My mother ... and where I fit.

[Our abuse recovery guide]

It's hard to know how to start this, but I'll try.  Forgive me if I ramble, it's so hard to put it together coherently.   So for a long while now, I had thought that maybe my mother had BPD but I wasn't sure.  She was so nice to everyone, the good christian woman out there doing good things for people. If you've ever read 'Oranges are not the only fruit' by Jeanette Winterson, then that was my mother, I guess... .though less cruel ... .nicer in her good times I suppose.

To compound matters, my mother also has an auto immune condition and so this affected her moods and health too.

She would resign from her jobs because she was 'too ill' to continue.  

The irony is that I too have the same auto immune condition now, but it's well treated and I proactively advocate for my own health.  I'm really well.  Reading in the Christine Lawson book recently, it seems having an auto immune disorder is common in children of BP mothers.  I believe that my mother's mother may have also been BPD too, but I didn't experience her swings that often.  My mother's background is a Freudian textbook of bad early starts but I don't know how it all fits together.

During my childhood, my sibling and I were ok, I guess.  For much of it, she was a 'nice mummy'... .

She called me her 'Little Helper'.  She says I was quiet and followed her around.  

For some of it, she wasn't 'nice mummy'.

She was ultra controlling about what I wore.

I remember buying a red skirt with a top when I was about 14.  There was nothing trashy about the choice... .just a nice skirt and top.  They went missing and I found them wound up at the bottom of a bag of clothes she planned to give away.  I got them out and washed them.  

I had a great dress which I loved.  One week it went missing and the next week, I saw it on a girl at church.  I went up to her and said 'I've got a dress just like that' and it was then I saw that there had been a tiny repair on it exactly where my dress had a tiny repair on it... .and I put two and two together.

There were never any explanations.  This girl was probably 'needy'.  We were 'needy' too because we never had money and both my parents were terrible with it.|

I got a job and bought my own school uniform skirt, so that I could have one that was fashionable instead of the one she wanted me in, which was always terrible.  She gave me hell for it.  I washed it myself and never trusted her to wash it for me.  This irritated her immensely and she would be vile to me because I wouldn't put the skirt in the laundry because I knew she wouldn't wash it, or she'd get rid of it.  Luckily I had enough of a stubborn streak to push against her.

Once when I smuggled a new jacket into school so I could wear it and look just a little bit cool with the other kids, she actually rung the school and had the deputy head teacher pull me up in a class.  My vile school coat was presented and I was vilified in the classroom in front of everyone for 'hiding' my vile school coat in a bag.  It was hideous.  The teacher was absolutely vile to me.  I was a good kid... .I didn't deserve it.

My mother did this on purpose presumably because she was so enraged with my actions.  And yet it was just a normal kid thing to do.

There was a moment when I was 5 when I saw my mother 'in a state one day'.

She was with a minister (my family are hyper religious) who was helping 'cast out her demons'.  I ran to help her because she was crying so much, but the minister pushed me away and told me that my mother 'didn't need me'.

The most defining moment of my life was sitting on the stairs with my teddy bear, and realising that I was on my own completely and the people around me had no clue how to be parents or how to look after me.  

The memories of the bad bits are vague and fluffy.  I remember watching my mother rage at my older sister for something.  She then slapped my sisters face, in front of my sisters friends... .

She slapped me across the face when I was a teenager because I wasn't doing the vacuuming hard enough.  I was in terrible pain from period cramps and she hit me because my performance wasn't good enough.  

One of the most memorable ones that sticks in my mind is that whilst my parents were at church, I cleaned the kitchen.  I was probably about 12.  Because my mother was always ill, we did 'nice things' to make her feel better.

I absolutely gutted the kitchen and put everything away.  Everything was shiny, the kettle descaled, dishwasher loaded and emptied, the taps shiny, the surfaces clean and beautiful.

