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Author Topic: Are there people with BPD who do not get better despite first class treatment?  (Read 366 times)
snowwhite
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Gender: Female
What is your sexual orientation: Straight
Who in your life has "personality" issues: Parent
Posts: 232


« on: January 18, 2019, 06:49:15 PM »

Have any of you been involved in a relationship with a person with BPD who does not improve, despite long term treatment? If so, how long has the relationship lasted and how long the treatment? Was it with a therapist or a psychiatrist? Did it include medication?
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Our objective is to better understand the struggles our child faces and to learn the skills to improve our relationship and provide a supportive environment and also improve on our own emotional responses, attitudes and effectiveness as a family leaders
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Gender: Male
What is your sexual orientation: Straight
Who in your life has "personality" issues: Other
Relationship status: "Divorced"/abandoned by SO in Feb 2013; Mother with BPD, PTSD, Depression and Anxiety: RIP in 2021.
Posts: 12104


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« Reply #1 on: January 18, 2019, 11:21:34 PM »

When I was in my 40s, my mother revealed to me that she was in treatment for PTSD when I was a child.  When I was 17 and about to leave home she started really breaking down, admitting to me about her depression and was taking Prozac. She got worse before she got better but I left home at 18 and moved 50 miles away, three years later, 120 miles away.  I still kept in touch and she managed,  with drama. 

Year's later she told me that she went through seven therapists until she found one that she trusted. She also got put on better mood stabilizers.  I remember when I was 17 and age came into my room with her bottle of Prozac,  shoving it into my hand,  "hide these from me!" I stuck them in a clothes drawer.  I never did drugs,  but I thought about trying the pills.  I should have flushed them or tossed them into the woods.  I never knew if she found them when I moved out a few months later,  but the following summer she got bad.  Real bad. 

My mom told me that her T described her as a "high functioning depressive" and laughed.  She knew she wasn't  high functioning and she knew that I knew that she wasn't.

When I was in my early 40s, she told me that one of her therapists gave her a book on BPD,  concluding that it was a roundabout way of suggesting that she herself had BPD even though it was given to help her understand her dad who died in '66.

She kind of functioned, able to live independently, until the middle of this decade until age caught up with her,  both in mind and body. 

I'm close to the same age she was when I moved out.  Looking back,  she always had a peculiar world- view, and I'm not sure how much of it to attribute to her mental illnesses.  My childhood full of drama and my mom's "best friends" all but one left by the wayside. 

As the mother of one of my friends (who suffered from depression but was much higher functioning) once described,  "we go into survival mode at some points. That's what your mother does at the edge of a crisis."

 I think I understood logically what she was telling me,  but emotionally I can't comprehend it. I kind of can,  but not really.

After I left at 18, the following summer she got very bad.  I thought about going NC forever. I know this is a different dynamic than me being a parent (in reality rather than emotionally), but bear with me. 

After my buddy and I rescued some of her hoard from the storage place which foreclosed on her (under much criticism to be careful with her stuff which drove my buddy nuts) she stood on her porch crying, angry and frustrated and told me,  "just go." I thought "Eff this  Cursing - won't cause site restrictions at Starbucks (click to insert in post) I want to be done." I'm the only adoptive child of a single mother.  My first parents abandoned me and here was my adoptive one telling me to get lost. I can master my own life.  Parents... .who needs them! Parents of adoptive kids take note: we have issues that have nothing to do with you. 

Then I felt compassion. I was all that she had when it came down to it.  So I said, "B___ is here with his truck.  Let's make another storage  place run and get more of your stuff." And we did.

I went back to my life in the city, leaving her to hers. I would visit every weekend as I still had a weekend job nearby, but would skip visits to her every 3rd weekend.  That was 1990. She got by and I did as well with LC.

Other dramas ensued, one of which I rescued her from big time,  but I respected her to do what she was going to do.  She was an adult,  an "independent entity, free to do what she chooses,  no matter how foolish" as my T would tell me decades later. 

As I said in the beginning,  I know that a Parentified child isn't fair the same as Patent to Child, though having two children,  I can maybe imagine.  I hope something here helps you or someone else.
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