How did you survive?

[aubin]

In a recent session with my T, I realized that many people helped me survive my childhood with my uBPD mother. My 4th grade teacher, who was the first to encourage me to write in a journal. The young college student who gave me weekly music lessons. My friends' parents, who invited me over for dinner often and sleepovers occasionally. A psych ward doctor who realized that I did *not* belong there, despite my mother's insistence. And still others.

When I was a child living in my mother's scary paranoid world, I felt utterly alone. But now looking back I see that there were a few kind souls whose small acts of kindness were probably crucial to helping me through those dark times. Recognizing these people and sending them a silent "thanks" is my therapeutic exercise today.

[Harri]

Hi aubin.  I think this is a wonderful topic!

Books played a big role in my survival.  Coupled with my imagination, I was able to escape for hours at a time.  The stories let me know there were alternatives.  I still love everything about books now even how they feel in my hands, the smell, turning the pages.  My kindle app is good, but no where near as comforting as a real book to hold and get lost in. 

I had a couple of people serve as a safe haven.  One was a neighbor who seemed to magically appear at the door during a few of the worst wars in the house.  Mrs, L... .a brave neighbor who would knock on the door and come over for a visit.  I can remember the relief her presence brought.  I also had a third grade teacher who helped me to feel good about myself, Mrs. S.  That was back in the day when teachers were allowed to hug!  Her kind words and gentle touch brought such comfort. 

[Woolspinner2000]

Hi Aubin,

I agree that this is a great topic! When I first began my own T, I also realized that there were many people who helped me to survive. Initially, when I was very young, it was my love of books and reading that allowed me to live a life away from the trauma I lived in. I always imagined being rescued by someone.

As I went into jr high and high school, it's pretty funny to look back and realize that most of my friends lived in a huge house-they were foster kids! I didn't know at that point that I was being raised in a dysfunctional family of origin, and here I was able to be part of a bigger family of children who had their own struggles to deal with. No wonder we all got along so well. Their foster parents were wonderful surrogate parents to me, so accepting and providing the love I was starving for.

Good for you that you are in therapy! It's a life saver, isn't it?

Woolspinner

[Gone2Long]

Very good subject... .and one DOES look back and wonder how they made it through!  Growing up there were those who were kind to me, who showed me love and let me know I was "OK".  I never saw an understanding of how my mother could be to her immediate family or any acknowledgement of hurt I might be experiencing.  Only a few people questioned her way of child raising, being a partner and if they ended up not being able to meet her emotional needs for attention and her own desire for "validation", they were cut out of her life (and my father's and mine by extension).  I think, perhaps, a lot of children with a BPD parent or those growing up in a circus of disordered behavior in adults may lead a very lonely and isolated existence.  My imagination was a huge saving grace as well but the imaginary world sometimes because too difficult to leave and I became a decidedly strange child.  No wonder people showered sympathy on my poor mother, having such a weird kid... .never knowing my inner world was a place I needed to be to get through the harder times and it became easier to be there in my mind than to process the coldness, anger and feelings of being unwanted at home. 

[Angi]

Hi Aubin,

I am glad you opened this topic. I was thinking about asking something like: “What helped you not to become like them?” myself.

It seems as if it is most important to have other people around you that make you notice that your parent´s behaviour is not normal and there are people in this world who like you and are nice to you. I remember wishing I had a mother like my friend I used to play with as a child.

My problem was that I tended to distrust other people as well. I thought, somehow they don´t know me properly, if they believe I am worth being nice to. It has taken years and years of learning and therapy, until I noticed and started to understand what this relationship to my mum has done to me and I am still trying to learn new ways of coping. Today I have a lot of nice helpful people in my surroundings and I have learned to talk about my problems and to ask for help. It took ages, but now I am a bit proud that I managed to get so far. I didn´t have many chances as a child. I used to (have to) spend a lot of time alone with my uBPDmum when I was very little, because we had just moved and we were far away from other family members or friends.

[Ziggiddy]

Just recently I was wondering how my brother was so switched on to the abnormality of our household while I lived in the blissful blue illusion that life was golden. He was quiet and reserved and often very very unhappy whilst I was the opposite. He seemed to find solace in a myriad of pets - from tropical fish to guinea pigs, mice dogs etc.

Like another poster said there were always books. And occasionally a 'normal' person to grace our lives and surprise me with not getting into trouble for oh I don't know -EVERYTHING.

But the most accessible thing I used for escapism and survival was daydreams. From floating away on a cloud to being a captain on a Spanish galleon. From daydreams where my friends forgave me for my mistakes boys fancied me, enemies were vanquished by some magical intercessary power, girls admired me and wanted to be like me. i would have fantastical white silk dresses and diamond shoes and drive a chariot and be surrounded by fireflies and pretty coloured lights. Anything to not notice how much i cried myself to sleep at night because I was so ashamed of not being good enough.

[Attie]

Funnily enough today I have no idea how I survived.

If I read through my diaries, they're full of "I did this and that" today and no mention of the abuse.

I thought it was normal.

I thought every other child grows up with the amount of screaming, fighting that I did. And I thought getting slapped in the face when you do something wrong is appropriate as well.

As a child I didn't think of it as abuse.

It's only when I grew older that I knew something was wrong.

I tried to talk to 2 teachers, they both went to my mother and talked to her. Obviously they walked out of the conversation thinking I was an attention seeker, or worse a liar.

I mostly had books, I would read from morning to evening, sometimes several books a day. I guess that helped.

And then later on having a father who validated my experience.

[Indie]

I made my own little world, in school.  Loved school!  Loved being good and smart for my teachers.   If I was really sick, even with a high fever, I tried to pretend I was well so I did not have to stay home.  My BPD mother realized this.  In one of her anger tantrums, likely because I did not conform to her expectations about some minor thing, she screamed that my teachers THOUGHT I was so great, but she would let them know that I was NOT the good child they thought I was.   But still, I loved school and that got me through some things until we moved in high school.

