Giving it away (incoming short novel)

[Family Court Strategies: When Your Partner Has BPD OR NPD Traits.]

When I was five, my little brother died in an accident that was caused by parental neglect. He wondered outside to play on the swing set and hung himself.  No one was watching him.

After this, my father was around even less, and never took a serious interest in us, and my mother was someone who I've come to understand was constantly falling apart even before my brother's death. The parallels between my mother and my waif uBPDw do not escape me. The death left me and my brother's twin mostly alone. Before the death my parents had left me "in charge" of the twins, when going outside and on at least one occasion, when they left the house.

I was five. Five years old and I was supposed to take care of two four year old boys.

After the death, my memories skip around a lot, with some deep black holes. I do remember trying my best to get my mother out of bed. She was crying and hold a picture of my deceased brother. I think we needed her to make food. I had to motivate her. I had to cheer her up.

To this day, I wonder how anyone could have left us with my parents after my brother died. I do know that there were other occasions afterwards where our lives were in danger. We lived in the middle of nowhere, surrounded on all sides by tobacco fields. I was once playing in the back yard, on the edge of one of these fields and stepped in a puddle. Suddenly, I sank to my knees, to my hips, to my chest, at which point, I heard my brother yelling for help. I went under and blacked out. The next thing I remember was being toweled off on the kitchen table.

My brother was once in the bathroom, and for some reason, so was a canister of kerosene that was used for a heater. My brother drank some and was rushed to the hospital, where he was treated for chemical pneumonia. I'm pretty sure I saw him drink it and I yelled for help.

Once, my little brother was climbing a tree. He couldn't have been older than 6. He fell, and the only thing that kept him from hitting the ground was that his ankle was caught in between some limbs. This time I do remember running to get help.

These are the dynamics that I grew up with. A distant dad, who mostly made appearances for corporal punishment. A mother who was emotionally compromised and needed to be propped up, and a brother that had a growing rage inside him that he often took out on me, and I would let him. Me? I couldn't have needs. I had to handle people. I had to deal with things. I had to look out for my brother.

The only time I had relief was when I was alone. I'd keep my room spotless. I figure that it was the only thing that I could control. I had comics and books. I had toys. Being alone was my only joy because I didn't have to feel responsibility and unworthiness bearing down upon me. I can't remember a positive form of physical touch. I remember feeling as if I was untouchable by the time I got to high school, which was eased by finding my first girlfriend. In any case, as a kid I figured it was me. I was flawed.

My father once tried to kill my mother by smothering her with a pillow, if what I saw and heard was true. They didn't last for too long after this, maybe two years. When they split, he cut her break lines. He got worried that we would be in the car and he turned himself in to the police. My mother initiated the split, which is interesting in retrospect, as we moved in with a guy who was about 5 years older than I was at 14. He and she worked together, had an affair, and then moved right in. My father circled the situation like a wolf and at one point he came into our house and slapped my moms boyfriend around- but apparently had waited until my brother and I weren't there, so I'd assume he was stalking. The funny thing is how often I saw my dad after the split vs. before it.

My mom ended up going from guy to guy and telling some outrageous lies that I got fed up with going along with. I was seventeen at this point. My neighbor came up to me and told me that he was sorry to hear about my aunt. I was confused. I found out my mother had said that her sister had died to get out of work. It wasn't just the lies though, as over the previous couple of years, it had dawned on me that her guys were more important than her children. The only constant item on the fridge was beer. We often had to forge checks to go buy a meal. One day, I just snapped. I don't know what the catalyst was. I had quit school the previous year. I was miserable, but that was a constant. Something about the lies did it. I had this feeling like everything was an illusion. I packed a small bag, stole my mother's bank card, walked and withdrew $300, and went to a friend's house. From there I got a ride somewhere else, stayed in a friend's car a few nights, and then found a low rent hotel where I would spent about 8 months. I had called my mother on the second day and asked her if she wanted me back. Her answer? "I don't know." I hung up. My 15 year old brother was kicked out a month later and ended up living with me.

To shorten this a bit, and to get to the point, I've skipped over a great deal of bizarre and miserable circumstances, and I'm going to sum up the next 18 years of my life.

I took care of my brother as best I could, despite him getting involved with legal issues and hard drugs. He always turned on me, sometimes physically, but I could and did defend myself when this happened- but I kept coming back for more, until a fight occurred where I was left homeless. At 21 I met my first wife, who was fresh out of a divorce, and her children were half across the country. She was sad, she threw sex at me, then the physical complaints and rages started, and wouldn't stop until 9 years later, when I left her for who would become my present wife. Except for the 7 month stretch in between my current wife's break up and return, I have been living with/dealing with/handling people who I have tried my very best to rescue and fix. Even during most of that 7 months I was learning about BPD just in case she came back.