Eagerly awaiting her return, she got back.  She accused me of trying to undermine her role in the household, that my intentions were evil and that I did it on purpose to make her look bad.  I was crying, my father was absolutely helpless to intervene but tried his best to reason with her.  

She was screaming and screaming, I used every swear word I could at her and ran.  I locked myself in the bathroom for four hours.  My dad pleaded with me to come out but I didn't trust her to not hurt me.

I can't remember how these things resolved but generally she would act like nothing had happened later and we were back to 'nice mummy' again.

My mother was in hospital having a hysterectomy (untreated auto immune condition) and my father planned a nice meal which he was cooking.  When she got back from hospital, because the kitchen was in such a mess, she went insane, screaming, crying.  He was useless, we were all useless.

My sister and I were expected to make a big deal out of their wedding anniversary.  There were numerous years where we cooked my parents a full three course meal and if it wasn't celebrated properly, we were in the dog house.  What sort of child does this?  

When I was little, I bought my mother lipstick and nail varnish for mother's day.  I wanted her to look pretty.  My dad and I went to the store and we bought some for her, but we picked the wrong shade.   It invoked nastiness and more crying.  We always got it wrong.  Nothing we ever did was good enough.  How on earth is a 6 yr old meant to know what colour lipstick to get her mother?   :'(

She would never give us a lift anywhere in the car.  We had to manage everything alone.  My sister did work experience for school at a nearby town.  Instead of being given a lift, which is what most normal parents would do, she would expect my 15 yr old sister to get a bus for 40 mins to a local train station, then get a train... .all in all an hour and a half journey, just to avoid the 25 min drive.

She would point out how fat and ugly she was, but then she'd pat me on my tummy and say in a certain voice 'Oooh, you're getting a right little pot there aren't you?'  

In her insulting moments, she'd say 'You're just like your father.' and I would think 'Thank God for that.'

'You're just a dummy like me.  I was always thick at maths too.' - I wasn't thick at maths, I just had a lousy teacher.

'If you look in the mirror, you'll see the devil and he'll come and take you.' - this left me with nightmares for years.

There are so many other things, but I just can't name them.  Sometimes she was a normal loving mother, other times she was a b___ who would pull the carpet from under me and enjoy doing it.

[ElvisLives]

It's hard to know how to start this, but I'll try.  Forgive me if I ramble, it's so hard to put it together coherently.   So for a long while now, I had thought that maybe my mother had BPD but I wasn't sure.  She was so nice to everyone, the good christian woman out there doing good things for people. If you've ever read 'Oranges are not the only fruit' by Jeanette Winterson, then that was my mother, I guess... .though less cruel ... .nicer in her good times I suppose.

To compound matters, my mother also has an auto immune condition and so this affected her moods and health too.

She would resign from her jobs because she was 'too ill' to continue.  

The irony is that I too have the same auto immune condition now, but it's well treated and I proactively advocate for my own health.  I'm really well.  Reading in the Christine Lawson book recently, it seems having an auto immune disorder is common in children of BP mothers.  I believe that my mother's mother may have also been BPD too, but I didn't experience her swings that often.  My mother's background is a Freudian textbook of bad early starts but I don't know how it all fits together.

During my childhood, my sibling and I were ok, I guess.  For much of it, she was a 'nice mummy'... .

She called me her 'Little Helper'.  She says I was quiet and followed her around.  

For some of it, she wasn't 'nice mummy'.

She was ultra controlling about what I wore.

I remember buying a red skirt with a top when I was about 14.  There was nothing trashy about the choice... .just a nice skirt and top.  They went missing and I found them wound up at the bottom of a bag of clothes she planned to give away.  I got them out and washed them.  

I had a great dress which I loved.  One week it went missing and the next week, I saw it on a girl at church.  I went up to her and said 'I've got a dress just like that' and it was then I saw that there had been a tiny repair on it exactly where my dress had a tiny repair on it... .and I put two and two together.

