Hi In4thewin,

I dont understand. What are you exactly worried about?

Hi Confused,

Generally, we try to keep everything on the boards so it can help you today and also help others down the road that may be in a similar situation.  However, if there's questions that you don't feel comfortable with in public, private message is 100% fine.

For your direct problem, I faced it early on as well as I met others and jealousy quickly surfaced.  It's very difficult at times but you must set very firm boundaries- you're not talking to others and you're not going to keep defending yourself.  Either she listens or she doesn't.

One strategy could be when she makes the accusation, to affirm that you're only talking to her and you don't want to talk about that anymore.  If she persists, tell her you're ending the call and can talk later.  You don't have to be mean about it; just make sure you're direct and crystal clear about your intentions.

Another question- how often do you send money to her?  If it's one lump sum monthly, very few Filipinas would be able to budget that responsibly.  If it's several times per week or daily though, then it's not good either because it's revolving around impulse spending.

Hi Win,

I understand it's worrying to witness fights and their aftermaths.  But here's the thing, I think you naturally jump to the worst-case scenario.  I don't mean that as criticism, but merely to recommend doing some "checking in" with your thought patterns, because they seem to be stressing you out, maybe unnecessarily.  I know that dealing with BPD is extremely stressful(!!!), and that you only want the best for your dear daughter.  My sense is that she would benefit from having a mom that's less stressed out with panic.

I know I'm wired differently (and so I do a lot of "checking in" with myself too!), as I'm just not as emotionally reactive as many of my family members seem to be.  My husband is a very reactive type, he immediately assumes the worst.  An good example of these differences happened just recently, because his daughter was staying at a resort in Mexico when violence broke out.  He was flying off the handle with worry.  I said to him, Honey, I know it's scary, and I'm concerned too, but your daughter texted you and said she was fine.  We know she's in the resort.  We have contact with her.  She's probably just going to have to shelter in place until things calm down.  And then he snapped back, extremely angrily, But what's the alternative, she could be killed in the streets!?!  I said my darling, that's probably not the most likely scenario.  Chances are she'll have to stay a couple of extra nights and re-schedule her flight for a later date when things calm down.  And he said, You don't know that.  I said, I understand things could get worse, but they might not.  No fatalities have been reported.  We're not air-lifting Americans yet.  All we've seen are the same two burned-up busses on the news--that's it.  So let's not panic yet.  Later, I showed him the airport schedules, and we could see that the local airport was open and that a few international flights were arriving and leaving.  Not many, but some.  With facts, my husband seemed to calm down.  And I'm pretty sure that the most-likely scenario I described is the one that's actually going to happen.  Perhaps ironically, his daughter sent a snappy text back telling her dad to stop "harrassing" her.  My husband was upset by this.  I had to translate it for him:  Honey, she's worried too, and she's just taking it out on you because you keep asking her for updates on her status.  She's OK, and she needs a calm and reassuring dad right now, not a frantic one.

Now here is what I see.  Your daughter and her boyfriend had an argument.  They were both upset.  But they were composed and united enough to go through the breakfast with you.  The boyfriend retreated the the bathroom, probably to try to calm down and compose himself, taking a few deep breaths.  Your daughter shared with you limited details about the incident, but honestly, it's her and her boyfriend's business.  Maybe things get worse, or maybe they resolve the conflict.  It seems like the latter is a more likely scenario, because they both came to the breakfast with you, remaining united despite the obvious tension.

Look, I understand that dealing with non-biological kids can create a lot of tension in a relationship.  My guess is your daughter commented on her boyfriend's parenting approach, and he took it as criticism.  He might think his girlfriend has no experience parenting and therefore she's not qualified to opinine--it's HIS kid after all.  If he said that, she might have felt offended, as if she'll never be "qualified" to act like a mother to his child, if that's what she dreams of doing--she could see her "status" at risk.  Or maybe it's something completely different.  But really it's between them to resolve, or maybe not resolve.  Maybe they break up.  Break ups happen all the time, and they aren't the end of the world, either.  Maybe they're seeing that the match isn't a great one.  Or maybe they realize it is, and they can survive arguments here and there, even big ones over parenting.  I think you just have to wait patiently and see, but not panic over things that haven't even happened yet.  Concern, maybe.  I try to be cautiously optimistic until the facts prove otherwise.

