Hi AaronP,

In regard to your fear of being away from the kids, I have already gone through this three times, with three different wives. I can tell you for sure that if you get shared custody and your days are respected, you'll then have way more quality time with your kids. Firstly because your mood will be better, and secondly because your spouse won't be controlling you (they may try remotely though).

The big risk is when the other spouse does parental alienation, which can make your kids suddenly hate you for no reason after spending too much time with your ex, even if that's violating your custody rights. Another problem is the court dispute, which is expensive and exhaustive. Your troubled spouse is very likely to make false accusations, and the results may be unsettling if you don't have the same energy as them to fight.

With the third wife, I still have a relationship, but we live apart. This is the ideal setup, because it avoids the court battle, but it is only possible if the couple still loves each other greatly.

You should consider your options.

In regard to therapists, I think you should also try other options. I have tried asynchronous human chat therapists, whom you can send messages to at any time, and the cost was times lower than regular synchronous mode. But if you need to vent lots of information and get help consolidating it, perhaps an AI therapist would be ideal.

Dee, I’m really sorry you’re hurting this much. I can hear how desperate and stuck this feels for you right now.

It makes sense that your mind keeps replaying the last few moments and wondering what you could have done differently. When someone leaves in a sudden, final way after so many returns, it can feel unreal. Of course part of you is still waiting for the pattern to repeat.

And at the same time, this relationship had a long history of blocking, breaking up, intense accusations, and even physical incidents. That’s a lot for any nervous system to carry. It wasn’t built on one comment in the car. The instability was there long before that night.

Right now the urge to get her back probably feels like the only thing that would calm the agony. But calming the panic and actually having a stable, safe relationship are two different things.

You don’t have to be ready to let go. You don’t have to force yourself to stop loving her. But getting support for you - especially while you wait for therapy - is really important. You deserve steadiness, not just intensity.

If therapy is helpful overall- great!  But if not, then it may be worth it to consider another therapist.  It's also perfectly okay to vent; don't worry about what your spouse says about your treatment.  This is about you, not anyone else, so don't let the outside noise influence you.

If you feel pressured to give an account, it's okay to say that you don't want to talk about it.  With BPD in the mix, it's possible your partner is just making sure you're not bad-mouthing them to a therapist.  Well, news flash, that's what people do at therapy...they open up about their problems.

Additionally, many members here have benefitted from therapy (myself included) and most therapists have therapists of their own.  Hopefully that helps!

By this point in my life I was carrying a belief system that I didn't realize was a belief system.  Life had taught me that love was something that only followed suffering, but suffering didn't automatically beget love.  I was learning that truth wasn't the truth if no one believed it.  I was desperate for someone to believe my truth.  That special someone who could certify me as real.

Will truth win? Will devotion matter? Will someone see me accurately if I can hang in there long enough?

I had learned to adapt, to bend towards stability, to prove my worth through loyalty, competence and sacrifice.  Yet I was always arriving one iteration too late, misunderstood despite good faith effort.  Institutions, relationships, family, even romantic love had taught me that reality could change without warning, that today's rules weren't tomorrow's rules, and that devotion did not guarantee protection.

As a kid I attuned to others-->prevented abuse
I was attuned as a young student-->punished for poor performance
Attunement + competence-->great teammate
Attunement + competence + esprit de corps-->proud Marine
Proud Marine + dishonesty-->kicked out of my marriage
Proud Marine + shame + honesty-->punished by the police department

To this point in my life, each environment rewarded a different survival skill, and I mastered each one so completely that I carried it into the next environment after it stopped working.  And every time I thought: "The payoff is coming.  This time it will work.  I can stop running."  And it didn't.  So I adapted again. And learned to run faster. 

I learned how to belong to everyone else except myself.  I learned to quickly figure out which version of me spared punishment and earned me acceptance.  I was growing more and more convinced that I was about to get it right, and more and more vulnerable to the people who would prove me wrong.

Enter J1 (the first of two women in my life with the first initial "J").  We met on St. Patrick's Day 2009 at a local bar.  She was there with her mother, I had been invited out by a coworker.  I knew of J1 because she was a nurse at the local hospital and I'd see her from time to time during my shift.  She and I were being setup to meet by coworker/mom without us knowing it.  We hit it off and started dating.

Someone cared enough about me to coordinate this meetup.  She's the nurse I never had the nerve to approach.  Is this fated?