There were never any explanations.  This girl was probably 'needy'.  We were 'needy' too because we never had money and both my parents were terrible with it.|

I got a job and bought my own school uniform skirt, so that I could have one that was fashionable instead of the one she wanted me in, which was always terrible.  She gave me hell for it.  I washed it myself and never trusted her to wash it for me.  This irritated her immensely and she would be vile to me because I wouldn't put the skirt in the laundry because I knew she wouldn't wash it, or she'd get rid of it.  Luckily I had enough of a stubborn streak to push against her.

Once when I smuggled a new jacket into school so I could wear it and look just a little bit cool with the other kids, she actually rung the school and had the deputy head teacher pull me up in a class.  My vile school coat was presented and I was vilified in the classroom in front of everyone for 'hiding' my vile school coat in a bag.  It was hideous.  The teacher was absolutely vile to me.  I was a good kid... .I didn't deserve it.

My mother did this on purpose presumably because she was so enraged with my actions.  And yet it was just a normal kid thing to do.

There was a moment when I was 5 when I saw my mother 'in a state one day'.

She was with a minister (my family are hyper religious) who was helping 'cast out her demons'.  I ran to help her because she was crying so much, but the minister pushed me away and told me that my mother 'didn't need me'.

The most defining moment of my life was sitting on the stairs with my teddy bear, and realising that I was on my own completely and the people around me had no clue how to be parents or how to look after me.  

The memories of the bad bits are vague and fluffy.  I remember watching my mother rage at my older sister for something.  She then slapped my sisters face, in front of my sisters friends... .

She slapped me across the face when I was a teenager because I wasn't doing the vacuuming hard enough.  I was in terrible pain from period cramps and she hit me because my performance wasn't good enough.  

One of the most memorable ones that sticks in my mind is that whilst my parents were at church, I cleaned the kitchen.  I was probably about 12.  Because my mother was always ill, we did 'nice things' to make her feel better.

I absolutely gutted the kitchen and put everything away.  Everything was shiny, the kettle descaled, dishwasher loaded and emptied, the taps shiny, the surfaces clean and beautiful.

Eagerly awaiting her return, she got back.  She accused me of trying to undermine her role in the household, that my intentions were evil and that I did it on purpose to make her look bad.  I was crying, my father was absolutely helpless to intervene but tried his best to reason with her.  

She was screaming and screaming, I used every swear word I could at her and ran.  I locked myself in the bathroom for four hours.  My dad pleaded with me to come out but I didn't trust her to not hurt me.

I can't remember how these things resolved but generally she would act like nothing had happened later and we were back to 'nice mummy' again.

My mother was in hospital having a hysterectomy (untreated auto immune condition) and my father planned a nice meal which he was cooking.  When she got back from hospital, because the kitchen was in such a mess, she went insane, screaming, crying.  He was useless, we were all useless.

My sister and I were expected to make a big deal out of their wedding anniversary.  There were numerous years where we cooked my parents a full three course meal and if it wasn't celebrated properly, we were in the dog house.  What sort of child does this?  

When I was little, I bought my mother lipstick and nail varnish for mother's day.  I wanted her to look pretty.  My dad and I went to the store and we bought some for her, but we picked the wrong shade.   It invoked nastiness and more crying.  We always got it wrong.  Nothing we ever did was good enough.  How on earth is a 6 yr old meant to know what colour lipstick to get her mother?   :'(

She would never give us a lift anywhere in the car.  We had to manage everything alone.  My sister did work experience for school at a nearby town.  Instead of being given a lift, which is what most normal parents would do, she would expect my 15 yr old sister to get a bus for 40 mins to a local train station, then get a train... .all in all an hour and a half journey, just to avoid the 25 min drive.

She would point out how fat and ugly she was, but then she'd pat me on my tummy and say in a certain voice 'Oooh, you're getting a right little pot there aren't you?'  

In her insulting moments, she'd say 'You're just like your father.' and I would think 'Thank God for that.'