Sancho!  I very well remember the "what SHOULD I say, what should I avoid saying...that ball of fear and dread in my stomach and the knowledge that any minute the mood could change....I could FEEL it! I am sorry you go through this! 

CC43!  Thank you for breaking that down!  Desperation is a perfect way to put it....I just did not realize her request for "a break" would be 3 years!  I very much agree, 26 is "high" time to figure it out, the main reason ANY of this "desperation" occurs, is I remember the constant suicide attempts and always worry I am going to be the "straw that breaks the camels' back" (than I rationally think, I am not the only parent....though, my husband (her father) is just so sad and in denial about the whole situation and thinks she is just in a bad mood (for 3 years) I am going to just keep on keeping on & go with the premise when or if she is ready, that is the way it shall be!

I hope all is as okay is it can be with both of you and thank you for reaching out!

Hi Pook075,
Thank you for your last message and your comments/suggestions. My GF has been immature enough to take friends/acquaintances with her to the office of the money agency where she goes to pickup cash when I send her the support money and her companions were shocked and jealous to learn about the amounts. Now, my GF is afraid that those other ladies are contacting me for money. In reality, no one has approached me in any way and if they did, I know to disconnect immediately. Emotionally it is much more complicated and dramatic because in spite of my ongoing assurances to my GF, she is "convinced" that I am having relationships with at least two women one of whom, according to my GF, is part of a family of criminals and drug dealers in her province.
You can see the drama and craziness that I am dealing with!
I am just a simple 76 year old man with high principles and a simple plan in life. But I keep thinking that I should walk away from the relationship partly also because in my mind, after moving to the US and the marriage, my future wife won't have personal strength to resist suggestions from other Filipinas that she would meet socially in the USA that she should divorce me, get marital settlement  under California law and hook up with a younger man. I have a really good life right now and am afraid of emotional and financial turmoil I could be facing!
Thank you for sharing some financial numbers with me. The cost of living there seems so low!
Am I able to connect with you directly  to discuss further by direct email or phone calls? You have already been very helpful but since you already live in the Philippines and we share similar stories, I though I would ask. No problem if you rather not communicate directly.
Have a great day.

I'm worried, and unfortunately my mind always goes to the worst case scenario. Yesterday I met with my daughter (pwBPD) and her boyfriend for what I thought would be a pleasant breakfast. Immediately I realized ther was a problem..... she walked in prior to him and was upset....talking fast, on the verge of crying etc. Then he walked in after parking the car..... he was was stoic and white faced... like deer in headlights. Then he didn't want to order breakfast... because he "wasn't hungry". He was clearly very upet. Fast forwarding.... when he went to the bathroom, I asked my daughter what the problem was... trying to keep her calm. She was all over the place, crying etc., but then it "really" came down to a situation/issue with his 8 year old daughter that happened earlier that morning. All I was able to extract before BF came back out was that in my daughter's opinion, his daughter was being unreasonably difficult/demanding that morning...and my daughter didn't agree with the way he handled it.... and _____ hit the fan at SOME point. Again, I have no clue if something bad happened in front of the child or directly involving the child.... or if the major issue happened afterwards bewteen my daughter and BF when they were on their way to meet me. Anyway, by the end of a very long breakfast due to slow service, everything seemed to be smoothed over.... but I AM WORRIED.

