who gives a fuck about other people.
Once upon a time I just said what was in my head with no fucks about the consequences. No fucks about what anyone else had to say about it. I would adamantly refuse to back down on what I thought was right. And that was stomped out of me. All the times I was told that I was wrong, that what I thought or did was wrong because it wasn’t what they would do. Because it wasn’t what they wanted.
Once upon a time I was unafraid to be who I am with anyone. I didn’t care if they didn’t like what I did or said. I didn’t care if my parents fucking liked me or were mad at me. I didn’t care if the world liked me. Until I was told one too many times that I was blowing it out of proportion, that I needed to calm down. Until I was impressed upon one too many times that who I was, wasn’t who they thought I should be. And that breaks a person so very much. And I was already quite broken.
The problem with the once upon a times is I’m realizing I don’t want them to be in the past. I want to be that person I know I am, without the anxiety stopping me. Because I’m afraid if I don’t find a way to really be myself… the next once upon a time will be…
Once upon a time she was alive.