'You're just a dummy like me.  I was always thick at maths too.' - I wasn't thick at maths, I just had a lousy teacher.

'If you look in the mirror, you'll see the devil and he'll come and take you.' - this left me with nightmares for years.

There are so many other things, but I just can't name them.  Sometimes she was a normal loving mother, other times she was a b___ who would pull the carpet from under me and enjoy doing it.

[ElvisLives]

My mother is an active member of the church, but she's also a master game player.  Some people have told me over the years of the horrible things my mother did to them.  She once had another lady removed from looking after the children and babies in sunday school because of some stupid reason.  I can't recall what it even was, but she wielded her power when and as she liked by manipulating everyone.

She's just an incredible manipulator.  

Some people cotton on to her, but then they're removed by her.  Yet she maintains this charitable appearance, doing good things for people, inviting the sick and elderly to her home on Christmas day (And one of these old ladies just paid her mortgage off for her - apparently God's work and not my mother manipulating her into it for months.  It was about $15,000 as a 'gift' because this lady wanted to thank her for her kindness.  Cynical?  Me?), doing lovely things for other people.  Always other people.


I had no privacy.  I know she searched my room and read my diary.  She would open and read the mail I was sending off.   She opened a piece of art work in an envelope that I wanted to send to a tv programme for kid's art... .and she said it would never get on there because it wasn't good enough.  She would read everything I had, some of it I would be in trouble for.

She was jealous of my singing voice and would sing in a soprano voice loudly at church which sounded terrible but she didn't care.  She was delicate.  She was ill.  She needed help.  My aunts were all against her.  They were weird.  They were aggressive.  She had done no wrong.

And then there were other things... so many other things... but we were all used to it.  She wasn't always bad.  Much of the time she was really quite nice and seemingly normal.

And then sometimes she wasn't.

She never prepared me for life.  I had no idea what was happening when I started to menstruate and I didn't tell her for months.  I just dealt with it myself.   I was 13.


I fit in with the 'All Good' child in many ways, but also the 'All bad' child... .did she swap me and my sister in those roles?

To escape I worked jobs, saved money and escaped to another country for a year when I was 18.  It was a relief to leave.  

After I left I never returned to my home town.  I distanced myself from my mother.

As an adult, I had a bad first marriage but had kids with him.  I suspect he has a sociopathic thing going on.  I married my dad, what can I say?  

On my wedding morning my mother came to me and said that she needed to have a 'chat' with me about what was going to happen that night.  I stopped her there and then.   Talking to a 25 year old about sex... .barn door, shut, horses bolted.

During my marriage difficulties, my mother would side with my husband against me and support him.

When we split, they were the closest of buddies.  He would tell her how I was lying about what was going on in our marriage break up, she told that I'd always been 'cold' and 'withdrawn', the very opposite of how I was.  

They visited me at a particularly bad time and she used my computer to send emails and left them open so I read them.  She sent back word to her church that I was the one who needed praying for because it was clear I was causing all the problems.  

She painted a totally inaccurate image of what was happening and told a load of people who had no right to know.  She's never had any boundaries for privacy.

When I cracked and told my father about my marriage, she came to me in my bedroom and sat next to me.    She told me in a haughty, school marmish kind of way that she knew exactly how I felt because my father had also done the same to her, that I'd get over it, then she patted me on the knee and left.  The fact that my skin was crawling whilst she sat next to me in my personal space still sticks in my mind.  

My mother totally backed my husband through our divorce.

When I started going out with someone new, she rung me and said 'I hear you're having an affair' berated me over the phone for being a slut.  I put the phone down on her.   Yuk yuk yuk.

Now she thinks my new husband is fab and her best friend.  Yuk.  He of course is very aware of what she's like and the games she plays.

Last time she visited (we live in different countries to each other) she visited my ex husband and got huffy and offended that I was annoyed by this.  After all the disgusting lies he told about me and she won't ever back me up.  She's not on my side.