Hi All

I'm 46 and my 74 year old mother has been a difficult person all my life and I realised after my dad 9 years ago that she ticks every box for BPD and myself, my aunt and my brother are in no doubt that she has it - not that we could tell her that! Age has currently gone in to another episode and is now driving my brother and aunt away, she's giving them the suicide talk but also treating them.lihw they've done something wrong but won't tell them what, she kept telling my brother on Sunday that he can't be trusted and was mean to him.avd this came on after months of winter getting her down. She claims to have stockpiles pills, she made a strange claim that a woman who works in a store in her town will.yaie the dog after she's taken her own life - the paranoid and suspicion seem really to point of being delusional behaviour! I've long since thought that she gets fantasies in her head which she believes are real as to what she perceives people have done.

Has anyone else experienced a relative with BPD becoming completely delusional? I did try and get her doctors to take seriously that she likely has BPD once but they didn't want to know! It's so hard to know what to do! She's very cruel when she's like this abs she is of course widowed and  living aline in these delusional states!

Thing is she is like egg shells too, she thinks we don't speak to each other about her and sees it as cardinal sin to do so and would go beserk if she knew that we confide in and support each other through it! It's like BPD people forget what family means! My brother is 51 and just getting sorted with a very overdue ADHD diagnosis and meds so it's not fair what she puts him through, my aunt lost her husband suddenly and prematurely just a year after my dad died but my mum doesn't seem to care about that. It's all about her really bad it's frustrating as I know it's the illness but we seem to be stuck with forever dealing with jit. She has driven most other extended family away or refuses to have anything to do with them - again it's always perceiving in her own head that they've done something!
 

I often say that romantic connection is how I know where I am on this planet. Its like that little icon on the map at the mall.  "You are here". 

Where am I?  Oh, got it.  I'm there.

Romantic connection provides continuity.  A thread.  It's two people agreeing to weave a new story together.  All of the sudden yesterday isn't yesterday.  It's the thing from which today was born.  Same for tomorrow; it's just today's child. 

Now there's a continuous story.  A narrative.  An arc.  And in this story is where I feel something that I have rarely felt before: consequential.  I can move this thing.  I can bend it and shape it.  I feel ontological power.

I moved forward as best I could, just me and the dog and a futon at my dad's house.  I got hired by our local police department and was excited to embark on a new career.  A career that values endurance, honesty, restraint, toughness, strength and devotion.  This should be a walk in the park for me.  I can work nights and holidays, withstand blizzards and heat waves, tolerate long hours and dangerous situations in my sleep. 

One incident snapped me back into reality pretty soon after I graduated the Academy.  Simply put: I had a minor encounter with a civilian who was recording police activity on his cell phone. It turned a little heated.  I smacked the mirror of his car and it broke.  I immediately gave him my name and went back to the station.  I found my supervisors and told them exactly what happened.  There was no point in lying, and I didn't want to lie.  I told them the truth, just like I should.  Plus the incident was recorded on the guy's phone, so what was the point in lying?  I was prepared to be punished for my behavior, but I was proud of my honesty.  The honesty that I hadn't lived with in my marriage. 

What a fool I was.

As it turned out I was sent home on administrative leave for six months while the bosses "sorted everything out".  I wasn't sure what needed sorting; I already admitted to everything.  It was on tape.  My statement ("I heard a car horn honking and I approached the man in the blue car...") matched the civilian's.  What was the issue?

The issue was that my honesty made me inconvenient.  Finally I had my day "in court" before Department brass, Internal Affairs, and even the Mayor (who is also the former teacher that officiated over my wedding).  The Chief said he wanted to fire me for lying in my statement.  Lying? Lying about what?

"We watched the video.  We didn't hear a car horn honking.  The man's car isn't blue, its green.  You're lying, and we're going to fire you."

Next was the Deputy Chief's turn: "Matt is not suited for police work.  He is a combat veteran, and I know that combat vets are not cut out for law enforcement.  I know that because I read it in a magazine."  They couldn't fire me, even with the most generous interpretation of their own rules.  I ended up getting a 30-day suspension.  But the message was clear:

What matters isn't the truth, but how the truth looks.  The group will sacrifice you to save itself.  Your devotion, integrity and commitment will buy you nothing.  Good faith is meaningless.

I saw this pattern repeated numerous times throughout my career.  Eventually I grew so exhausted and disillusioned by it that I quit after 17 years.