I soon learned that J1 had been sober for many years before we were introduced and had recently "started drinking again" (see: relapse).  Making matters even more fraught was that her own mother accompanied her to a bar on the busiest drinking day of the year.  The red flags couldn't have been more obvious.  And a new operating belief is forming:

Red flags are not warning signs.  They are invitations.  They are opportunities to finally confirm that my steadiness, endurance and devotion will earn me safety.

This is a key distinction I want to make.  Lazy analysis and pop-psych love to brand us as addicted to chaos.  I just don't believe that's true.  That's reductive and insulting and risks pathologizing something far more nuanced.  The real takeaway is this:

I had learned how to survive chaos, instability and uncertainty through loyalty, patience and emotional attunement.  Those felt like unique, undeniable skills.  So my brain did what brains do: it searched for a place where those skills mattered.  I was looking for a place where the person I had learned to become would finally work.

So when I saw a relapsed alcoholic with an unhealthy family system, beauty and charm and a big chip on her shoulder I didn't see danger at all.  I saw a job for which I was perfectly qualified:

Pain--->she needs someone soft
Unhealthy family--->she needs someone steady
Instability--->she needs someone steadfast
Childhood wounds--->she needs someone attuned
Fear--->she needs someone brave

I was not trying to save her.  I was trying to secure a home for myself.  One where my presence mattered enough that it could not be erased.  This was my chance to prove my thesis that endurance, loyalty and devotion would prevail.

J1 put that thesis to the test almost immediately.  Before long she told me that whatever "stage" we were in wasn't good enough; the relationship must move to the next stage.  So dating wasn't good enough; we must live together.  Living together isn't good enough; we had to get engaged.  And so on.

She demanded more of me.  More devotion, more proof, more security.  To me that meant I was becoming indispensable.  I was securing connection.  I didn't sense danger.  I sensed an opportunity for promotion. I felt that permanence was just around the corner.  And that meant I could finally rest.

But this promotion came with a built-in escape clause.  J1 explicitly told me that she wouldn't get seriously involved with someone who had been previously married.  And I had been.  Just like that this connection became conditional and revocable at any time.  Except conditional love didn't scare me.  Conditional love has rules and I knew how to follow rules. 

I can't outrun my past, but I can't integrate the lessons learned from it either.  My history can be recalled at any time and used to punish me.  I am now on permanent probation.  This felt like a new embodiment of an old label: "Matt gets it mostly right, but he doesn't do his homework so he is failing."

Leaving wasn't an option.  That would shatter my hard-earned belief system.  Staying was dangerous, but I knew how to manage danger.  So progressing was the only sane choice available to me.  True love is revealed on the other side of pain.  I believed my bravery would be rewarded.

One night I went out with a close friend of mine.  Nothing scandalous, just two buddies catching up over a burger and a beer.  I don't remember the details, but I remember the incessant calls and texts from J1.  She was angry, suspicious and accusatory.  She was threatening to leave me.  A new thread was starting to appear:

My sovereignty threatens the connection.  My autonomy kills the bond.  Just like with the police department: the truth will not save me.  Only compliance will.

I went back home to find that she was gone.  She was at her mother's, back in her childhood bedroom.  Drunk. 

I knew that the connection was in danger but this time I had agency.  I had time.  I could fix this before it dissolved.  It just required more of me.  More proof, more devotion.  More.  And then I can rest. 

The next day I bought an engagement ring.

I thought I had secured us more time, but life had other plans.  J1 and I were scheduled for a summer wedding, but by the spring I felt something shifting.  A self-protective instinct was kicking in.  A voice was in my head. It was my own voice.  One that I barely recognized.  It was whispering to me:

Marriage will require that you disappear.  You cannot adapt your way out of this.  There's not much left of yourself to give.  This will not absolve you of the affair.  You don't want to do this.  Stand down, Marine.

Around this same time my first wife and I reconnected.  Not physically or sexually, not romantically.  She lived a few hundred miles away.  We exchanged the occasional friendly, platonic text and that was it at first.  But before too long I realized that I was still haunted by the affair, I was drowning in shame and regret, and I was desperate for absolution.  I was just seeking it from the wrong person.  I didn't know if I missed her or just the Matt that existed before the affair.  But I knew I was trapped.

One night I went out with some close friends.  We played cards at a friend's house and I was home by midnight.  Nothing improper at all.  I came home to a familiar scene: J1 was drunk, suspicious and thirsty for a fight.  I remember screaming, crying and accusations.  I tried to ride it out.  I tried to get as small as I could.  I got in bed and pulled the blankets up.  That made it worse.  She threw things at me, hurled insults and a wedding dress.  She was threatening to call off the wedding.