My new husband has said if she wants to play catch up with him, then she's not welcome here and he will keep his word.

If my mother isn't centre of attention, then we are all in trouble.  If things are not done her way, we are all in trouble.

She's once again invited herself over to this country from hers.  We are moving soon and she wants to help us move.  That will not be allowed to happen because it's fraught with danger.

She wants to see where we're going to live and is so happy for us but what she really wants is to have another free holiday.

So here we are.  I don't love my mother.  My sister and I have said that we will be happy once she is dead, such is the love for her there.

I find myself in my 40's and reading Christine Lawson's book about the BPD mother just totally shook me.  I read it after finding it online and whilst I'd only sort of briefly looked at the idea before, I find myself now on another path to try to understand more about me.

Every page was shocking to me, that there was a reason why I clam up and totally ignore her, like she's not even in the room (usually after a few hours of her being in my house).  It makes so much sense now I look at how I became the counsellor to my mother.

She enrages me so much because she won't look after her health, yet 'makes' me spend hours explaining things to her and suggesting things.  I knew that I could not cope with seeing her again without snapping and so started to do some research and here we are.  Lawson's book says that not looking after health is in with 'risky behaviours'.  I will no longer be 'helping' her with her health or having those discussions because she won't take any notice of anything I tell her and will carry on being ill.  Of course, I am accused of being 'aggressive' because I am frustrated.

All those times she threatened to kill herself whilst I was having conversations with her.  Eventually I snapped and told her to get on with it so we could all have a life and she said 'Oh!  I didn't mean it!' in a surprised and jolly voice.

Those times she asked why we had such a bad relationship, yet can't remember being abusive.  'IF that happened, IF it did, then I'm sorry' delivered in a haughty voice of non acceptance.

Of course, you doubt yourself.  You doubt whether you remember properly.  

She hated my middle born child.  Just hated her, as a baby, because the baby was picking up on my mother's situation and baby didn't feel safe.  Middle child only wanted me and boy, did that cause issues.

The time we flew into her country and she accused us of taking my first born away from her, just because we wanted to go home and recover from jetlag.  


There's so much.  So much.


Reading Lawson's book made me cry a lot and I guess I am in the first step of healing myself.  I've had counselling before after my parents issues caused me so much stress but they never suggested this so I never looked at it.  I feel like a rational, balanced and logical person but I am afraid of failure.  I procrastinate a lot.  I spent the first 20 years of my life making silly stories up to embellish my life to a more interesting one, maybe living in a fantasy world which was better than the reality.  In my 30's I was still doing it some but I've stopped now.  I've grown up and I know I am safe with my beautiful husband and great kids.

I know there is much to do and stuff to work out, but I am glad to find out that it isn't me, that I am not a b___ for shutting down on her, that these things she did have a name and that she truly may not remember doing any of them.  


The past few days I guess I have been mourning the little me.  I feel so sad that the lovely warm, sweet kid I was got so lost along the way.  I was little girl who never deserved any of it.  I spent much of my childhood ill.  It all makes sense, the pieces fit.

I miss me.  I want to find the little me and help her and tell her that it's ok and that she's a good person and a nice person.

And true to form, I gave my kids the childhood that I wished I'd had.  They always had a safe and secure, loving environment and lots of fun.  And I ended the cycle.

Thanks for listening.

[gentlestguardian]

Hi ElvisLives,

Just wanted to give you a warm welcome! I am in awe that you were able to get so much of your story out in one go. BPD mothers turn us into people we can't stand, people that just aren't the real us. Yes part of it is shame as all the literature suggests, but I think it goes so far beyond shame to finally realize one day that you've spent the last X amount of years living in a body that was yours but not with a heart or mind that's yours. I imagine it feels like coming out of a really long coma and suddenly understanding how much of your own life you missed. All you can do with that realization is start to mourn your lost self and begin the healing process, which I think is where a lot of the members of this site are, including myself. Welcome!

