I just thought I'd share this.
possible trigger warning.
One night I was getting hot sweats and began to feel sick in the stomach. I crept outside so my BPD Hubby couldn't notice. For many years, I had learnt that if I was unwell around him, it would only be deeply disappointed because he never showed he cared. I had also trained myself not to be emotionally upset around him, as this only lead him to project onto me that I was acting pathetic. Instead I learnt how to cry silently once I knew he was sleeping deeply on serequol and he couldn't be woken. Even though he was 'allowed' to be an emotional wreck around me, I didn't have that privilege. There had been times when I tried to express myself but this was often responded with a BPD rage, instantly giving me flashbacks of the night I had risked my life to save his. For me, it just wasn't worth it!
Where is that kind caring man that I originally fell in love with? Deep down, I knew he couldn't have disappeared and there were days when it felt like he had returned. As much as I enjoyed these days, I still dared not to express myself in fear it would all end in a split second. I had to remind myself that he had accepted his BPD diagnosis and he never missed a therapy session. He wanted to get better but was this even possible? During the day I spent hours sifting through countless websites looking for statistics for improvement and recovery in BPD sufferers. Some stated that there was a chance of full recovery and other sites stated BPD sufferers had it until they died but some learnt how to suppress the symptoms and behave in a much more healthy manner.
I laid on the damp grass. It was winter, the stars began disappearing as the fog was setting in and the nights were cold enough for morning frosts but I still felt hot and I threw up and cried and cried. I thought I could just sleep there the night and he wouldn't even know. Believing it was a real option, I began to fall asleep, when I heard a voice. It was his. “Hey my beautiful. What are you doing out here? You'll catch a chill”. He helped me up and took me off to bed, took my shoes off and changed my clothes, got me a glass of water and a bucket in case I was sick again and he then held me all night. That night I cried again, but this time with tears of hope.
Over the following few years, his therapy continued and moments like these became more and more common. Not only did his selfishness and splitting slowly decrease but his BPD rages and self harm reduced until one day, we realised that they had become non existent and I put away the children's knives we had to use and bought myself a nice knife set for my kitchen as a celebration. He still has severe depression and CPTSD from his childhood. At times, maybe a few times a year, he may split. But I can say “Hey you're splitting. Try to look for the Grey” and he does and immediately apologises. His mental health reports no longer states he has BPD.
I guess I'm saying it is possible for one to recover but I think it depends on the individual accepting diagnosis and putting the effort in as well as having much needed support. Even then it takes years and during this time I needed to understand there would be a number of setbacks.
Its important to note that my H had 'Low Functioning' BPD and even though his BPD made him rather selfish, he did not exhibit any NPD traits and we didn't have children who could have been exposed to his BPD rages. I sacrificed ever having children because of my Hubby's previous BPD and the kind caring man I married eventually not only returned but he is better than the man I married – I realised that even in the Honeymoon period, he was never able to control his emotions and now he can. Therapy also helped me to become a better person too.
At Christmas each year, my sisters and parents bring their knife sets for Hubby to sharpen. As Hubby meticulously works away sharpening them and testing them by scraping the hair off his left forearm to ensure that they are razor sharp, he often jokes about his obsession with knives. “Just don't cut yourself” we'd say, whilst the kids play happily around us not knowing that that joke goes much deeper than that for their Uncle. It is these times when I watch my Hubby waiting until the children are not playing in the pool to slip in and out, ensuring they can't see his scars. The scars run deep, not only for my Husband but for all of us but my family no longer need to worry about me anymore.
