For å være ærlig liker jeg ikke stempelet eller merkelappen emosjonelt ustabil personlighetsforstyrrelse borderline-typen. Det er to negative ord i den beskrivelsen: ”ustabil” og ”forstyrret”. ”Forstyrret” for meg høres sykt ut, jeg er ikke syk for det spurte jeg nemlig terapeutene mine om. Altså, jeg er ikke syk, men går i terapi, da kommer neste spørsmål- hvorfor? Vel, jeg klarer ikke å regulere mitt eget følelsesliv. For meg bygges det for eksempel opp på grunn av flere hendelser i løpet av uken, tilslutt når det toppen og kommer ut i form av gråt, maktesløshet, tanker som tapper meg for viljen til å leve, følelsen av at dette orker jeg ikke mer- jeg orker ikke flere følelser. Da jeg var i tenårene var det mye verre enn nå, jeg kuttet meg, tok piller sammen med alkohol, hele tiden hadde jeg tanker om den ideelle måten å dø på. Men jeg ville ikke dø, jeg bare orket ikke å leve, og hva er da alternativet? Folk generelt tror at jeg bare tåler alt, nettopp fordi jeg har blitt nødt til å tåle alt. Smerten inni meg kan ingen se, jeg sluttet å kutte meg og arrene mine vokste fint, nå kan nesten ingen se tegn på at jeg noen gang led. Savner jeg oppmerksomheten? Litt, men jeg hater oppmerksomhetssyke folk og personlig fikk jeg dårlig samvittighet for at ”jeg” og min ”forstyrrelse” tok så mye plass fra de rundt meg. Jeg ville skåne dem fra meg og utviklet en ny ”taktikk” som gjør at alle mine ”utbrudd” kommer når jeg er alene, når ingen kan se meg, dømme meg, dokumentere at jeg er ”forstyrret” fordi jeg vil være normal. Jeg har blitt så overraskende flink til å være normal at folk aldri tenker at jeg sliter med noe – det har vært det jeg har foretrukket. Men nå etter såpass mange år med terapi orker jeg ikke å leve i skjul lenger, å maskere hvem jeg er på grunn av skam for den jeg er kommer ikke til å fungere i lengden. Det har vært hendelser som har gjort meg redd meg selv igjen, redd for hva jeg kan gjøre, men jeg skal ikke, jeg vil egentlig ikke, jeg vil lære å kontrollere meg og jeg er på vei. Er det en ting jeg vil unngå så er det å være en byrde for familien min, jeg er lei av dette sporet jeg ikke klarer å komme ut av. Jeg er oppriktig lei meg for det jeg har gått gjennom som jeg aldri fikk lov til å være lei meg for. ”Tenk hvis” er ord som har brent seg fast i netthinnen. Jeg er så vanvittig lei av å sammenligne meg med andre, hvorfor skal egentlig dere være bedre enn meg? Jeg romantiserer nesten alle jeg treffer, alle er bedre eller har det bedre enn meg. Uheldigvis har jeg truffet mange menn som også har trykket meg langt ned, kalt meg umulig, komplisert og sagt til meg at folk som sliter psykisk er skumle. Hvis jeg skal få si en ting så er jeg ikke skummel, jeg har aldri gått inn for å såre noen eller skade noen. Den jeg skader er meg selv. Alle sliter med noe, alle har forskjellige personligheter og trekk som ikke nødvendigvis er så veldig nyttige. Alt jeg ønsker er å bli forstått og at en dag vil jeg klare å si til meg selv ” Det er ok å være deg, og ikke som alle andre”.
For those of you who’ve read my blog already know about me struggling with family issues. My family members have made it hard for me to trust after being lied to and let down many times, unfortunately I’ve brought this mistrust with me into my friendships and relationships. I’ve yet to find a partner. I must say I’ve been very unfortunate in that department. Some might look at me as a whore that only sleeps around, some whish they could let go and do the same. But that doesn’t really matters, what matters is that I too want to find somebody, I just haven’t come across a person that has made me trust. Most people I’m with open up a lot because I’m very open, for instance about my problems, and I understand. Some people might not talk so openly, as me, about so-called “problems” and keep it to themselves. And when they meet me, who’s also very curious, they open up.
