New #introduction because I have a new name!
I’m Nova, a 33yr queer nonbinary dork with transmasc leanings. Still waiting to feel like a grown up but also happy for that to never happen. I recently started HRT so will likely be posting about that somewhat frequently.
I also talk about BPD and mental health in general. Some of my older writing on BPD can be found on the birbsite: https://twitter.com/haylum/status/1002507716944855042
Also selfies and dog pictures. Often selfies with dogs. Dogsdogsdogs.
(I really like dogs)
But now that my body is loudly and persistently demanding satisfaction, I’m becoming more motivated to seek it with a partner, instead of hoping they instigate and save me the risk of rejection and frustration. And I’m learning that it’s perfectly ok to that, that I’m not going to be seen as disgusting for having desires.
I was hoping T would help me to finally start making friends with my body, but I didn’t expect it to happen like this. I’m so excited to see what comes next.
Through a combination of repressed upbringing, societal attitudes and a toxic relationship that heavily reinforced the idea that my sexuality was for the benefit of men only, I never did claim my sexuality for myself. Whether I was able to admit it or not, I’ve always felt that I needed permission to seek pleasure, and that my pleasure had to be mutually gratifying. For a long time, sex has been more about the intimacy and validation than the physical sensations.
Just over 6 weeks on T and I’m horny almost constantly. Like, the kind of horny where it feels like your crotch is shouting at you to hurry up and get laid already. And while it’s distracting and frustrating and I basically now remember why I spent so much of my adolescence waiting for the next opportunity to masturbate, it’s come with the unexpected side effect of helping me claim my own sexuality.
It’s relationship impermanence and fighting the urge to reach out to remind them of your existence.
It’s realising that when you successfully fight off that urge, you don’t hear from them as often. You’re just not on their mind as much as they’re on yours.
It’s wanting so badly to be ok with that but going through a cycle of feeling abandoned and relief, over and over again.
It’s being unable to hold on to the feeling of being loved and waiting desperately for some proof.
It’s knowing your needs are unreasonable but still feeling resentment over not having them met.
It’s the constant feeling that you’re on your last chance before you fuck up again and they realise how awful you are.
It’s knowing that they’ll never love you as intensely as you love them.
It’s giving another person the power to break you into a million pieces and being unable to stop yourself, and then living in perpetual fear of your impending destruction.
It’s being absolutely convinced you’d be safer not putting yourself in such a vulnerable position but being so utterly terrified of being alone.
It’s giving your entire heart and soul to another person and living in the false hope that they’ll thank you for the beautiful gift and give you theirs in return.
It’s creating an entirely new version of yourself and knowing that that version will die when they inevitably leave you.
It’s knowing that the honeymoon periods lasts a lot longer for you than it does for them, and being sure you can see the excitement of being with you dwindling.
Falling in love is one of the most wonderful things about having BPD. The intensity of it, the excitement, the feeling of having found your way home and knowing that someone has invited you into their life despite all of your many, many flaws.
But falling in love is also one of the most painful things about having BPD.
My mental illness means that I have non-existent self esteem, no sense of who I am and find myself comparing myself negatively to other people all the time. I need to be reminded frequently that I’m important and why.
Right now I feel like nothing because I’ve never made anyone feel the need to create something for or inspired by me.
As if I needed more proof that I’m nothing special.
I realised something earlier that I wish I hadn’t, because now I feel like shit.
I realised that I’ve never inspired creativity in my partners in any of my significant relationships, but in most of them I’ve been told about the time they wrote a song for an ex, the times they wrote entire essays about their feelings, the times they got a tattoo inspired by exes, the time they drew a picture, painted something, wrote a poem, all inspired by a loved one.
And I kind of hate myself for this, but I’m bitter than no one other than my housemate has reached out to ask if I’m ok. I don’t feel right asking him for support even though he’s kind of offering it, so it’s all just stuck and it’s a lot and I’m hurting.
And I guess it’s fine that no one’s reaches out, everyone has their own stuff going on and he’s not *my* dad. And I’m so frequently in crisis that I’ve probably exhausted everyone’s patience with me anyway.
My housemate and long term former partner’s dad has been in hospital since Thursday with sepsis. He started turning a corner but has deteriorated again and more than likely only has a few days left at most.
I went to visit yesterday. He spoke once the entire time. Seeing him like that is horrible. He’s in his 80s but the John I know is so full of vitality. He’s been more of a dad to me than my biological father.
I’m absolutely devastated.
Dog-wrangling girlish nerd person. Part-time femme, full-time needer of validation. Alleged queerio.
BPD & AvPD
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