What was your first inkling that something was off with BPD family member?

[Our abuse recovery guide]

I was in my junior year of high school. I was crazy about my mom.  She was the good guy and when my very angry father was at work she would fix dinners that we loved but he didn't like. She managed to appear to be the nice one up until then. One day a really popular cute guy (who I ended up marrying) asked me out.  I was so happy that I used a payphone at school to call and tell my mom.  She totally ignored my news and screamed into the phone that I had taken her comb to school.  ?   I was shocked by her rage.  That has been forty years ago and I still remember that moment.  It would be years before I fully understood and sometimes I still don't understand, but that was the moment a light went on for me.

[nevermore]

I was in my junior year of high school. I was crazy about my mom.  She was the good guy and when my very angry father was at work she would fix dinners that we loved but he didn't like. She managed to appear to be the nice one up until then. One day a really popular cute guy (who I ended up marrying) asked me out.  I was so happy that I used a payphone at school to call and tell my mom.  She totally ignored my news and screamed into the phone that I had taken her comb to school.  ?   I was shocked by her rage.  That has been forty years ago and I still remember that moment.  It would be years before I fully understood and sometimes I still don't understand, but that was the moment a light went on for me.

[Sasha026]

They seem to come out of the closet when you really need them or want to share some good news with them. Obviously, your mother saw this young guy as a threat and a future form of abandonment. This is why she reacted the way she did. I wonder if she would have reacted the way she did if you had some other good news, such as a great grade on a test or a school award.

When did my mother come out of the closet wearing her witch suit? Well... .I always knew my mother was different than other mothers, but in the 50's and 60's, most of my friends mothers were a bit strange. In comparison to them, my mother looked young and stylish. She was the only working mother in a man's world - most mothers were "typical housewives". That was my mother's usual description of other women... .typical housewives. According to her, she wasn't going to be a slave to some man. She always wore high heels and had a good figure. I gave her a lot of leeway back then because I knew she was the breadwinner. I also knew that she was under a lot of pressure to perform (she made sure I was aware of that).

My mother's viciousness clearly came out when she got her real estate license. She didn't need me anymore. She didn't need anyone. She was on her way to stardom... .Uh huh. I was an albatross. An irritating responsibility. She made it clear that if something happened to me, she would be free to attain her goals.

My mother started turning on me in 1960 when I was eight years old. This was the age she was orphaned... .so obviously she thought that I was old enough to be on my own - just like her. This is when she started raging at me. She obviously thought that I should "carry my weight", so along with my schoolwork, I was also responsible for cleaning the house and making her dinner. By 1962, I still wasn't carrying my weight so she sat me down after dinner at her co-worker's house and grilled me - like I was on trial. I remember her cruel eyes as she battered me with questions - trying to trip me up, making me indict myself. Her girlfriend was on one chair and my mother on the other chair. I was isolated on the couch. I don't remember one question, all I could hear was "Roses are Red" by Bobby Vinton playing over and over again on the stereo as they threw one question after another at me. I was hysterically sobbing. Terrified and all alone thinking that if I wasn't a "good girl" she was going to abandon me. Her co-worker started to back off saying, "she's had enough" but my mother paid no attention. She stared at me with this hatred - still hammering me, making me feel like I wanted to die. I was terrified. I promised to do anything she wanted as long as she didn't leave me. This was the pivotal point where she had me where she wanted me.

From that moment on, I knew my mother wanted nothing to do with me. 1962 was a very bad year for me. I was ten years old and knew in my heart that my mother hated the ground I walked on... .this is when the mental, physical and emotional torment started. It was as though she emotionally left me alone on a doorstep. Being all alone in the world is a scary thing for a child. I became prey for pedophiles who watched me during the summer - calling me on the phone as soon as my mother left for work muttering obscenities at me, berated by the nuns because I didn't do all of my homework, I gained a lot of weight because no one was home to make dinner or cared what I looked like, my hair was constantly greasy because no one would wash it and if I did wash - I was screamed at that I was using too much water, I was prepubescent so my sweat glands acted up - I smelled. I was a mess... .and no one cared. I was ten years old and on my own. If I tried to tag along with my mother, she ignored me... .snapping her fingers at me when she was leaving, as one would do to call a dog.

It wasn't easy. Sometimes I wonder if my mother was a BPD (although a few psychiatrists did diagnose it). She never cared if she was alone instead abandoning first. She really hated people - except the ones she could use. She made fun of her sisters and hated other women having no respect for anyone except herself.

