Meanwhile, back in communist Russia: Cusp
Five minutes to midnight. Drinking rum.
Today seems to have been one long conversation about love (which would make a lovely title for a play, or is possibly already a short story by Raymond Chandler). After dinner, a friend says something about falling in love easily. I wince inwardly. Falling in love easily is my stock in trade; seems to be particularly pronounced these days. I fall in love like I breathe, or like I sleep when I am well. Suddenly. Completely. Unthinkingly. Deeply. It's almost a running joke. Another friend says I should stop falling in love with everyone who is nice to me. This is slightly unfair. I don't fall in love with everyone who is nice to me. What I fall in love with, automatically and unfailingly, is anyone who is nice to be when they don't have to be; when they don't want something or need something from me, when they have no reason to court me, when their small act of kindness is wholly unwarranted. That is what makes me fall, and keep on falling.
Don't make the mistake of thinking that because it is easy it isn't real. It isn't a passing whim. I don't easily forgoe the kindness. I don't easily fall out of love. I don't ask for much in return (and there's the rub). It's just that I can't belive that anyone would like me, be kind to me, for who I am, and not for what they can get from me. For the same reason I have always mistrusted those who professed to find me attractive; my first thought is- what do you want from me. Actually, that's not true. My first thought is often- how could you do this to me? A profession of attraction seems so much like a betrayal.
But. Today has been a lot about love. In skills training they say something I find incomprehensible. They tell me that a typical BPD trait is to decide that you like someone and then, in order to make them like you back, to give them anything. To give them everything. They ask me if I recognise this. I laugh. Of course I fucking do. My belief in the power of the gift is absolute. The most important thing on earth is that people should like you, and so you do what you can to make them happy, to make them safe, to make them.. yes... grateful. And that;s where it would seem like manipulation if it wasn't so deep, and so desperate. In skills training, they tell me that this is wrong. They say that if you try and fulfil someone else's needs at the expense of your own then it will lead to them feeling put upon and you feeling resentful. Something slides into focus. I am shocked. How could something so simple have eluded me for so long?
I have found it difficult for so long because the whole thing seems impossible and not for the likes of me. Parallel to my belief about the power of giving is the belif that I am just not the kind of girl people fall in love with. I'm difficult. I'm ugly. I'm angry. I'm crazy. . My gut reaction to falling in love- to someone kind- is to do anything and everything they ask so that they stay kind, so that they don't remove the chameleon mask and start hurting me, because hurting is what other people do to girls like me. It's what I was born to, if not what I deserve. I fall in love easily and when I am in love I want to give all. For what is love if not a willingness to give all? And in my frightened, disordered mind, there is no difference between the willingness and the actuality.
On the tube home, I feel cowed by the easy consonance of flesh on flesh. All of London seems to be in love; perhaps it's the time of year. Spring has this effect. The friend that I go for dinner with talks of his partner in easy terms. I wonder. This sort of confidence makes no sense to me. The knowledge that someone will be there when you call. The knowledge that there is a person who cares for you, whom you care for. But perhaps it isn't spring; perhaps it is just growing up, because everyone seems to be making it at the moment- not love, but the more important, the relationship, the shared history, the mutual care, the kindness. I fall in love with anyone kind, but I cannot imagine being sure of finding kindness in return. I cannot, after all this time, imagine being in love with someone who is in love with me; I have forgotten what it feels like to be desired, to be liked. If I ever knew. I wonder if this will ever happen to me. If there will ever be a person who doesn't make excuses six weeks in which parse as you're too crazy. Who isn't deterred by my scars. Who is as willing to teach as I am willing to learn. I wonder if all this love is just not for me.
Today seems to have been one long conversation about love (which would make a lovely title for a play, or is possibly already a short story by Raymond Chandler). After dinner, a friend says something about falling in love easily. I wince inwardly. Falling in love easily is my stock in trade; seems to be particularly pronounced these days. I fall in love like I breathe, or like I sleep when I am well. Suddenly. Completely. Unthinkingly. Deeply. It's almost a running joke. Another friend says I should stop falling in love with everyone who is nice to me. This is slightly unfair. I don't fall in love with everyone who is nice to me. What I fall in love with, automatically and unfailingly, is anyone who is nice to be when they don't have to be; when they don't want something or need something from me, when they have no reason to court me, when their small act of kindness is wholly unwarranted. That is what makes me fall, and keep on falling.
Don't make the mistake of thinking that because it is easy it isn't real. It isn't a passing whim. I don't easily forgoe the kindness. I don't easily fall out of love. I don't ask for much in return (and there's the rub). It's just that I can't belive that anyone would like me, be kind to me, for who I am, and not for what they can get from me. For the same reason I have always mistrusted those who professed to find me attractive; my first thought is- what do you want from me. Actually, that's not true. My first thought is often- how could you do this to me? A profession of attraction seems so much like a betrayal.
But. Today has been a lot about love. In skills training they say something I find incomprehensible. They tell me that a typical BPD trait is to decide that you like someone and then, in order to make them like you back, to give them anything. To give them everything. They ask me if I recognise this. I laugh. Of course I fucking do. My belief in the power of the gift is absolute. The most important thing on earth is that people should like you, and so you do what you can to make them happy, to make them safe, to make them.. yes... grateful. And that;s where it would seem like manipulation if it wasn't so deep, and so desperate. In skills training, they tell me that this is wrong. They say that if you try and fulfil someone else's needs at the expense of your own then it will lead to them feeling put upon and you feeling resentful. Something slides into focus. I am shocked. How could something so simple have eluded me for so long?
I have found it difficult for so long because the whole thing seems impossible and not for the likes of me. Parallel to my belief about the power of giving is the belif that I am just not the kind of girl people fall in love with. I'm difficult. I'm ugly. I'm angry. I'm crazy. . My gut reaction to falling in love- to someone kind- is to do anything and everything they ask so that they stay kind, so that they don't remove the chameleon mask and start hurting me, because hurting is what other people do to girls like me. It's what I was born to, if not what I deserve. I fall in love easily and when I am in love I want to give all. For what is love if not a willingness to give all? And in my frightened, disordered mind, there is no difference between the willingness and the actuality.
On the tube home, I feel cowed by the easy consonance of flesh on flesh. All of London seems to be in love; perhaps it's the time of year. Spring has this effect. The friend that I go for dinner with talks of his partner in easy terms. I wonder. This sort of confidence makes no sense to me. The knowledge that someone will be there when you call. The knowledge that there is a person who cares for you, whom you care for. But perhaps it isn't spring; perhaps it is just growing up, because everyone seems to be making it at the moment- not love, but the more important, the relationship, the shared history, the mutual care, the kindness. I fall in love with anyone kind, but I cannot imagine being sure of finding kindness in return. I cannot, after all this time, imagine being in love with someone who is in love with me; I have forgotten what it feels like to be desired, to be liked. If I ever knew. I wonder if this will ever happen to me. If there will ever be a person who doesn't make excuses six weeks in which parse as you're too crazy. Who isn't deterred by my scars. Who is as willing to teach as I am willing to learn. I wonder if all this love is just not for me.
posted by tattybluetrees at 3:54 PM
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