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I'm so scared all of the time. I recently got diagnosed with PTSD as a result of the (what I now recognize to be) abuse my older sibling inflicted on me. I'm moving out in a month, though, so I'm hoping I can start getting better.

I think I should go no-contact with my older sibling. I'm just so scared that they'll kill themself when I tell them.

I feel so bad for my parents. They'll have to deal with whatever fallout happens when I leave. I love my parents. I think they both have PTSD, too.

I wish we were a happy family. I wish I didn't feel guilty all of the time.

Hi chewygranolawitc,

Someone gave me this story in college when I talked to them about how afraid I felt, because my BPD mom was coming to visit me. I wasn't ready to hear it or understand at the time, but as an adult, it's helped me tremendously. I hope it helps you or someone reading.

"The Bridge"
From "FRIEDMAN'S FABLES" by Edwin Friedman,
published by Guilford Press

There was a man who had given much thought to what he wanted
from life. He had experienced many moods and trials. He had
experimented with different ways of living, and he had had his
share of both success and failure. At last, he began to see
clearly where he wanted to go.

Diligently, he searched for the right opportunity. Sometimes he
came close, only to be pushed away. Often he applied all his
strength and imagination, only to find the path hopelessly
blocked. And then at last it came. But the opportunity would not
wait. It would be made available only for a short time. If it
were seen that he was not committed, the opportunity would not
come again.

Eager to arrive, he started on his journey. With each step, he
wanted to move faster; with each thought about his goal, his
heart beat quicker; with each vision of what lay ahead, he found
renewed vigor. Strength that had left him since his early youth
returned, and desires, all kinds of desires, reawakened from
their long-dormant positions.

Hurrying along, he came upon a bridge that crossed through the
middle of a town. It had been built high above a river in order
to protect it from the floods of spring.

He started across. Then he noticed someone coming from the
opposite direction. As they moved closer, it seemed as though
the other was coming to greet him. He could see clearly,
however, that he did not know this other, who was dressed
similarly except for something tied around his waist.

When they were within hailing distance, he could see that what
the other had about his waist was a rope. It was wrapped around
him many times and probably, if extended, would reach a length
of 30 feet.

The other began to uncurl the rope, and, just as they were
coming close, the stranger said, "Pardon me, would you be so
kind as to hold the end a moment?"

Surprised by this politely phrased but curious request, he
agreed without a thought, reached out, and took it.

"Thank you," said the other, who then added, "two hands now, and
remember, hold tight." Whereupon, the other jumped off the bridge.

Quickly, the free-falling body hurtled the distance of the ropes
length, and from the bridge the man abruptly felt the pull.
Instinctively, he held tight and was almost dragged over the
side. He managed to brace himself against the edge, however, and
after having caught his breath, looked down at the other
dangling, close to oblivion.

"What are you trying to do?" he yelled.

"Just hold tight," said the other.

"This is ridiculous," the man thought and began trying to haul
the other in. He could not get the leverage, however. It was as
though the weight of the other person and the length of the rope
had been carefully calculated in advance so that together they
created a counterweight just beyond his strength to bring the
other back to safety.

"Why did you do this?" the man called out.

"Remember," said the other, "if you let go, I will be lost."

"But I cannot pull you up," the man cried.

"I am your responsibility," said the other.

"Well, I did not ask for it," the man said.

"If you let go, I am lost," repeated the other.

He began to look around for help. But there was no one. How
long would he have to wait? Why did this happen to befall him
now, just as he was on the verge of true success? He examined
the side, searching for a place to tie the rope. Some
protrusion, perhaps, or maybe a hole in the boards. But the
railing was unusually uniform in shape; there were no spaces
between the boards. There was no way to get rid of this newfound
burden, even temporarily.

"What do you want?" he asked the other hanging below.

"Just your help," the other answered.

"How can I help? I cannot pull you in, and there is no place to
tie the rope so that I can go and find someone to help me help you."

"I know that. Just hang on; that will be enough. Tie the rope
around your waist; it will be easier."

Fearing that his arms could not hold out much longer, he tied
the rope around his waist.

"Why did you do this?" he asked again. "Don't you see what you
have done? What possible purpose could you have had in mind?"

"Just remember," said the other, "my life is in your hands."

What should he do? "If I let go, all my life I will know that I
let this other die. If I stay, I risk losing my momentum toward
my own long-sought-after salvation. Either way this will haunt
me forever."

With ironic humor he thought to die himself, instantly, to jump
off the bridge while still holding on. "That would teach this
fool." But he wanted to live and to live life fully. "What a
choice I have to make; how shall I ever decide?"

