BPD and Memory Loss

Sometimes I wonder if BPD causes memory loss. I used to have a terrific memory. I could remember every word of a conversation. Now I forget entire conversations, and I'm not talking about just forgetting what was said. I forget that I even talked to the person. I used to have over 200 phone numbers stored in my head. Now I can't even remember my own phone number most of the time. I used to be able to read something and never forget it. Seriously, my mind sucked up knowledge like a sponge, but now there's times I can read something and forget it the next day. And would you believe 9 times out of 10, I forget about making love with my husband?

This is getting so frustrating. My memory, specifically my ability to retain knowledge, has always been my biggest point of pride. When someone asks a question, I always knew the answer because sometime in the last 25 years I had read about it and stored that information in my head. Now when someone asks a question, I get frustrated because I know the answer is in my head somewhere. I just can't find it.

For example: I've been studying healing herbs for over 10 years. During that time, I've recommended different herbs to many people and they always worked. I consider myself pretty knowledgeable about the subject. But then yesterday, my MIL and I were having a conversation about herbs vs medication. I spent the whole conversation getting frustrated because I couldn't remember any pertinent facts. I felt like a complete idiot.

The thing is, I expected some memory loss. I've always lost big chunks of time when I get manic. Although it's confusing and embarrassing, I've always accepted it.

But this....this is just too much. I feel like I'm losing who I am.

Why am I not good enough?

I've never felt good enough. For as long as I can remember, I always felt like everyone else was better than me. I always felt like I didn't deserve anything positive. I always felt like I was the outcast. Even in my own family. I've never felt like I'm loved and liked as much as my sisters.  And I don't understand why.

I'm smart. I maintained a 4.0 all through school. I completed 3 years of high school in 4 months and aced every class. My mind soaks up knowledge like a sponge. I love learning and I was the only one who didn't give my parents any trouble about it. So why didn't my parents ever brag about their smart child?

I was the one that stayed. Everyone else got shipped off and got to live out their teenage years in happy homes. But me? I stayed. At least until I went to the girls home. And then I came back and stayed again. While my sisters were spread out in 3 different states, I stayed in my hometown with my family. And what did I get for it? The same old feeling of not being good enough. I mean, you should hear my family talk about my sister Lisa. She's perfect, even though she's not. They just act like she is. She lives in California and flies up every year or two. She never came up when Dad was hospitalized. I was the only one there for that. She never came up when Grandma had open heart surgery. Just me again. She never sent Dad money when he was broke. But I did. And I didn't do it for praise or thanks or glory. I did it because he needed help. And do you know what I found out last year? Lisa does drugs. I really don't care. It's her life. But I don't do drugs. Sure I tried pot when I was 14, but it was just 3 times. I smoked it a couple times as an adult but I realized I still didn't care for it. So I just don't do drugs. But my Dad thinks I do. And he looks down on me for it. But not Lisa. He's proud of her.

It's like I'm held to a higher standard or something. And it's so high I'll never be able to reach it.

Please don't take this post to mean that I don't like my sister. I love her very much and wish we could be as close as we used to be. I just don't like that I'll never be as good as her.