[claudiaduffy]

Hi, ElvisLives,



You have come to the right place to find people who know what this craziness feels like. I hope you can keep talking and processing here, and that you can find a counselor in your area who is familiar with BPD and can help you face to face as you restructure and take back ownership of your own mind and heart and history.

I also want to say, as a Christian, that your mother's church friends and clergy spiritually abused you and your family. Religion should never be used to justify, smooth over, or facilitate abuse. Ever. Those practices are every bit as evil as other abuse. I am so sorry this was done to you.

[Harri]

Hi Elvis, and welcome!  You will find many of us here who will be able to relate to your experiences so while I am sorry for your need to be here, I am glad you found us.  Your posts painted a clear picture of your childhood and several parts brought me back in time to my own.  Your story is heartbreaking yet full of hope and your determined spirit shines right through.  You mention at the end of your story that you want to find your Little Elvis and I have a feeling you are pretty close to doing it.   

The past few days I guess I have been mourning the little me.  I feel so sad that the lovely warm, sweet kid I was got so lost along the way.  I was little girl who never deserved any of it.  I spent much of my childhood ill.  It all makes sense, the pieces fit.

I miss me.  I want to find the little me and help her and tell her that it's ok and that she's a good person and a nice person.

You know what she needs to hear.  She was incredibly brave and strong when she needed to be but perhaps now she can relax and  the two of you can get to know each other.    

I was a good kid... .I didn't deserve it.

You are right, you did not deserve any of it, not one bit. 

There are so many specifics to you story that I can relate to; being controlled and punished for clothing choices and daring to express our individuality in other ways, humiliation and ridicule designed to keep us down when all we did was try to do something nice.  And casting out the demons!  I saw some of that too, but I was not as young.  It would be terribly frightening and I would think traumatizing for a young child to witness such a thing only to be told 'your mother does not need you'.  My mother was always religious and would often tell me I was born "special" but she would use that as a means of trying to shame and humiliate me after I misbehaved in some way.  Later on, she was born again and that led to early morning ambushes where she and a friend would be lying in wait for me to wake up in the morning where they would pray over me to cast out the demons my mother was sure were in me.  Okay, sorry, I went off on me a bit there.  The topic of religion as a weapon has been on my mind and I have been thinking of starting a post on that to get it out of my system so I will save the rest of my rant for that!   

Clarity will come Elvis.  Keep reading and posting.  I am glad to have you here with us.

[ElvisLives]

Thanks for hearing me. 

Gentlestguardian, isn't that the absolute truth.  I've always felt I did not fit in with other people.  My parents complain they do not know me.  I'm so blessed I have tried to work hard on myself over the years and this is just such a huge piece of the jigsaw.  It all makes so much sense.  Whilst it's confronting to know the truth, it's also a relief. 

claudiaduffy thanks for what you say about religion.  There was a lot of other religious stuff in my childhood.  If I had a cold or any illness, I was prayed over and had my demons cast out.     

I've turned into quiet the agnostic now.  Not surprising really.

Harri Thanks for your welcome too.  I'm sorry what I wrote reminded you of your own.   I suppose through recognition and acceptance comes healing.  I need to get there.  I was always determined.  I lost my spark in my marriage, but I have it mostly back.

I am going to have a chat to the little me today.  I am bought to tears every time I think of her/me and I know I have some serious work to do.

I spent my life locating temporary mothers.  I have had some wonderful ladies in my life who recognized something and generously gave it to me.  Now I think I am my own parent in many ways.  So important to self love.   

No, your experience with religion is important to mention and I really look forward to joining you on that post.

I sent the book I read to my sister.  She doesn't speak to me since I told her to stop treating me badly - called me mentally ill (because my ex husband said it so she was aiming for maximum maiming) and said she never wanted to talk to me again.  All very dramatic and then recently has been emailing me like nothing happened.  I don't care if she doesn't read it, but she has it. 

