I feel like a total outcast. I don't seem to have a single friend (other than my bf) who actually wants to see me. No one reaches out to me and says "hey, do you want to get together and do something?" If I make plans to see someone, its because I reached out to them...I chased them, and I suggested plans...and as good as things seem when we get together, no one ever gets in touch with me to set up another get together. It doesn't help that my bf's friends get in touch with him all the time to make plans, which seems to validate my belief that its me no one cares about. And if nobody cares, then what's the point in chasing them to make plans at all? I'd might as well just stay in my apartment and live a quiet life, and not bother seeing people that apparently don't care whether they see me or not anyways. The problem is, I hate being alone.
When I wrote about how the birth control pill caused my severe depression and heightened BPD traits (here), I failed to realize at the time that getting my life "back to normal" (working, socializing, managing my emotions) was going to be so much more difficult than simply going off the pill. Think of my mind as a Pandora's Box, and the pill as being what caused the box to open. Now that the box has been opened, even though I have stopped the pill, I (clearly) can't just shove everything back into the box and close it again. Whether I like it or not, the issues I have been repressing all these years (quite successfully I might add) are now out in the open and need to be dealt with the hard way.
I had a very traumatic childhood. Unfortunately (or fortunately??) I don't actually remember any of it. My memories quite literally start somewhere in my mid-teens. What little I do know of my childhood is what I have been able to gather from other family members: my mom (who really is a horrible resource for this, as she is a narcissist, an alcoholic, and the source most of my trauma), my dad (who I don't think was ever really around), and my step mom (who presumably got all her info from my dad). But they did tell me things like how my mom used to hit me whenever I made a mistake playing my instruments, or how every picture of me as a kid was manufactured (no pictures could be taken unless my hair was combed, my shoes were shined, and I was wearing a pretty dress), and how she used to threaten to kill herself whenever I did something she didn't like (she still does this, actually). She also named me Shirley after Shirley Temple, because I was supposed to be her little star (singer, dancer, whatever), which kind of explains why she put me into everything as a child (swimming, skiing, skating, roller skating, dancing, music, etc. etc.) and why every time I stopped an activity, she would tell me that "a part of her died".
I am a very sensitive person, and I have a tendency to take a lot of things very, very personally. I have also lived most of my life doing things that I thought would make my parents (mostly my mom) happy, and as such never really learned how to think for myself -- to think about what I want. It makes sense, then, that if I spent my life doing what I thought would make my mom happy (like spending the last 12 years in a career I hated to try to win her over), and she would still tell me that I kept letting her down, why I feel like I can never be good enough, for her or for anybody else. That belief is so deeply ingrained in me that I haven't figured out how to shake it yet. I wonder whether I ever will.