Where to begin.
Sometime in the last year or two, Zachira suggested I travel more, to put geographic distance between me and my mother, and give myself space to breathe. This summer I took that advice. I just got home yesterday.
It was bliss. All of it. I came home feeling more optimistic, invigorated, energetic and hopeful than I have felt in many years. While away, I did not phone or contact her. She is in assisted living now, so I knew she was cared for, and her needs were being met. Since getting home I hit the ground with my feet running, and easily had the energy to pursue a flurry of tasks, and enjoy doing them.

Until.
This afternoon I went to visit her. I brought gifts. Some she liked. Some she didn't. It didn't matter because I was in a "good place" and could stick handle her. The visit went well in the beginning. I stayed too long - because it was going so well!
I had actually stood up to go straighten a picture on the wall as a transition to get ready to say I had to leave, and she sensed this and got into her task making, demanding, complaining, negative, accusing, and "life isn't worth living - I'm just here to die mode" and worked through all of that in under 5 min. It was a remarkable showing of her "skills".
Yet with everyone else who visits her, they all report she is so much happier in assisted living (she fought going there with all the meaness imaginable). This implies that when she is miserable with me about her living arrangements, it is a choice to be miserable with me, because with others, she reports how happy she is.
And there it is, in under 5 min and at the end of the first visit since going away, despite being happy with her friends and her grandchildren, she is miserable with me, and the positive effects of being away and finally getting space from her, erode.
I stood my ground. "Mom you have a new walker that was OT recommended especially for you, and works really well for you in this apartment". Getting the walker Joe has, isn't going to fix your problems. You're whole life you've wanted what other people have, and even when you get it, it doesn't make you happier". Bait and switch.
She wants her paints and ironing board again. She can't lift an iron. She can hardly lift a cup of water to drink. She constantly complains everything is too heavy. She has Parkinson's in her right hand. She can't drink without spilling, and struggles to eat. She doesn't like going to the dining room, because another resident pretends to have a shaking hand.
"Where are my paints?"
Me: you said you didn't want them anymore. We gave away, sold, or donated everything you didn't want."
"I want my acrylic paints".
Me: You painted in oils.
"You got rid of all my stuff and now I can't do anything".
And there it is. Everything including her unhappiness is my fault.
The interesting part of this little story? She hasn't painted in 30 years, since her friend who mentored her painting adventures moved away.
So no, when she said she didn't want her painting materials anymore, we had no reason to not believe it. So yes, everything is gone.
I was weak here: "Mom I'll take a look and see what I can find".
Mom: I want it now.
Me: I go back to work tomorrow mom.
That p_ssed her off.
And there it is. That feeling like I can never quit working, and retire (again). (I came out of retirement to get space from her demands/attacks/meanness).
I just feel so emotionally unsafe around her. Others don't. My H doesn't. Our son doesn't. Her friends don't (or do they?). The health care aides don't.
Back to short visits, with another person in attendance, thanks to the inescapable endurance of the BPD personality.
The wheels on the BPD bus just keep going around and around. The environment can change. Other people around her can change. The world changes. But remarkably, she stays exactly the same.