Everyone knows after reading a bit about mirroring and idealization how we get so attached. There was more to this with her and I. She lost a sibling, just like I did. Her father was emotionally detached and physically unavailable, just like mine. Her mother wasn't altogether stable, and something about her resonated with me too. Just a few talks with her and her sister and I learned they were isolated, just like me. She was emotionally fragile in many of the ways that I felt I was when I was younger. The parallels weren't perfect, but they were close enough to be uncanny.

I projected upon her. I thought I knew what she needed, because I knew how I dug myself out of most of my problems. I was arrogant enough to ignore the ones I still had. I thought I knew best.

I've been reading and rereading 2010's post, and actually absorbing them instead of looking for angles on how to deal with my wife if she ever recycles me, like I was doing 3 years ago pretty much to the day. What I'm realizing is that I wanted to save me. Either a version of me, or be saved by someone who seemed like me. I gave away my energy and love to get the same in return, and what I got was a complete rehashing of my mother, a void of need that I threw everything I had into, all my love and care, my attention, my health, everything. What sort of math is this? Where I added and added, and at the end, the sum was less than zero. Not only am I where I was 3 years ago, but now I'm missing my son as well.

The thing that has sunk in is that she mirrored my best qualities and what I wanted out of life. I loved that, and therefore I can love myself if I directed my energies inwardly. What do i need her for? What did she do for me that I can't do? I can save myself instead. I should have all along, but it's taken me getting stripped of every single illusion about myself to get here. I am not on this earth to be "useful." I am here to live my own life. I am here to try and hold up my end of things for my son and try to see that he has a foundation that isn't as cracked as mine or his mom's. This can't be forced upon him. I have to be an example. I have to be better than I am.

I've lived my entire life with this idea that I had to be self sacrificing to be a "good" person. That good person was a sham that I hid behind all in the hopes that someone would see that I needed to be loved. I needed to be told everything was going to be okay. I needed daily encouragement. These are things that I thought people gave to each other. I thought by being good enough, I would get that. That's the false self isn't it? It's not working for me now.

[restoredsight]

When I was five, my little brother died in an accident that was caused by parental neglect. He wondered outside to play on the swing set and hung himself.  No one was watching him.

After this, my father was around even less, and never took a serious interest in us, and my mother was someone who I've come to understand was constantly falling apart even before my brother's death. The parallels between my mother and my waif uBPDw do not escape me. The death left me and my brother's twin mostly alone. Before the death my parents had left me "in charge" of the twins, when going outside and on at least one occasion, when they left the house.

I was five. Five years old and I was supposed to take care of two four year old boys.

After the death, my memories skip around a lot, with some deep black holes. I do remember trying my best to get my mother out of bed. She was crying and hold a picture of my deceased brother. I think we needed her to make food. I had to motivate her. I had to cheer her up.

To this day, I wonder how anyone could have left us with my parents after my brother died. I do know that there were other occasions afterwards where our lives were in danger. We lived in the middle of nowhere, surrounded on all sides by tobacco fields. I was once playing in the back yard, on the edge of one of these fields and stepped in a puddle. Suddenly, I sank to my knees, to my hips, to my chest, at which point, I heard my brother yelling for help. I went under and blacked out. The next thing I remember was being toweled off on the kitchen table.

My brother was once in the bathroom, and for some reason, so was a canister of kerosene that was used for a heater. My brother drank some and was rushed to the hospital, where he was treated for chemical pneumonia. I'm pretty sure I saw him drink it and I yelled for help.

Once, my little brother was climbing a tree. He couldn't have been older than 6. He fell, and the only thing that kept him from hitting the ground was that his ankle was caught in between some limbs. This time I do remember running to get help.

These are the dynamics that I grew up with. A distant dad, who mostly made appearances for corporal punishment. A mother who was emotionally compromised and needed to be propped up, and a brother that had a growing rage inside him that he often took out on me, and I would let him. Me? I couldn't have needs. I had to handle people. I had to deal with things. I had to look out for my brother.

The only time I had relief was when I was alone. I'd keep my room spotless. I figure that it was the only thing that I could control. I had comics and books. I had toys. Being alone was my only joy because I didn't have to feel responsibility and unworthiness bearing down upon me. I can't remember a positive form of physical touch. I remember feeling as if I was untouchable by the time I got to high school, which was eased by finding my first girlfriend. In any case, as a kid I figured it was me. I was flawed.

