Hi Both, thank you for taking the time to reply to me, my brother went to her home again yesterday expecting a war with her after she was paranoid about him on Sunday but she was nice as pie!  She still has it in for my aunt though. It can change on a sixpence as to who she is angry with! The problem we have is that she is generally good physically and mentally for her age and would go beserk at the suggestion of extra care or POAs. The additional issue that we have either her is that for many decades the medical profession have just treated her mental health issues as something that needs Diazepams and Lorazepams and essentially they created an addict! She can't function without these tablets and she does claim to overuse them if she's gone into a bad place. So whether they impact this distorted thinking that she gets about people and the things her head tells her they've done.
It's like another obsession she has at the minute is she is always trying to invent a dramatic life story for herself and keeps trying to claim that one of her parents wasn't her parent but we both did ancestry DNA tests and it was bang on the button that my grandparents are my genuine grandparents and her parents! Yet she is ignoring that.
I think we'll be destined to be putting up with her moods and thoughts that change at the flick of the switch until she eventually dies  I think! She doesn't want to help herself or be helped - I get that winter months are dismal and hard on her but her refusal to go out and to anything, get involved in anything or socialise isn't helping her. The other hard thing of course is the frequent suicide threats when she is unhappy and not knowing she'll eventually do it!

Hi Pook075,
I understand that it is better to keep all or most info on the boards.
My GF keeps arguing about her perception that I am talking to those other women that are the last people I would ever talk to even if GF wasn't in my life. I have already drawn my boundaries but she keeps crossing them so I guess I will just have to walk away from the relationship. Her accusations (not just suspicions) are so blatant and angry and sometimes all she wants to talk are those accusations and it gets to be really exhausting.
I send her money every two weeks, but sometimes I will send more in the interim for medicine.
Can you share with me what websites have you used and is there is one that seems to attract better ladies?
Thank you.

I find that my husband (also currently living apart) has very little bandwidth for these kinds of conversations. So I very carefully pick which ones I want to have. This obviously can make me feel pent up, as I need to keep many of my needs to myself and not discuss them, but the reality is that he is just not going to handle it well if I bring up a lot of "issues".

Basically, I try to pick whatever topics are MOST important to me, and then, when calm, not in the moment, I mention it to him in the most unemotional way possible and with very little elaboration. For example, "I would appreciate it if you leave the kids' clothing in their drawers the way I put it there. Thanks" (I would not say this as she is messing the clothing, but after the fact, a day or two later). I used to elaborate a lot on my requests and needs, and sometimes cry when very upset, and learned that these did not work at all, as he gets triggered and starts yelling at me and dissociating. Also, if he does respond poorly to any request, as when your wife started to become defensive or swear, I immediately disengage and close the conversation (hang up the phone, leave the room etc). And I do not ever try to use logic when he is becoming irritated (ie "you are trying to justify it, you know that all the drawers are becoming like that"). I am a very logical person, so it used to be my "go to", but now I know that logic is one of the worst strategies I can use for someone who is essentially completely illogical when dysregulated.

I am obviously not perfect, and do slip up sometimes and try to talk about things that are not in the "most important" category or say my needs in an emotional way, but usually it backfires. I am pretty consistent about disengaging when he gets elevated, and that has made my nervous system a lot calmer, as I could not handle engaging with his outbursts anymore.

I also have had to accept that the relationship is simply not a "normal" one where the couple can safely share their needs and feelings and come to a nice, shared compromise. This doesn't mean I accept abuse, because that is something I have a pretty hard limit on (ie I do not tolerate bad language, insults etc and won't engage at all), but it does mean that I have had to come to terms with the fact that if I want to stay in this relationship, it has some natural limitations on what I can express and what I can expect from him.

I agree with this perspective, however it is of course fraught with tense emotions in your distressing situation.  I learned that lesson when I was a religious volunteer in NYC for many years.  I admit, though, my experience then was with strangers, not close relatives nor disordered ones.

Let me add an example...

This is what happens with my wife when she is in my place (we are living apart). Yesterday, since she was about to leave, I took the risk of making a brief comment while she was rolling over the kids' clothes in the drawer:

Me—Hey, my love, I don't quite like when the dresses of the kids are all messed up in the drawer, you know?
Her—Those didn't fit on her anymore. (becomes defensive)
Me—You are trying to justify it, but you know that all drawers have become like that.
Her—I didn't have to justify myself for you, because you are not my master or anything. Blah blah blah... (talking nonsense very loud, almost screaming, and nonstop)
Me—I don't have to hear your screams like that in my home, my own place. (while preparing to leave her sight)
Her—YOU SAY THAT TO HURT ME, YOU BASTARD! (switching now the topic to the "my home" phrase, which she didn't want me to use)

A minute later, while I am far from her, she prepares her stuff to leave but gives me an order:

Her—Give some fruits to your son!
Me—Are you giving me an order?
Her—YES!
Me—So screw you! (but I was going to prepare the fruits anyway)
Her—SCREW YOU !! Your **** ! #$...

As I fed our son with sweet melon, I brought a piece for her. I had to insist, but since she appreciates when I care for her, she began to cool off and accepted it. As I noticed the opportunity I brought, I gave her a hug and kiss. Finally, she is back to normal.

But nothing was resolved. And I think she ends up feeling like she was abused, and not the contrary.

Every couple in the world who lives together ends up having some type of conflict around the usage of the space or the things. Even more tension can arise when they disagree about the education/caretaking of kids. It's normal for sparks to fire at the heat of the moment. However, in a mentally healthy couple, those problems should not become chronic or too overwhelming. At some point when both parties are calm, one of them should try a better approach, disarming the other partner and allowing negotiation to happen. Then, when both are interested in talking with care and willing to understand the other point of view, it should be easy to compromise.

However, with a BPD partner, even by approaching them with planned steps and the best intentions, if it is a sensible topic, we are likely to fail badly. Because the topic may make them feel criticized and then trigger a very aggressive attitude in them.

For instance, my wife has very bad habits in regard to the organization of stuff and doing things impulsively, which ruins any kind of organization that I try to do in the house. I think this might be part of ADHD, but I feel like I can't touch those topics without triggering her.

Should I just wait for treatments to take effect before talking about it and, meanwhile, just use radical acceptance (accept the mess and keep quiet about it)?

Is this the kind of stuff for couples therapy?

Or is it possible to talk it out without triggering them?

Please share your experiences.

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.)