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How to communicate after a contentious divorce... Following a contentious divorce and custody battle, there are often high emotion and tensions between the parents. Research shows that constant and chronic conflict between the parents negatively impacts the children. The children sense their parents anxiety in their voice, their body language and their parents behavior. Here are some suggestions from Dean Stacer on how to avoid conflict.
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Author Topic: First step down the aisle to a BPD marriage partner  (Read 349 times)
Cumulus
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Gender: Female
What is your sexual orientation: Straight
Who in your life has "personality" issues: Ex-romantic partner
Relationship status: Divorced
Posts: 414



« on: March 03, 2013, 12:15:35 PM »

This is a story I wrote a while back. It is a true story of my childhood, well as true as an old memory serves. I wrote it for myself, it helps me to write in story form. I decided to post it here after reading a couple different threads over the last few days. Iced wrote an impassioned plea to help the children who are caught in a BPD relationship and unable to help themselves. So many of us know too well what those kind of backgrounds are and this is one memory I have of my own. Many of you will feel I had it pretty easy. And I was fortunate in having wonderful grandparents who provided security to me albeit intermittently as there was several hundred miles in distance between us. And as my father so succinctly put it, "you never had to worry about me sneaking into your room at night".

Today I was reading the post on emotional immaturity and the one thread I identified with most strongly was ex vamp slayer, who said, "lets not be too hard on ourselves... .  Maybe we ought to look at ourselves as emotional little children who were pretending to take care of other emotional little children and we did what we did."  

So here is my story.

One, teeth move left. two, teeth move right. Three, teeth move back. Four, teeth move forward. 1-2-3-4,1-2-3-4, over and over I would count as I slid my teeth back and forth. I was an exasperation to the adults around me. She's going to wear those teeth down to nubs if she doesn't quit, oh she's just doing it for attention, ignore her, probably has worms, worms will make you do that, get her a dose of worm medicine.

It was my eighth year of life and I jus plain liked to count. I'm not sure when the teeth sliding thing started with the counting but it gave a nice rhythm to it all. Numbers made sense. They always came out the same, you could count on numbers. I would count anything, the sidewalk blocks on my way to school, the holes in the ceiling tile over my desk at school, the stairs going up to the mental hospital where my mom was. Mom had been in the mental hospital before but that year it got really bad and she was in for a long time. I can remember it clear as anything. I had some memories before then but they kind of come and go and I'm never sure what order they should be in, but I remember the events of that year, real plain.

Through the years my mom had been diagnosed with a bunch of different labels, major depressive disorder, manic depression, paranoid schizophrenia, acute anxiety. Well, I lived with her and I can tell you what was wrong with her. She just quit growing up. Best as I can figure she left off at about age thirteen.

Now she might have been OK if she married a kind and understanding man. I don't know why life can't work out like that. My dad was a man with a temper. His temper was like a ferocious beast that required regular feeding. It was pretty scary when the beast got hungry.

So when we found out he was going away on a business trip me and my mom and my little sister were pretty happy. We didn't have to worry about the temper for two whole days. That was how it all started. On a good note. But then mom got talking about him having an affair with Izzy Smith. She got herself all worked up about it. She asked me, do you love your father? Well, I don't know if it was a sense of duty or just plain orneriness that made me look her in the eye and say yes. She pulled me by my caller and shut me in my bedroom. Told me I couldn't go to school because if I loved that man I was crazy sick in the head and crazy sick didn't go to school. When the phone rang she left my little sister to hold the door shut, that was my chance to grab my boots before she was able to grab me and push me back in. I used the window and went off to school. When I got home she had calmed somewhat but was still mad at me. She wasn't mad that I went to school, she had forgot about that, she was mad at me for the way I looked. I reminded her of my dad. It was my great misfortune to look like his side of the family. As afternoon turned to evening the best part of dad being away was yet to come. We could sleep in the big bed with mom. Mom spent the evening doing up my sisters hair. She had the most beautiful head of thick curly hair you ever saw. We didn't bother with mine, it was thin and straight as a pin, just like all the women on my dads side of the family. Mom had a big box of valentine chocolates that she and my sister shared. I pretended I didn't want any, anyway. I wasn't allowed to sleep with them in the big bed but mom let me sleep on the floor in her room so I was close.