(I'm going to get some sleep and pick this up again soon.  I hope it answers some questions for people out there.  Maybe lends a little shape to their own story.  I know it helps me.  Good night.)

Hi everyone.  Thank you for weighing in on my last post.  https://bpdfamily.com/message_board/index.php?topic=3061527.0

I'd like to ride out this snowstorm by getting some more thoughts down.  I hope it brings some clarity to someone or, at least, encourages them to look at their situation a little differently.  Maybe ask themselves questions they've never asked before.

I think there has to be some kind of through-line between us "BPD others", right?  There must be some common thread, some reason why we tolerate what we do, why we continue to touch the stove.

I've spent the last few months--maybe years, even--asking myself: What is this story?

For me it's just as important to ask What isn't this story? and that means moving away from shame language and dispelling with some pop-psych myths:

Myth                                          My truth
I'm addicted to chaos                 I believe true love appears on the other side of pain
Can't be alone                              I'm desperate for an accurate witness
Fear of rejection                          Fear of being rewritten without my consent   
Control freak                                A need to have a shared truth
No self-respect                            I value commitment and covenant over self
I'm codependent                          I believe insight and devotion can fix instability
Savior complex                            True love means not abandoning people
Low self esteem                          Ability to make myself small in the name of connection
Can't let things go                       Afraid to let a counterfeit reality prevail
Fear of abandonment                Fear of disappearing from my own life

And I can see how being in relationships with someone with BPD can play right into this story. Throughout each and every painful chapter I wasn't asking "Is this healthy?" I was instead asking:

"How does this fit what I already believe about love and truth?"

Idealization--->Finally, I'm being seen accurately.  No one who sees me cleanly can hurt me
Threatening to leave--->She doesn't see me clearly.  I must work harder
Suicide attempts--->I can weather this. She'll feel better if I'm a stable partner
Blame shifting--->If we can agree on the truth we can fix it
Gaslighting--->I need to respect her reality, even if it messes with mine
Lying--->The record must be corrected, otherwise everything that stems from the lie is fraudulent
Devaluation--->She's going to leave before I can correct my story

I've learned that these beliefs really stem from just a couple very unhealthy dynamics that I experienced early and often in life.  I was a very, very intelligent kid.  Very high IQ and all of that.  But there was just something about school that didn't excite me.  And multiple times a year I carried my report card home with the same message: "Matt is a very smart and kind young man.  He is a pleasure to have as a student.  But he doesn't do his homework and he is not living up to his potential"

I don't recall anyone helping me understand or reach that "potential".  I was graded, evaluated and judged, and then passed along.  I was never held back, never given extra tutoring, never offered any emotional or psychological support.  It was like: I was important enough to critique, but not important enough to help.  I was recognized as being nice and kind, but ultimately I was a failure because I didn't have good grades.  What did I learn?

I can do things mostly right but still be negatively labeled.  Other people are allowed to tell me who I am.  The good parts of me were never good enough to buy me continuous care.

And this is a label that I've carried throughout my life.  Good enough to be included, not good enough to be protected.  That has kept me in this perpetual state of trying to prove myself, correcting unfair judgements, fighting revisions of who I am, and staying devoted to relationships that have been unbalanced, destabilizing, and unhealthy.

School taught me about my performance, and home taught me about love. A devoted father prone to rage and physical abuse and a mother who was all but totally absent and checked out.  There was no peace, just moments where I wasn't being hit, ignored, or merely tolerated.  Every day of my childhood was not hell, but I adopted another very unhealthy belief:

I learned that relief from abuse and neglect feels like love.

Aside from a lackluster academic career I was a pretty good baseball player and trumpeter.  That was something I enjoyed and was proud of.  I didn't realize it then, but even those pursuits carried a hidden danger:

My worth is determined by how well I support the group.