[nevermore]

I feel so sad for you. An eight year old is still a baby. My goodness. You paint a vivid word picture and I know your post will help others who can relate. My mother treated my brother as if she hated him, even as a newborn. I was her mini me and she treasured me as if I were a show pony. She didn't love me but I was a good accessory. I had not realized until now that she saw the new boyfriend as a threat. Of course she did. How can we not see what has been in front of us for forty years?  I could never understand why the hissy fit over a comb.  It wasn't about that at all.

What a wonderful place this site is. It is a haven for us to talk about things that others would never understand or believe.  I'm so glad I found this place years ago.  Hugs for the little eight year old who survived to become a very wise woman.

[Sasha026]

Thank you, nevermore.   

I have to say that that moment was one of the worst nights of my life. There was no physical abuse, like some of our posters have faced, but the verbal abuse will ring in my ears until the day I die. It never goes away, no matter what I do. The strange thing was that "Roses are Red" was one of my mother's favorite songs and my mother hated music. She hated everything. There wasn't an ounce of love in that woman. Nothing was sacred, she respected nothing and she loved no one.

I have heard from posters that I never knew or corresponded with who said that my posts have helped them. That they saw themselves in me. If I could help just one person, that would put a smile on my face. No one could help me as a child. My childhood, adolescence and adulthood were painful. Every holiday - ruined. My son's birth - ruined. My wedding - ruined. I can't remember a day that we had a good time and just laughed and relaxed. It was always filled with a subliminal tension.

I have a lot of stories, some sad, some very frightening. I have thought of writing them down - maybe getting them published. Thought about it for a long time. Who knows.

The reason that we cannot see what is in front of our face is that we cannot see through the FOG. We are constantly reacting to a bizarre action. We never get to sit back and think clearly. You knew it was a crazy reaction. She could care less about her comb. What she cared about was losing you. Not because she loved you, but the thought of your growing up meant that she was going to lose control over you.

Sometimes I wonder if the abandonment theory needs a bit of a twist. I know they all complain about being abandoned but I really think it's more about the loss of control over family/husband/wife that drives them nuts. I think they enjoy having people around who have no way to escape (like children or a spouse). I think they rather enjoy watching the reactions, the hurt feelings and the arguments. I also think they need to have power over their children. I don't know, it's just an idea.

[DesertChild]

Around five. I was very self-aware as a child. Which apparently started much younger. (Around 2-3?) before I met her.

She disappeared, a ball fell into the street. My brother tried to get it. I stopped him, looked for my parent. She was not there. I went with him to get the ball together and she found us, yelled at us and then wouldn't stop yelling. I cried to let my brother off because it was my decision. She shook me by the shoulders and wouldn't stop yelling. She wouldn't listen. After yelling and yelling and not letting my brother leave, she put us *both* in the corner for fifteen minutes. Then yelled at us when we couldn't believe what just happened. My Dad argued with her it was the wrong type of punishment and she argued back that he was being a terrible parent. They continued this until my Dad gave up. (Watching a person die in front of you--actually both of them die together. It's kinda sick. Not to be self-congratulatory or anything--'cause I don't think it was the right behavior, but I think I mitigated *some* of her behavior. Her sister and her Mom being alive mitigated the rest. She's truly alone now and probably miserable since my Dad is the only thing left she feels like she can "own".)

But this was on the mild end, 'cause she got worse after I turned seven. I'd given up protecting my brother by that point, but he asked for it again. So I went in knowing that I was going into a bad situation. I became the target to protect him. Being self-aware and dealing with it doesn't make it better though. 'cause I had a ton of cognitive dissonance and memory black outs in trying to deal with it. I literally forgot words because they were associated with a memory. (Journals saved me).

When I failed to become like her, that's when she'd trigger. She often yells and literally can't stop yelling. You can see the wheels turn in her head that she should, but she can't stop. Also yelling seems to be the only way to get her attention. Though, now that I know 100% of her defenses, she often feels vulnerable in front of me since I can bypass all her walls. (I don't though.)

I debate a memoir, but I'm not sure--it might make her worse if I choose to publish it when she's alive, also might not make me that secure in the family I have left.

[BlueCat]

 

My mother isn't good with small children so there was no moment the bad stuff started.

But for many years I did internalize it and think that it was me. The typical stuff, if I didn't do this, she wouldn't have to do that, etc.

So my breakthrough moment was in High School (I think?). I came home one day and my dad rolled his eyes at me and said to watch out because mom was in the kitchen with a beer in her hand.

I really think that was the first time I actually understood that it was her, not me.