Rejection


I struggle with this deeply. 

I know that if I feel even a moment of rejection, or being told I can’t do something, the rage that comes from within is instant.  I also know it cuts deep and hurts like hell.  This weekend I am facing the rejection of many people that inflicted it upon me 3 years ago. The judgments, the assumptions, the opinions of those who in the beginning when I moved back here, were open and accepting.  I remember crying for weeks, I remember feeling lost and hurt. The confusion of being ridiculed for things that had no part of anyone else, but the person or persons in question; suddenly to be shunned by everyone associated. That feeling of being a puriya (spelling), that I had this despicable disease. 

To the email I received telling me that I needed to take my narcissistic personality and go back from where I came from, that no one needed my drama nor “my kind” and that everyone was far better off without me around. That shock from just having that alone, although may have simmered over time, I’ve never forgotten. 

Upon discussions last night with a friend, I realized that what I am feeling is deep, deeper than just this situation. This goes back to feeling abandoned and rejected as a child. Even though I had no control over what happened to me, it explains why I crave, yes I said crave, the acceptance and approval of people, sometimes even strangers. To know that the heartache of a little girl has only wanted to be loved and would of and has done whatever she could to get a semblance of that. 

I’ve always wanted that feeling of family, that feeling of belonging. I’ve only felt that at times from my dad’s side of the family. I’ve always felt like I belonged. Yet, the only one I’ve ever wanted was from my mom and my sister. My core, my everything, deep inside, I know this. I remember feeling days and days of heartache, picking up the phone and then putting it down; desperate to want to call and hope they would want to spend time with me. Yet, the years of arguing, the fighting, the jealousy, the expectation that I would just accept what was put in my life, have left a trail of scars and holes. 

I struggle with and yet know that, my path of recovery to myself and acceptance of myself is a lonely path. It isn’t that I don’t accept support from my partner, or the friends who do understand what I am about, it is about accepting that my relationship with my blood, my core, of my mother and sister will never, never be, what the little girl in me wants. 

I’ve spent countless days, months and years in recovery. BPD has been a part of me and only diagnosed just about 2 years now. I feel like my real work has only just begun, but it is work nonetheless. I do not know the tools to help the little girl accept that what she wants will not happen. I have acknowledged her many times, I do have my favorite cuddles, yet the more I uncover in therapy, the rawer I feel, the sadder I feel. Yet, that “white rope” I saw many years ago on a very very bad day, is the same rope I still see today. I promised myself that so long as I could see that rope, I had hope. Hope that things some how had to get better. I even made a promise to my cousin Sean this week, while exercising at the rec center; that I would work through my demons some how. I have no idea how long it will take, or if I ever will work through them all.

Rejection is something no one should ever have to go through, but I am self aware and becoming more so all the time..

 

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