I was talking to a friend to day and we were talking about this, that some people sometimes are desperate to talk to somebody about their issues, and when they meet a person that’s is open and honest they use the situation. I feel I’ve been used as a therapist by many people, and amongst them a lot of boys. In the end I felt like the man who had to listen and be understanding, and not really being listened to. My older sister said to me that I’ve got to ask less questions when I want to get to know people, so that they won’t open up so much. I guess maybe I should change, but I can’t help it, I’m very curious about people and their life, who they are as a person etc. But this has been a problem with every guy I’ve ever met when it gets a little bit serious, and especially when it comes to talking about our lives. They might say: My parents got a divorce. Then I say something about me: I was forced to stay with my dad every other weekend and wasn’t let out of the house until my mother picked me up on Sundays. (This will be to not freak the person out with the rest of what I could’ve told him). Then they get the confused face, they’re either thinking: what do I say now, should I change the subject? Or “should I say something comforting?”, or they continue talking about themselves. I usually say I don’t need any advice because for me these are facts; it’s not anything I need to talk about.
I’m just tired of feeling used like a therapist. People who’ve actually been through something horrible don’t always want to talk about it or being used as a shrink. People automatically think we’ve got the strength to listen and listen, when sometimes we just need someone to be understanding. What we’ve been through will never leave us; we just have to learn how to live with it for the rest of our lives.
During this stressy exam time of the year I’m actually quite at ease with everything. I’ve met wonderful people here in Valencia, but it took some time finding them. Going abroad you’re very open to meeting new people, some want to be themselves and others want to show themselves from their best side. In the beginning I thought I met some people I could trust, that turned out to blow up in my face, but I feel I’ve learnt something from it all. I’m very open about stuff so most people know me, I’m honest and always myself with every mood that that entails. If I’m upset you can definitely see it on my body language.
One girl told me to never tell anything personal to anybody, because you can’t trust anyone. But I personally want to trust people and at least give them a chance, though people don’t always act the way they’re supposed to. You get disappointed, but you learn that that person wasn’t supposed to be your friend, you move on and find others who are much better, because you deserve it! There’s no use hoping that someone will change for you, they will only change when they want to.
I usually get many questions about my last name. When people see the name Porturas, and look at me, they never imagine that I’ve got Native American blood. But I do, I’m a white Inca Indian and my father is from the Andes Mountains. When people think about the Andes they usually think that people there live in small huts and are chocolate brown. And when they see me, a blue/green-eyed girl with light brown hair they think it’s impossible that I hail from there. And I have to explain what a mestizo is. “Mestizo is a term traditionally used in Latin America and Spain for people of mixed heritage or descent. In some countries it has come to mean a mixture of European and Amerindian” – Wikipedia
My Spanish descendants come from the Basque country. I found some people in the White pages with my last name. I really want to go and see where I’m from.
Question number one is usually: But your last name doesn’t seem Norwegian.
Answer: No, it’s not. It’s Peruvian.
Q.2: …But you don’t look very Peruvian.
A.2: My father is a mestizo, a mix.
Q.3: Do you speak Spanish fluently?
A.3: No, I don’t. My father didn’t want to teach me.
Q.4: But can’t you talk to him in Spanish?
A.4: I don’t have any contact with him.
A.5: Because he’s a machista. Do you know what it means? If you do, I don’t have to explain more.
Q.6: Have you been there?
A.6: Yes, I have, three times.
Here people usually get really uncomfortable and change the subject. And I usually do it too, because I’m tired of the questions. Even though I’m white I feel like I am a mix, because I am a mix. And Yes, my father is my father! I’m really tiered of those jokes.
Deal with it; in the end the whole world will be a mix, and race won’t exist.