My autonomy is costing me again.  Except I can't escalate commitment anymore.  I have nothing left to offer.  No gesture to appease her.  Unless we get married right then and there: I'm out of options.

In that moment my inner voice, until now merely a whisper, transformed into a scream. "SAVE YOURSELF!"  And for the first time in my life I decided to listen to it.  I told J1 "I'm leaving.  We're through.  Don't be here when I get back."  I couldn't save us anymore.  Fidelity wasn't going to save it.  Honor and devotion were out.  I couldn't adapt my way into safety.  I couldn't fix this. I learned a new theme, one that would reveal itself again over the coming years:

Some people need to see me incorrectly in order to survive.  My endurance will not be the solution.  It will become fuel.

The dog and I drove through the night to see my ex-wife.  I didn't know if I was running to something or from something.  You know what? I didn't care. I didn't care that people were going to be upset with me.  I didn't care what story J1 was going to tell.  I didn't care what it cost me.  I turned the phone off and drove as fast as I could with Rascal Flatts' "I'm Movin' On" providing the endless soundtrack.

"I sold what I could and packed what I couldn't.  Stopped to fill up on my way out of town...Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road.  I'm movin' on."

I sped south with a million questions and zero answers:

*is there a version of me that is still redeemable?
*will she receive me?
*has my suffering been worth it?
*does shame buy me anything?
*does pre-affair Matt still exist anywhere?
*have I been foolishly guarding the memory of something that is gone forever?

This was not about romance.  It wasn't sex and it wasn't even reconciliation.  This was about absolution.  It was time travel.  It was a desperate attempt to relocate an old version of myself and rescue it from extinction.  I felt like Marty McFly, feverishly trying to put the past back together and restore coherence.  To bring himself back into view. 

Incoherence will haunt me.  An unfinished story will become a ghost.  If I can fix the past, the present will stabilize.  I must go back to the last reliable witness and pray that she gives me back to me.

I finally arrived at her house (lets call her "K") after driving all night.  Not our house, but her new residence.  I climbed the stairs with my dog--our dog--and I can still picture the scene clearly.  She opened the door and immediately reacted like someone who was too surprised to trust her own vision.  Like the Publishers Clearinghouse people were there with balloons and a giant check.  She covered her face with her hands, quickly turned away, then returned her eyes to mine and threw open the door.

I found old Matt again.  My witness returned.  She gave me my story back. 

There's lots of things I remember from that weekend.  I'm not even sure that relief is the right word.  It's part of it, but there's more to it than that.  I felt powerful.  Strong.  Like I actually had a say.  I had agency.  I could change the story with just gasoline and a willingness to drive all night.  I didn't need courage.  I didn't need to be strong or brave or tough.  I just needed movement.  I just needed to give myself permission.

I remember the trinkets.  Little artifacts from our life, replanted in hers.  Mementos and relics.  I can still see them in my mind.  It was like being at my own funeral and suddenly popping out of the casket because I decided I wasn't yet ready to die.  I could see my life.  And I could feel how the memory of me lived on even without me there to see it.  She had carried parts of us into her new world and I was a part of it.  And now there I was, standing among little vestiges of the me that I once knew.  The me that existed before the night where everything went wrong.

And I remember a conversation we had.  Sitting on her front porch.  I can see it still so clearly.  I looked at her and said: "I've said it a million times and I'm going to say it one more.  I'm going to look you in the face and tell you how sorry I am.  'I'm sorry'.  And now I have to stop saying it."  She answered: "I forgave you a long time ago.  Now you have to forgive yourself."

And finally I remember taking a nap with her. Laying down in her bed to relax into rest.  I remember it was so peacefully quiet in her house.  And it was peacefully quiet in my own head.  It was raining.  I can still hear the rain hitting her metal roof.  After the nap she told me: "You know, I was laying there, behind you, with my face against your back.  And I pressed my face against your skin and breathed.  You smell like I remembered.  In that moment I was young again."  I won't ruin that memory with psychoanalysis.  I don't think it needs any.

And I realized then, and I still realize it today, that the one person in the world who was perfectly positioned to punish me didn't.  No one would have blamed her for slamming the door in my face.  For defaming me and disowning me.  Discrediting me and shaming me and sending me home with my tail tucked between my legs.  She didn't.  This may have been one of the first and only times in my life I ever felt forgiven.