My father once tried to kill my mother by smothering her with a pillow, if what I saw and heard was true. They didn't last for too long after this, maybe two years. When they split, he cut her break lines. He got worried that we would be in the car and he turned himself in to the police. My mother initiated the split, which is interesting in retrospect, as we moved in with a guy who was about 5 years older than I was at 14. He and she worked together, had an affair, and then moved right in. My father circled the situation like a wolf and at one point he came into our house and slapped my moms boyfriend around- but apparently had waited until my brother and I weren't there, so I'd assume he was stalking. The funny thing is how often I saw my dad after the split vs. before it.

My mom ended up going from guy to guy and telling some outrageous lies that I got fed up with going along with. I was seventeen at this point. My neighbor came up to me and told me that he was sorry to hear about my aunt. I was confused. I found out my mother had said that her sister had died to get out of work. It wasn't just the lies though, as over the previous couple of years, it had dawned on me that her guys were more important than her children. The only constant item on the fridge was beer. We often had to forge checks to go buy a meal. One day, I just snapped. I don't know what the catalyst was. I had quit school the previous year. I was miserable, but that was a constant. Something about the lies did it. I had this feeling like everything was an illusion. I packed a small bag, stole my mother's bank card, walked and withdrew $300, and went to a friend's house. From there I got a ride somewhere else, stayed in a friend's car a few nights, and then found a low rent hotel where I would spent about 8 months. I had called my mother on the second day and asked her if she wanted me back. Her answer? "I don't know." I hung up. My 15 year old brother was kicked out a month later and ended up living with me.

To shorten this a bit, and to get to the point, I've skipped over a great deal of bizarre and miserable circumstances, and I'm going to sum up the next 18 years of my life.

I took care of my brother as best I could, despite him getting involved with legal issues and hard drugs. He always turned on me, sometimes physically, but I could and did defend myself when this happened- but I kept coming back for more, until a fight occurred where I was left homeless. At 21 I met my first wife, who was fresh out of a divorce, and her children were half across the country. She was sad, she threw sex at me, then the physical complaints and rages started, and wouldn't stop until 9 years later, when I left her for who would become my present wife. Except for the 7 month stretch in between my current wife's break up and return, I have been living with/dealing with/handling people who I have tried my very best to rescue and fix. Even during most of that 7 months I was learning about BPD just in case she came back.

Everyone knows after reading a bit about mirroring and idealization how we get so attached. There was more to this with her and I. She lost a sibling, just like I did. Her father was emotionally detached and physically unavailable, just like mine. Her mother wasn't altogether stable, and something about her resonated with me too. Just a few talks with her and her sister and I learned they were isolated, just like me. She was emotionally fragile in many of the ways that I felt I was when I was younger. The parallels weren't perfect, but they were close enough to be uncanny.

I projected upon her. I thought I knew what she needed, because I knew how I dug myself out of most of my problems. I was arrogant enough to ignore the ones I still had. I thought I knew best.

I've been reading and rereading 2010's post, and actually absorbing them instead of looking for angles on how to deal with my wife if she ever recycles me, like I was doing 3 years ago pretty much to the day. What I'm realizing is that I wanted to save me. Either a version of me, or be saved by someone who seemed like me. I gave away my energy and love to get the same in return, and what I got was a complete rehashing of my mother, a void of need that I threw everything I had into, all my love and care, my attention, my health, everything. What sort of math is this? Where I added and added, and at the end, the sum was less than zero. Not only am I where I was 3 years ago, but now I'm missing my son as well.

The thing that has sunk in is that she mirrored my best qualities and what I wanted out of life. I loved that, and therefore I can love myself if I directed my energies inwardly. What do i need her for? What did she do for me that I can't do? I can save myself instead. I should have all along, but it's taken me getting stripped of every single illusion about myself to get here. I am not on this earth to be "useful." I am here to live my own life. I am here to try and hold up my end of things for my son and try to see that he has a foundation that isn't as cracked as mine or his mom's. This can't be forced upon him. I have to be an example. I have to be better than I am.

I've lived my entire life with this idea that I had to be self sacrificing to be a "good" person. That good person was a sham that I hid behind all in the hopes that someone would see that I needed to be loved. I needed to be told everything was going to be okay. I needed daily encouragement. These are things that I thought people gave to each other. I thought by being good enough, I would get that. That's the false self isn't it? It's not working for me now.

