Adoptees with Borderline Personality Disorder

I'm very angry. I've been angry for much of my adult life. The anger has affected many of my relationships because it comes out inappropriately. I envy those who have strong natural connections - especially mother-daughter relationships. I envy those who are close to their families. My relationship with my adoptive mom was adversely affected. I could never allow myself to love her and be as close to her as I would have wanted. We eventually developed a strong friendship, but I couldn't allow myself to be totally free with her because I never felt the security I needed.Many adoptive parents tell their children that their birth mothers gave up custody because they loved their babies and wanted the best for them. But the result of statements like that can have unintended consequences: people who love you will leave you.In all my relationships I was always afraid of being abandoned/rejected, and the harder I held on, the more I couldn't let go, the worse it was. Intellectually I know that not every relationship is meant to last forever. I could let go on my own terms, but couldn't bear to be let go on another's. There remains a neediness in me that I hate, and it makes me hate myself. In my late 20s it resulted in a couple suicide attempts following break-ups that I didn't initiate. The least attention from a man results in my falling in love. I misinterpreted a simple invitation to have coffee, and became infatuated. When confronted with the truth I descended into a deep depression. A friendly relationship with a boss resulted in another deep depression when my employment was terminated. I cut my hair off clear down to my scalp.I began over again, not looking for a relationship but one developed with a man young enough to be my grandson. It wasn't romantic; I thought of him as the son I never had. When he went out of town for a couple weeks for the holidays I again chopped off my hair. He returned but I felt him slipping away. I began cutting. I carved his name into my thigh. I've renewed that "artwork" several times. On the first anniversary of my adoptive mom's death I carved her name into my other thigh. A few weeks later I slice my thigh again. No "artwork," just a couple deeper slices that have resulted in permanent scarring. When any hope of a continuing relationship with the young man ended, I considered suicide again. Right now I'm not actively planning on ending my life, but I've made the decision to do nothing to extend it. My eating habits are unhealthy, and I don't care. I smoke and drink, and I don't care. I won't see a doctor except for pain management. I hate living without feeling that I belong to someone and they belong to me. I've actually considered carving DNR into my chest because I don't want to live like this anymore. Antidepressants are a bandaid; therapy brings understanding but not healing. I'm 61 years old, totally messed up without any hope of ever being "normal."