As time went by, still no one came. The critical moment of
decision was drawing near. To show his commitment to his own
goals, he would have to continue on his journey now. It was
already almost too late to arrive in time. But what a terrible
choice to have to make.

A new thought occurred to him. While he could not pull this
other up solely by his own efforts, if the other would shorten
the rope from his end by curling it around his waist again and
again, together they could do it. Actually, the other could do
it by himself, so long as he, standing on the bridge, kept it
still and steady.

"Now listen," he shouted down. "I think I know how to save you."
And he explained his plan.

But the other wasn't interested.

"You mean you won't help? But I told you I cannot pull you up by
myself, and I don't think I can hang on much longer either."

"You must try," the other shouted back in tears. "If you fail, I
die."

The point of decision arrived. What should he do? "My life or
this other's?" And then a new idea. A revelation. So new, in
fact, it seemed heretical, so alien was it to his traditional
way of thinking.

"I want you to listen to me carefully," he said, "because I mean
what I am about to say. I will not accept the position of choice
for your life, only for my own; the position of choice for your
own life I hereby give back to you."

"What do you mean?" the other asked, afraid.

"I mean, simply, it's up to you. You decide which way this ends.
I will become the counterweight. You do the pulling and bring
yourself up. I will even tug a little from here." He began
unwinding the rope from around his waist and braced himself anew
against the side.

"You cannot mean what you say," the other shrieked. "You would
not be so selfish. I am your responsibility. What could be so
important that you would let someone die? Do not do this to me."

He waited a moment. There was no change in the tension of the rope.

"I accept your choice," he said, at last, and freed his hands.

Wow. That story means a whole lot. It's like... the exact situation I find myself in (metaphorically, of course). I think I'll be coming back to this one. Thanks.

I appreciated the story as well, thank you for sharing Teabunny !

Chewygranolawitc, just wanted to extend some support to you.

I have a brother who is strongly emotionally dysregulated. We barely speak anymore, but when I was part of my family's drama triangle, I did have to deal a lot with his outbursts and suicidal thoughts. He did an attempt once, later told me I texted him just as he was about to start his car in his garage. The amount of pressure I felt, of having "saved him", of being given this kind of power... In the end though, I choose to believe he wouldn't have gone through with it. If it hadn't been me, it would have been something else. I don't have this kind of power, and I don't want it...  This is no way to live a life, always worrying about someone else's decision and pain. I can extent an ear, but I now refuse to carry the weight. And you can put back the weight where it belongs too.

Take care of yourself, first and foremost. This is also the best thing you can do for everyone... To be healthy and care for yourself, to be a possibility, lead by example.

 :hug:

Wow Teabunny.  That was a powerful story.  Very poweful not only from the perspective of suicide, but also from the perspective of being made responsible for the “others” happiness or quality of life.

It perfectly illustrates how unreasonable and irrational the emotional hostage-taking is.

Thanks for sharing.  Also , whoever gave you that story in college was a pretty special person.

That was a great story and certainly relevant to what we all are going through.  The only way to save someone else is to let them save themselves.

My oldest daughter has BPD and your story resonated with me so much because she'd bully my younger daughter and also say similar things to her- if she killed herself, it would be my younger daughter's fault.  And my younger kid just dealt with it thinking it was normal...she didn't realize until she was almost 20 that the average family doesn't deal with stuff like that.  We eventually forced her to see a counselor and talk out everything that had happened, everything that was still happening, etc.  Her big takeaway is that she did nothing wrong, she tried her best to be a good sister, even when her BPD sister was lousy to her.

In other words, just like the story, she refused to ever carry her sister's weight on the rope.  It was never her responsibility and she never once accepted that responsibility like her mom and I did.  Hopefully you can get to that realization as well someday.

Thanks for posting that story, TeaBunny!  It condenses into a few paragraphs my years-long relationship with my bpd mother and dysfunctional FOO.

My sibling uses those suicidal threats as punishment. Been going on now for 43 years. If she feels a whiff of perceived (not actual) rejection, she goes for the threat. She has almost died from one incident. It is exhausting and has stolen years and health from my own life, and my own family’s care, since she’s been chronically  in “danger.” If one wants to validate her experience, one is treated to the most vile ruminations about other family members. I have CPTSD from being her caregiver for most of my adult life, since others in the family are scared of her nastiness when she’s triggered. Now she’s split on me. I am now the cause of her mental illness, according to her, and she implies that my behaviour will cause her to succumb to Medically assisted dying. She’s moved away and for that I am grateful. She can be funny and delightful, but this is too much. Undiagnosed severe BPD.