I look back now and I can see how those hobbies of mine were used to define me.  I don't recall acquaintances, friends or even family asking me about me.  It was often "How's baseball going? Are you still playing shortstop?", or "When are you going to play the trumpet in church again?"  I had been reduced to a role, a caricature, and it was up to me to keep that going.  To keep the illusion alive.  I hated feeling like I was just a baseball-playing trumpeter but, then again, what if they asked about the real me? What was I going to say? "I never do homework, my dad beats me and my mother doesn't talk to me, and I don't know why?"  It just felt easier to practice my scales or hit the batting cage.   

I was learning how to survive by being small and convenient instead of being known.

High school was more of the same.  Terrible grades, zero effort, an unrealized potential.  That was also where I  mastered being a fun-loving class clown who could hold the attention of thousands of kids, and even teachers, at once.  I learned how to read the room--to sense people and attune to them and how to take risks.  I pulled some epic pranks, some of which are still talked about today.  My thesis was simple:

You do not get to forget me.  You do not get to deny that I exist.  You do not get to make me small. 

Near the end of my senior year my guidance counselor approached me with an offer: do some projects or reports and they'll grant me the credits that I needed to graduate.  This was despite a 0.0 GPA. I denied the phony diploma and said "I'll see you next year".  I watched all my friends graduate without me. I returned in the fall to do an additional semester.  And thus another belief was born:

I must deny care that I feel is unearned.  And I will redeem myself via a grand, sometimes defiant gesture. 

I graduated after an extra semester and immediately enrolled in college. I don't know, it just felt like the thing I was supposed to do.  That did not go well either.  Before too long I was skipping most of my classes and attending only the ones that I liked.  One day I woke up late and thought "I have to get out of here."

That day I drove to the local recruiting office and enlisted in the Marines.  I could have applied myself in school, or dropped out and gotten a job, or any number of things.  Instead I chose to join the most grueling branch of the US military without any plan, understanding or frame of reference.  Another grand, redemptive gesture of which my mother was not to happy.  I shipped off to Parris Island (Marine boot camp) the day after Christmas as a kid with far more questions than he had answers.

Whether or not I realized what I was getting into is lost to memory.  But instantly I found a psychological home at Parris Island:

Stripped of my identity--->no problem.  I didn't like the one I had anyway
Viewed as a function and a role, not a person--->I'd been auditioning for this my whole life
Lost the right to express myself fully--->I'd spent years learning to take whatever shape would spare me punishment
Assigned value based solely on my contributions to the group--->Years of team sports prepared me for this
Received care only after suffering pain and demonstrating competence--->NOW WE'RE GETTING SOMEWHERE!

At Parris Island I found rules that made sense to me, even though I didn't like them.  They were coherent.  They didn't change.  I wasn't at risk of being suddenly punished or discarded so long as I was willing to suffer and earn my place.  I knew what to do and, if I didn't, someone told me what to do.  There suffering had meaning.  Endurance was akin to competence.  Pain was indicative of growth.  Effort equaled recognition and recognition meant belonging.  I still remember my last day of boot camp, during our graduation ceremony.  My drill instructor had to look down at my name before congratulating me.  That was one of the things that stuck with me the most: I was strong enough to endure, big enough to matter, but small enough not to leave a lasting mark.

I learned to be big, but not too big.  Endurance equals proof of value.  And the group will protect people of value.

While I was in the Marines I met a woman and was immediately taken by her.  Even today, 24 years later, I still remember that moment.  It was like that scene in "The Godfather", where Michael meets Apollonia while hiding in Sicily.  That look on his face, that speechless awe.  That was me.  I got hit by the thunderbolt. And there was no turning back.

For the first time in my life I felt the lure of romantic love.  The feeling of being chosen, recognized and wanted.  Being a military romance (she was also in the Marines) meant that we spent a lot of time apart.  But that distance gave the romance a unique shape: that the love was timeless, born of a shared belief in duty and loyalty, and that it would be strengthened by enduring distance, longing, and even war.  Its continuity made it feel fated, unbreakable.

