Quote:
Originally Posted by TheSadGirl2
I have BPD. I have been told I'm an attention seeker. I've got blue hair, tattoos and piercings. I'm quite opinionated and extroverted. I flirt a lot. So forth and so on. I am not to the extremes that you are talking about, but I can understand to a degree.
Why do we seek attention? Well in my specific case I think I developed BPD when my dad abandoned me as a child. I think it would be reasonable to concur that I seek attention to make up for what I lacked as a child, to feel wanted and purposeful.
People who seek attention likely need it for their heart and souls. I imagine how hurt someone must be on the inside to fake cancer. Like the song says: what the world needs now is love, sweet love. Its the only thing there is just too little of.
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Me, me, me!
My mom’s death was my first abandonment. I have BPD, too, and very real and severe abandonment issues.
My shock-white hair is long and wild: Attempts to tame it are fruitless.
I have visible piercings and I wear both loud and subdued silk shirts. And hats. I don’t leave my apartment without a hat on my head. No ‘caps,’ though! I don’t need to be the prime attraction but, yeah, I feel a need to be noticed.
Opinionated, extroverted, wickedly flirtatious. And so very, very sure of myself. That’s my folly (R.E.M.).
I know that I can... fascinate some folks. Weave words into rainbows, master a debate, speak and convince. I am so self-assured, seemingly, that it rubs off and increases other’s self-esteem.
Yes. I seek approval, I want to be liked, I want to be loved.
But.
As a (tragically) ill man, I cannot grasp the intentions of those who feign illnesses. My recent hospitalization proved to me, once again, that doctors don’t listen/spend as little time as possible with patients, that every heartbeat can be wirelessly transmitted by machines so that physical contact is minimal, and that specialists are as flummoxed as shoe-salesmen when faced with those suffering from the 1% diseases.
Maybe that’s why they can be fooled by fakers?
Hurt. I hurt, you hurt, they hurt, we all hurt. I needed the Novocain of sex to soothe my pain. The only way that I can understand the Munchausens’ is by way of my own mental disorders, I think. I’ve been won over by the psychiatric neurologists who posit that mental illnesses are truly ‘brain diseases’ that present with, or without, environmental influences.
I say it over and over and over — I cannot help but do what I do.
So, I suppose, I can accept these people as fellow mentally unfit folk. Bad brains, bad environments, the causes.
MD/doctors are stupid, stupid people. But blood work and x-rays and MRIs and CTs and all those other crappy tests don’t lie, and I’m guessing that these
multitudes stay far away from RN’s and lab techs, and only peddle to the common public?
Yes.