The next day was lost in being ordinary. We all had to sleep in our own beds that night because dad would be getting home late. The ordinary day ended with a crash. The noise woke me from sleep and I peaked around my door to see what was going on. There was a big pottery ashtray laying smashed against the wall, the coffee table was over turned and my mother was sitting on a corner of the couch, face in hands, sobbing. Dad was leaning over her, yelling, spit flying out of his mouth. I was scared he was going to hurt her. I ran from my room, putting myself between them. I wrapped my arms around my mother and I told her it would be all right, I would look after her. She hugged me, she needed me to look out for her.

I became my mother's mother that night. I took my first step down the aisle to a marriage with a BPD partner that night.

I separated from my xBPDh in 2011, my mom who I continued to emotionally care for throughout her life, passed away in 2012.  I have warm, compassionate and nurturing relationships with my children, grand children, two very special long time friends and a cousin who has always been like a sister to me. I consider myself blessed and joyful. It is hard to see myself as emotionally immature.

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mosaicbird
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Posts: 149


« Reply #1 on: March 03, 2013, 02:17:07 PM »

Wow. Cumulus.   I can feel the pain/confusion/lostness in your story of growing up, and I get an almost dream-like ":)id these things really happen to me?" quality from it, similar to how I feel when I let myself become immersed in memories of my childhood, immersed in it from the POV of that child, who didn't have the understanding and knowledge of why that I have as an adult, if that makes any sense... .  

(I also do the counting/pattern repetition thing as a self-soothing method.)

It seems as though your journey has ended up in a good place? That quote about two emotional little children coming together and playing house really resonates with me, and is, I believe, part of why my current (DID/MPD) partner and I are together.

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waitaminute
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« Reply #2 on: March 03, 2013, 06:03:29 PM »

Cumulus,

Thank you. I like this method of sharing... .  Telling stories. And your story did something my therapist and I haven't been very successful at: answering the question "why do I want to help so much"

My father and mother had their problems stemming in part from infidelity by my father. Generally though, I was lucky. I did things with my dad... .  Bonding father and son things. And my mother did good things for me too. And together my father and mother were pretty civilized. But the few fights I remenber were traumatic, involving shouting, neighbors, police, and even my father's girlfriend and my mother physically fighting. But whether it was a quiet lonely night while we played "guess how many cars will pass the house before daddy comes home" or one of those traumatic fights, so many times, I remember feeling helpless but somehow responsible to ease my mother's pain... .  to be the rescuer, the white knight.

I've not put this together before. But your story makes me wonder.

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maria1
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Posts: 1989


« Reply #3 on: March 04, 2013, 05:00:45 AM »

Cumulus- Your post brought tears to my eyes. I just want to hug you when you were that little kid  

And as my father so succinctly put it, "you never had to worry about me sneaking into your room at night". What a horrible thing to say- think yourself lucky I didn't sexually abuse you?  

The counting thing- I did it with words. Everything people said I would count out the rhythm to where the words ended. Ending on the left or right- right was lucky, left was unlucky. Stairs too, left and right. Maybe it's a way of creating order where there is none, creating our own order, safety.

Anyway, welcome to PI- you're on a good path, inspiring  Doing the right thing (click to insert in post)
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Cumulus
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Gender: Female
What is your sexual orientation: Straight
Who in your life has "personality" issues: Ex-romantic partner
Relationship status: Divorced
Posts: 414



« Reply #4 on: March 04, 2013, 01:33:51 PM »

Thank you for your support, and hugs.  Smiling (click to insert in post) It was really hard for me to post that, made me feel quite vulnerable, even being anonymous. I had sensed in some of your posts mosaic bird, feelings much like I remember. I'm sure there must be many habits we pick up as emotionally abused, (starved) children. Each of us had a counting, word, rhythm habit, I wonder if that is common in all children or more so for us who were looking to create order as maria1 suggested.
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