I deployed to Iraq in 2003 and the lessons I had learned in my military career became solidified: endurance is competence, competence gets me accepted, and acceptance is safety.  I still remember our first firefight, vividly of course.  And I remember that feeling that I was going to die.  Not someday.  Soon.  Now.  Here it comes.  And I pictured my own funeral.  I envisioned my mom sitting there, next to my grave, dressed all in black.  With my now-fiancée next to her.  And I saw my mother getting handed a folded American flag, a star spangled triangle to commemorate her son who was dead because he was a terrible student.  That moment burned something into me at a cellular level:

Death is real.  It is coming.  It may get me before I have a chance to be fully known.  Love is the only thing that will make me immortal.

I returned home and my folks threw me a party.  I hated it.  I didn't understand it and I didn't want to be there.  It was care that I had not earned.  Love that I did not deserve nor want because I had not suffered for it.  All I did was survive a war, a war I fought in because I was too lazy to do my homework.  It made no sense to me.

My fiancée and I were married a few months later.  But not some courthouse wedding. A real one.  With a real ceremony, a real bridal party, real flowers, the whole thing.  I felt legitimate.  I was no longer a misguided kid.  I was a combat veteran, a Marine and a husband with 150 witnesses to prove it.  The vows were delivered by one of my high school teachers, in fact.  I was undeniable.  I had arrived.

A year later I was in bed with another woman.  Drunk, lonely and afraid.

My then wife had deployed to Iraq herself a few months prior.  I had no idea what I was doing.  I didn't know how to handle this.  Of course I knew that extramarital activity was wrong; I didn't know how to handle myself.  I was alone in an environment fueled solely by alcohol, pressure, machismo, stress and sex.  And I fell victim to it.  It was a one-time thing and I regretted it immediately.  I was ashamed, scared and unguided.  I decided that I wouldn't say anything.  I wouldn't tell anyone including her.  I would bury this, punish myself mercilessly and press on.

Except she found out somehow.  And she spent the next year punishing me.  Pushing me away.  Ignoring me.  Confusing me.  It was like I was married to a stranger.  Because I didn't know that she knew.  This continued for a year, exactly a year from the date of the affair.  And then she told me: "I knew the whole time.  You needed to suffer.  I want a divorce."  The lesson was clear:

Reality can exist without me knowing it.  I can be punished without trial.  My mistakes will ruin love.  My failures no longer hurt just me. It's nobody's fault but mine.

As fate would have it, within days of her revelation I was fired from my job, broke (she emptied the bank account), soon to be divorced and on the brink of homelessness.  I limped back home to my parents with nothing but a dog and a ton of shame.

I got back home and was confronted by something that would become just as formative to my story as the affair and divorce.  I arrived and met...nothing.  Silence.  Not judgement.  Not anger.  Silence.  It seemed that no one knew what to say or do, so they said and did nothing.  There I was, steeped in shame and embarrassment, humiliation and confusion, and there was no one to guide me.  No one helped.  No one counseled.  Just silence.  I was suffering and all those witnesses from a year prior were gone.  I was my only living witness.  My belief that pain begets love had been broken. 

I was welcomed back home with open arms and closed mouths.  Good enough to be included, not good enough to be protected.  If I am left to suffer alone then I will become damn good at it.

And I did.  The shame and guilt that I felt, that I still feel today, took on a mythic quality.  I actually became attached to it, like I replaced my wife with it.  Internally I made the connection that if no one helped me through this then I didn't deserve help.  Or maybe I didn't need it.  So I figured this was exactly where I needed to be.  Mid-20s, divorced, aimless and confused.  I bound myself to the shame and refused to let it go.  I could no longer be devoted to her, so I decided I would be devoted to myself.  But not in a way that one would hope:

I will stand guard over this pain, as a testament to what she meant to me.  The shame is what will keep me honest.  The guilt will keep me from ever hurting anyone again.  It is the last living memory of a love lost.  It is what keeps her alive. I cannot forgive myself; forgiveness betrays the very magnitude of the pain I caused.

(I'll continue in another post within this thread)