For the first time in my life I felt like I was loved despite my suffering.  I was loved for being me.  I was loved simply because I existed.  I was seen and loved and I didn't have to earn it.  It had already been earned.  Could I finally stop running?

That weekend helped rearrange my nervous system in a way I wasn't aware of then but I would become painfully aware of later.  Nevertheless I returned home to a mostly empty house.  J1 had all but moved out and moved on.  K and I made no definitive plans or commitments but planned on seeing each other again soon.  I was fully prepared to leave my life behind to be closer to her. 

Not so fast, Matt.  You don't always get to choose your own life.

A few weeks later J1 ended up at my house.  It was a Sunday, and she was drunk.  A discussion ensued, it grew more heated and it turned into an emotional autopsy of our relationship.  She returned from the bathroom and confessed: "I downed an entire bottle of pills.  But don't worry.  I threw them up."  Only she hadn't thrown them up.  Before long her intoxication intensified.  Then the hallucinations started.

No. No. NO NO NO NO.  You do not get to hijack my life. You cannot do this to me.  I had just found my way back to me.  I do not want to save anyone.  I'm tired of being strong.  You cannot kill yourself on my watch.  This cannot be happening. 

I'm learning, in agonizingly slow real time, that:

Some peace is short lived.  Maybe I'm not meant for rest.  My story can be taken from me.  Violently.  Without my consent.  It's happening right before my eyes.

(I'll post this and return to it soon.  Thanks for reading.)

Thanks CC43. I forgot to mention dehydration. Dehydration and urinary infections are common causes of mental status changes in elderly people and were for my BPD mother as well. I think getting your mother checked would be the first thing to do. (hopefully she is willing to do that).

Also medication- any medication and how an elderly person reacts to medicine can change. My BPD mother was on a medicine for anxiety that worked well for her. Then, the same dose she was taking was too much and also caused her to be (more) dellusional. She needed a lower dose. Also over the counter medicines- those had to be checked too.

It's challeging to have the "normal" events in an elderly person and BPD combined as it's hard to know what is what, but I'd err on the side of checking for things like dehydration, medicine, infection- since they are treatable.

Hi there,

Notwendy gives awesome advice, she's wise and has a lifetime of experience with this.

I'd underline the notion that delusions can be a "manifestation" of extra stress, whether mental or physical.

With the elderly, any sort of "odd" behavior can signal a seemingly unrelated problem--like dehydration, not taking medications at the normal times, dieting/not eating right, an infection, bout with illness.  I agree with Notwendy that it's probably a good idea to have a doctor check her out.  I recently went through a situation with an elderly relative who had lost some weight from intensive dieting, and her medications became too potent, leading to some uncharacteristicly loopy behaviors.  This happened after a string of other questionable choices she had been making regarding her routines in the last couple of years.  Since she's elderly, her "missteps" are now having more serious consequences, as she's increasingly frail.  Her children have had to keep a even closer eye on her.  Maybe you are approaching that inflection point with your mother.  It might be a good time to put in place some extra help and resources.

I'm often asking myself if my elderly mom is still OK to take care of herself.  I think she is, but you see, she's a lefty and has always had trouble with navigation and spacial awareness, which in real life looks like confusion and very slow driving.  Now I know that's not BPD--I'm just trying to illustrate that I understand how it can be difficult sometimes to interpret if "odd" behavior is because of an innate condition (i.e. lefthandedness/spacial reasoning difficulties or BPD), or if it's potentially something else (a medical problem, advancing aging).  I try to guide myself using the "severity" of incidents as well as the "frequency" of behaviors and how much they veer from the "normal" baseline.  An example might be, if my mom forgot where she parked the car, that would be pretty normal for her, and it's not life-threatening, either.  But if my husband forgot where he parked the car, I'd start to be concerned, because he's uber-protective of his car and has a great sense of direction.

But you know your mom best, if you are concerned and you're worried about her, I'd say don't be afraid to have her checked out.

Thank you for your response.  I appreciate you asking about my self care.  I am seeing a therapist.  I feel that it is beneficial to some extent.  But, there are times I feel self-conscious because it seems that most of my sessions are me simply relaying the recent episodes in which my spouse has mistreated me.  It feels rather pathetic at times.  I am sure there are things I could and should be working on to help me improve as a person.  But, the sessions are usually just me venting.  Also, my spouse routinely wants to know what I worked on or discussed with my therapist. They say that my sessions should be focused on how I can improve toward repairing the marriage, and should not be focused on myself.  I realize it's a control mechanism.  But, I almost dread days on which I have a session because I don't want to be questioned afterward.  So, I typically fabricate some vague, general things we discussed.