[LettingGo14]

Wow.  That was a brave and very very powerful post.   Thank you for sharing your story, and the hard work you are doing. 

[Surnia]

O, chad_sketch

what a difficult childhood. 

As a little boy you did your very best to survive all this and to be there for your brother.

I have tears in my eyes thinking of this little boy and how he was in need for love and support himself.

I am here to live my own life.

Yes, do you have some support doing so?

[goldylamont]

wow that was such a beautiful expression of what you have gone through and your gaining awareness. thanks for sharing. do you do writing outside of this blog?

[Stjarna]

That was very beautiful, chad_sketch.  Being a mom of two sons myself, I picture you as the brave little boy that you were, enduring all that you did, and it breaks my heart.  I am glad to hear of the place that you are in now, of living for you and being an example for your son.  Bless you for taking the look inward and for sharing so eloquently your story.   

[restoredsight]

I picture you as the brave little boy that you were, enduring all that you did, and it breaks my heart.

I don't think bravery came into it. I was afraid most of my life. I was always in a position that I wasn't qualified for, and I knew it. It became a pervasive feeling in my life where I felt I wasn't good enough. I was always trying to control things that were uncontrollable because I've been so afraid.

I'm not that example for my son yet, but I will be.

[goldylamont]

I don't think bravery came into it. I was afraid most of my life... .

"I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear."  -- Nelson Mandela

[HappyNihilist]

Chad, thank you so much for sharing your story. I agree with everyone else about your bravery, and how beautifully you express very scary, harsh truths. You have a lot of strength, self-awareness, and empathy.

What I'm realizing is that I wanted to save me.

This is so powerful. It really is the heart of it all, isn't it?

You are strong, kind, and caring. When you turn all of that towards yourself, you can truly begin to save yourself. And your son is very lucky to have a father like you. 

[Sunny Side]

Very open and eloquent sharing, chad.  Thank you so much.

[Cardinals in Flight]

Thank you Chad, it is really hard to do that, and I appreciate it very much.

You and I are a lot alike, we share some serious care taking experience way too young in our lives.

CiF

[rollercoaster24]

Hi Chad

Enlightening post, you've been through a lot. Give yourself more credit for surviving it all, and nurture that little person inside you.

You are amazing!

Anticipating the arrival of  your novel!

Cheers

Roller

[Hurtbeyondrepair27]

Thanks for posting! I would take the time to read the rest of tour story!

Now that I dont have fb I,have pllllenty of time!

Hope to hear more about it!

[1KitKat]

Hi Chad

What a brave post.  You have written many things about yourself that I have felt about myself as well.

I am the youngest child in my family; when I was a little kid my mother was either fighting with my dad, trying to manage my sister or packing a suitcase with the intent of moving out.  When I was about 12 years old, she tried to commit suicide while she and I were the only ones in the house.  I had to call the neighbours, the police etc... . and it is an ordeal that I will never forget.

I spent the next twenty years of my life playing parent to my mom, and then parent to both my mom and dad, thinking that if I could just hold them together, keep the house clean (I expanded on the keeping my own room clean scenario ), life would be OK.  I did anything and everything from cleaning and cooking to playing psychotherapist and mediator for the two of them in their relationship.  I have had a few nervous breakdowns since I was in my teens, plus one suicide attempt.

When I was in my late twenties I met a guy with whom I lived for about 12 years.  He felt it his God-given right to cheat on me with many women, yet I stayed in the relationship for reasons I didn't yet understand.  When I finally left, I met my current husband (soon to be ex) who, I feel, is BPD.

Maybe you can see where I'm going with this... . after a year in therapy and lots of reading on the internet, I've come to realize that the ex is BPD and that I am co-dependent.  I have spent this past year STILL trying to make sure that the ex has everything he needs (when he left the house last June I even went out and bought him all kinds of things so that he would want for nothing - I even packed his bags!).  I have blamed myself for his cheating, for his porn surfing and for his visits to the strip clubs for VIP full contact dances.  I have told myself that if I were just a little more good looking, a little more understanding, a little more everything, that he wouldn't have left.

It is time for me to stop all of this and do some stuff for me.  I have just joined a co-dependents support group and will be attending my first meeting next Tuesday.  I have been reading how BPD's are a magnet for people with co-dependency issues, and I'm finally seeing a small (albeit still dim) light at the end of the tunnel.  It is a hard road and it will be a long one.  I feel your pain, and I salute your intent to get yourself out of this hole.

Our stories are so similar... .   and although yours made me so sad, it was a good read for me.  Please keep writing.