The next thing that got me through was a boyfriend in high school, to whom I have now been married for 40 years!  A couple of therapists have helped, along with anti-depressant medications.   I do think there have been times that complete and utter denial got me through and also disassociating (not sure this is the correct term - completely losing memory of incidents).

Have been struggling lately and found this site.  Really grateful to connect.

[isilme]

Books and TV.  I was very alone and isolated with 2 BPD parents, and we lived far away from others family, and I had no siblings.  So I was left to my own devices when not wanted around (often).  I was discouraged from sharing anything about my homelife with anyone - no friends allowed, no teachers or counselors could be trusted (my mom told me to lie to them if they saw the bruises, so CPS wouldn't take me away from my 'loving' home).  I was very close to the family cat, and frankly, he was the one constant from ages 2 to 14, when he passed and I was devastated.    

School was a nightmare, usually, and I went to 9 of them.  I was supposed to be in gifted programs but my mom wouldn't put me in them, so I was bored, and frankly in trouble a lot for not doing my work, but weird to the kids because I aced all the tests and sounded too smart and was unable to connect with my peers, making me a prime target for mockery.  I learned to not cry, and to be self-deprecating to beat them to the insults in an attempt to be funny, and therefore someone they'd want for a friend (rarely worked).

I spent a lot of time pretending to be the daughter of my current TV hero (strangely, I'd latch on to a father figure, but never felt a need for a mother figure as a child).  I guess it helped somehow that my morals and convictions come from Dr. Sam Beckett on Quantum Leap, or Jean-Luc Picard.  To keep from bursting out in tears, ever, in front if anyone at home or school, and so pretended I was an android like Data, as lame as that sounds.  Being a robot, I managed to disassociate from my emotions of events, even though the factual recall is there, until a few years ago, the emotions were not - it's like things happened to someone else.  Ghostbuster and cartoons with giant robots made up of metal lions, and lots of time talking to myself is how my childhood was formed.  

Books - I was Sara Crew, friend to Merlin and young Arthur in Mary's Stewart's Crystal Cave books, followed the Wakefield twins to high school, ran from alien tripods to the White Mountains, helped Nancy Drew, discovered Stephen King (bleh) and Dean Koontz (better) and later Asimov, Heinlein, Bradbury and more.  

Basically, the real world hurt too much, so I shut it off, and hid the best way I could.  I could function as a responsible adult for the most part, simply because I'd been taking care of myself much of my life as a kid, but emotionally and socially I was very stunted.  It took me getting away from one parent in their divorce at 15, and the other who kicked me out at 19 to actually find who I am.  I am 37 now, and still finding there is so much I have trouble with when trying to do simple things, like simply ask a friend for help - it's a huge barrier to still overcome.

[aubin]

So many creative ways to make it through... .In addition to the few adults in my life who noticed the horror in my home, I too lost myself in books, pretend play, and school. Anything to escape what was happening at home.

I do think there have been times that complete and utter denial got me through and also disassociating (not sure this is the correct term - completely losing memory of incidents).

Indie, denial and dissociation as survival strategies are one of the main issues I am grappling with right now. I spent my entire childhood in denial of what was happening around me (despite the tiny little voice inside that tried to validate the craziness) and I still have a hard time really appreciating how this denial was crucial to my survival. Instead, I berate myself for not fighting back, talking back, running away, etc. Thank you for reminding me that these defense mechanisms did indeed serve a purpose!

[pink_heart44]

This was a great post. Honestly, I survived the same way you and many others have said. There where people throughout my life who made it a little easier to deal with all the turbulence at home.

There where teachers and close friends that I had who where able to help me see that I was not the things my mother had made me believe about myself. (ie that was stupid and couldn't do anything right.)

But even one that I am 24 and newly married I still find it hard to do things on my own. Now don't get me wrong I can take care of a home and others just fine (someone had to take care of my mother and brother) but as far as being an Independent adult, well I'm finding that I still have a ways to progress in that area.

[Indie]

aubin, I too have had many thoughts (fantasies?) of blasting her out of the water with my truth, or simply disappearing (never to be heard from again), to accomplish what I think would be the end of my own suffering.    I am seeing some light that none of that will matter to someone like my mother.  It would be another validation to her and her minions (Queen) that I am a bad bad daughter.  More fuel for her.  I swear, she is an energy vampire that way, feasting on drama and manipulation.

Don't berate yourself.  Healing myself, with help here and elsewhere there are caring knowledgeable people dealing with this, is going to be the answer.  I am so glad something I wrote was helpful to you.  These are the things that make up healing, for me. 

[isshebpd]

Up until my mid-teens, I sometimes ended up at my maternal Grandmother's apartment during weekends. They were nice breaks. We played a lot of card games, which later became handy for socializing in university. She had a tough life after raising several younger siblings when their mother wasn't able to immigrate with them until years later (I forget why). When I seemed upset about something, she'd say "count your blessing"  

Although I had adults who were much more functional than my uBPDmom, I didn't have anyone to talk to about my problems. Sadly, a few other adults confirmed my dark view of the world. I didn't trust adults for the most part.

What I did have was a love of reading, playing music, soccer, and a few odd intellectual obsessions. When it came to certain subject matters, I felt way ahead of many of my friends. It was like I was advancing faster than them in certain ways.

But at the same time, I was dealing with my constant insecurity and unhappiness by drinking, smoking weed and hanging around with other teens in those circles. They weren't exactly talking about their inner feelings, but were much easier to be around than my crazy mom.

I just kept my anger, confusion and sadness bottled up until I could finally move out.