Hello and welcome to the family; thanks so much for sharing.  I too was in that place not too long ago so you have my sympathy.  It's a heartbreaking cycle and it's so incredibly hard when you don't have answers.  Hopefully we can help.

First off, it is not your responsibility to repair your marriage- that's a shared responsibility.  You can't change what your partner thinks or how they feel; you're only responsible for you.  There are ample resources here to help you learn better communication tactics within your marriage, but at the same time those are secondary to your personal wellbeing. 

Have you spoken to anyone about the burdens you're carrying?  What are you doing for self care?  I'd love to hear more of your story.

Yes, with my (now deceased) BPD mother, and while this kind of thinking was there all along, I think in an elderly person, other causes can exacerbate them and even cause them without BPD.

Two common causes of delirium in elderly people are urinary infections and medications. There were times when the diagnosis of dementia was considered but BPD mother would return to baseline when she was treated for  a UTI or her medication dose adjusted. If your mother is acting more delusional than usual, I would say get her checked for these possible causes.

The more constant concern was the BPD thinking which included these strange and sometimes paranoid ideas about people, and her behavior in general. Being that she remained "legally competent" there wasn't much family could do to intervene on her behalf, even thought it was for her own benefit.

I understand your concern for your elderly widowed mother at home with her BPD. We had this concern as well.

It helps to inform yourself of the resources for the elderly in your country. For me, it's the US- and so learning about Medicare, Medicaid, assisted living, skilled nursing homes- and the laws, and rules for these resources helped to know what was (and wasn't) available to help if needed. As long as my mother remained legally competent (and she did, even with the episodes) intervention wasn't possible.

My best advice to you in this situation is to have someone designated as POA and Medial POA for your mother so it would be possible to make decisions for her if needed. It can be you or another family member if they are trustworthy and would act in her best interest. Also inform yourself of resources available to her- assistance at home, assisted living, nursing home care- if they were ever to be needed. Most important- get support for yourself through counseling, maintain self care.

With the medical POA, I was able to speak to her doctors and health care providers. In BPD mother's situation, "BPD" was not a helpful label.  It made more sense to address the issues that were a cause of discomfort for her- her anxiety was a main one and there is medicine for that. Your mother can access therapy and medication without the BPD label - with other ones such as "anxiety". DBT therapy is known to help with BPD and she may need the label for that but she would need to be motivated to do it.

This is my first time posting here, and I’m honestly not sure where to turn. My marriage of over ten years has certainly had its fair share of problems, but things have become much worse over the last few years. I’m fairly certain my spouse is a narcissist or has borderline personality disorder. I know those terms get thrown around a lot these days, but I feel that their behaviour certainly falls within these categories.

They are incredibly thin-skinned regarding any perceived alternative perspective or criticism. It usually results in an angry outburst, mockery, or both. It feels as though they intentionally make it so painful for me to raise a legitimate concern that I’ll eventually just give up and stop bringing things up altogether.

This behaviour has been a constant throughout our marriage, but it has really intensified over the last three years. During this time, my spouse lost their father after a long battle with cancer, and they currently have a fractured, "no-contact" relationship with their mother. To my mind, this should have been the perfect opportunity for them to lean on me so we could strengthen our bond while I helped them through the grieving process.

Instead, the general anger they’ve always had has increased, and it’s frequently aimed at me. Minor disagreements escalate in a heartbeat. I’m often called names and told to "just shut the f--- up." If I stand my ground and say I don't appreciate being spoken to like that, I’m told I’m being "too sensitive", or that if I don’t like it, I can leave. When I point out that I deserve a bit of respect and that they wouldn’t like it if I talked to them that way, it only makes matters worse.

I’m at my wits' end. The frequency and intensity of these outbursts are becoming unbearable. I know that this behaviour is the result of grief, combined with their BPD.  I am often told that it is my responsibility to repair what is wrong with our marriage. I feel that I am trying, but nothing is considered good enough.  I don't know how to repair it when my spouse doesn't think their behaviour toward me is unacceptable.  My gut reaction is to simply pack it in and leave, but we have three children at home. The thought of not seeing them every single day is what’s stopping me. I know there are those that will argue that the kids are seeing this disfunction as normal behaviour, and that's not good either. I’m not sure what the next step is, but I know there are others here with similar stories. I just want to be part of a community where I can share what’s happening without judgment. Thank you for reading.