Thanks so much for understanding me.  I am so relieved to find you all and looking forward to finding the little me too. 

[Harri]

Hi again Elvis.  I agree that recognition and acceptance lead to healing.  I also think connection is important.  I was talking about needing to feel connected with a friend recently.  No matter how tenuous that connection may be, it helps me to see and hear another and I don't feel so alone.  History does not need to be a trap; it can help us learn to bond and form connections with others in healthy ways.

I'm not sure if you already found it, but there was a recent thread started by Gentlestguardian on talking to our inner child.  There is a lot of good info in there.  

Again, welcome Elvis!  

[ElvisLives]

Thanks and I have read that thread.   

[goingtostopthis]

         I remember a clothing problem too. My mother and sister would gang up on me and say the classic:  Are you wearing that?   My mother wanted me to dress like a preppy with the sweaters that have the aligators on them.

                                       They went though this phase just in the last 5 years where they sent me care packages full of nothing but cloths they picked out for me to wear.  Id say 85 % of the clothing in my closet is from them. Im in my early 50's now.  Does his end?   I have my own style and my mother knows this but she doesnt care. Ive often dreamed about how cool it would be to receive about about 2,000 dollars solely for the purpose of going cloth shopping by myself, to start all over and only have what I love.  I think Id be like Cindy Lopper.  I look like Im in my 30's so I could pull it off easy.

But what does age matter, what you love is what you love.  I love gypsy skirts and nice well fitting leather lace up above the  ankle leather boots.  I all ready have a few pair, but I want more. This is one thing that Im going to concentrate on as I get myself together, since my move. If you know my story, you'll know what I mean.

                                         I just think it's so important to do things for ourselves that make us feel good and help us heal.  I really wish right now I could get away from this side of my family right now and take off with a motorcycle gang

just for awhile. Ive never try this!  Who knows, At this point after dealing with the dysfunction going on with my mother and sister,  if the chance arrives, some guy on a bike says :"Hey! you want a ride!"  My answer is YES!

                                          I think we all need to find ways to protect ourselves from the craziness. Weve got to. Im learning now that it is so important that I establish for myself a safe place.  It's the room Im living in now. I lock the door even when I know they arent coming around. I just lock it and it feels good.

                                                 I have been through so much stress in the past 2 months and then to move here to help them and deal with the luniness I have witnessed, adding even more stress to my thres hold.    How much more can I take? When you are around people full of anxiety ,they do their darnest to make you that way too. A person can only be pushed, and pushed, and pushed for so long.   Being on the defensive all the time is exhausting and so bad for your health.   

Im alone here now and no one understands just how tired I am.  My mother has all ways been so busy denieghing my feelings to me all my life and if not that dis validating my reality.   Mom my right arm just got cut off!  Oh thats nice dear,   let me get you a band aid.  ahhh ok... .  that should take care of it.  the only person who really knows just how tired I am,  is me.   and its serious tired, not just time to go to bed tired.  And the only person who can attend to me right is me.  Its hard to center yourself being around dysfunction like this.  All I know is that you just have too find a safe place to take care of yourself even if its a big card board box.       

[ElvisLives]

I hear you goingtostopthis.

Yes, I was never allowed to wear a black dress.  First thing I did was go out and buy a black dress.  Now I have loads of black dresses! :D 

I look good in black.  And I wear what I want to.

My mother will still burst out laughing at some of the things I will choose to wear.  I put a peaked cap on, she'll laugh.  She sends me shirts that I would never touch with a bargepole.  I put them in a charity bag like she did with so many of my clothes and I give them away.

You have to distance yourself from the craziness.  I don't think you have to accept it.

I like you being Cindi Lauper.  Are you going for orange hair and leopard print, or her blonde phase?  I personally fancy the blonde phase.  :D

I understand how tired you are.   I feel it.  The weight of their issues is heavy, but you don't have to carry it alone.

Hugs to you goingtostopthis.