When I was little my father said to me only weak people cry. I only saw him cry once, that was in my grandfather’s funeral. If I talk too long to anybody about my Grandfather I start to cry, because he was like a father to me. Before I never cried in front of anybody, I was ashamed of doing it. I felt weak because I wanted to cry all the time. I usually cried in my sleep so nobody would hear, I felt invisible. I especially don’t like men seeing me cry, because I hate to feel like weak woman who needs a guy to rescue her. My father has seen me cry, and for a long time the only other man who’d seen me was my therapist. The third person was actually the tour guide of the Spanish school I was studying at. Me and another woman watched a movie called “Camino”. At the end he came into the room and explained more about it, and I just couldn’t stop the tears from falling, stroking my blushing cheeks. I felt a bit embarrassed.
I don’t know why it’s like that, that you can’t cry. I cry if I see a sad movie, or if I see a happy movie. I cry happy tears and sad tears.
You know the saying “crying your heart out” I’ve felt it. At one point in my life I was so hurt I felt like dying. It’s a horrible feeling that I don’t wish anyone to experience.
I am an emotional person, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong about it. It’s better to cry and get comfort than to cry in the darkness alone.
This Year 2011 has gone by very quickly and very slowly at the same time. The restlessness I’ve had has gotten bigger and bigger, diminished and then risen again. It’s made me very frustrated. Most of my friends seem to have a sense of belonging, and I’ve been so jealous because I don’t feel that way anywhere. After high school I was so happy that I was free at last, I could finally leave everything behind and start a new life the way I wanted. But to se my friends committing and seeming so content here in Norway baffles me. My question is why? Is it because they’re born here, or is it their families? Maybe I will never understand because I don’t have their kind of family, it’s just my sister, my mother and me. And now I’ve got a stepfather, which is terrific by the way.
The place I’ve stayed the longest was Bergen, almost 6 months, and it made me break down many times. I just didn’t feel at home. The people I hung out with were mostly foreign people, and I lived through them telling me about their countries. I wanted to go so bad, but I had to finish my dreadful theatre science-course. Nothing really seemed to go my way. The university with their bureaucracy made me end up in my hometown, taking a leave of absence one semester. I went to Spain one month, it was great but I never want to live in Malaga (as I had thought). In 2012 I will spend one semester in Valencia, I hope it’s a better city. I need to get away again. I’m used to being a lonesome traveller. I’ve never had anybody fix things for me so I’m used to taking care of things myself. It’s made me very independent, maybe too independent for some. But I do wish I can find somebody who will accept me for me, and not try to change me.
My new year’s resolutions are:
To not care about what other people think of me or of my life decisions.
To not be so frustrated and restless, like I’ve got little time.
To work together with my little family, and make life as good as possible.
My birthday was the 22nd of November, like it is each year. This year while turning 21 my grandmother died. Am I sad? The answer is no. The truth is I only met her twice in my life, once when I was a baby and she taught me how to walk, which I did on my first birthday. The second time was two years ago when I travelled alone to Peru to meet my family, for what felt to me like the first time. I think she loved seeing me again, but the more I learned about my family the more I learned about why my father became who he is. My grandmother didn’t have a lot of empathy and was very stubborn, like my father. She didn’t say goodbye to me when I was going back to Norway because I was living with her brother, and they obviously had some unresolved business. I never really liked birthdays anyway. My family has had so many problems that our birthdays were neglected. My mother though always makes the best out of it. She’s always there, my sister too, when the rest of the family doesn’t care. I’m used to not being remembered by my father, he doesn’t bother. I was supposed to be a boy. My last birthday my grandmother gave me a book about a girl that “changed for the better”, and stopped practicing the dangerous art of Yoga and found the way of God. She thinks my travels are dangerous and that I should become a missionary. Because everybody knows that yoga, communism or what ever is sinful. Why can’t family just be supportive?
I wish that someday I will be truly happy for being born, but I guess I’m not there yet. I’ve experienced a lot and I love life now, but the ghosts of my past are still haunting me, and it’s hard to let go and forgive.