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.
I relate to not ever feeling good enough and not fitting in. I don't know what it is but wish I did. I was the black sheep so I can half way understand why my family doesn't like me except that for over 30 years I've done well. I wonder if most BPD feel this way. Of the blogs I read, most seem to fit in well with their families. This is something I need to think more about.
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