Alternate Reality

[todayistheday]

In a discussion with hBPD( * ) Mom the other day about, of all things, ironing, another of her alternate realities came to light.

I am older child and was scapegoat.  Younger sister is golden.  She had lots of nice clothes.  I had very few nice clothes.  Mom always gave me the look when I was getting ready for school.  I did the best with what I had available to me.   She took us clothes shopping and bought our clothes, even in high school and early college years.

I am also a girl-geek -- even back in the 70s when even guy-geeks were not popular.  So I really didn't care what my clothes looked like anyway.  Yes, I'd have liked to have had more better clothes, but fashionista I was not.  Just enough to get through the week that were in reasonable condition.

My Mom did laundry -- she washed, dried, and ironed and stacked clothes on the dryer for us to take upstairs and put away.  EVERYTHING had to be ironed, even jeans and T-shirts. 

At some point in High School, she showed me how to iron and made me iron my own clothes.

We were discussing all the ironing she had to do and I pointed out that I had to do my own.   She said
"There was a reason.  You know what the reason was?  I ironed all of your clothes every week and put them on your bed.  All you had to do was put them away.  You threw them in the floor and instead of putting them away, put them back in the laundry unworn since they weren't ironed."

How many things were wrong with that?
1.  I personally did not really care if they were ironed or not.  Even if they needed it, which usually they did not.  She was the one who cared.  I would have worn them that way.
2.  I did not have enough clothes to put clean ones in the dirty clothes.  I usually had to re-wear clothes.  Maybe 3 or 4 shirts and 2 or 3 pants.  Not even enough underwear.  I would wash my own underwear by hand in the bathroom.  I might not have cared if my shirts had a wrinkle or two, but who (female at least) wants to wear dirty underwear?
3.  She left the clothes on the dryer, she did not take them back to our rooms.
4.  Mostly, #1.

This is not the only time she has had what I call an "alternate version of reality" in her brain.  But this one almost made me laugh, it was so far from the truth or even my personality.

I do know that alternate realities are a thing with some BPDs.  Tell me your alternate reality story? 

* I use hBPD rather than uBPD.  My Mom has not been evaluated for BPD.  But, when I went for counseling myself, my counselor Hypothesized that my Mom has BPD and gave me the Eggshells book.  Which contained hundreds of things describing my Mom that I never told the therapist about until after I had read the book.  At which point my therapist, who never met my Mom, said she was sure that my Mom has BPD.  So while not a diagnosis, it's pretty close to one, IMO.

[Choosinghope]

My current favorite is as follows. My H is allergic to cats. That is a proven fact, at least for me. My uBPD mom, in her latest rant to my sister about me and my H, was telling her all the things wrong with my H. Top of her list: He lied to her about having a cat allergy, apparently. Why, you ask? Because the one time he stayed ar my parent's house with their cat, he was ok because he took benadryl most of the weekend. Therefore, he's obviously not allergic to cats and just wanted to make her feel bad. Obviously.

Another favorite: The last time my mom visited us, she overstayed her agreed upon visit by a full day. The day that she finally left there was supposed to be a blizzard hitting. We checked the weather numerous times and ALL agreed on the best time for her to leave to beat the blizzard. Apparently she drove right jnto it (I live in an area with very odd weather patterns), and she had a harrowing trip. When she got to where she was going, she called and I apologized profusely. A year later, she told me how hateful it was that I kicked her out in a blizzard and then laughed in her face when she called to turn around and ask to stay with me longer...yep. I can tell alternate reality stories all day. I do often wonder what the thought process is, or if she knows that it's alternate reality?

[Methuen]

This is going to be a fun thread to read all these stories!

My mom fell on the grass under her plum tree (she lives independently).  She was home alone at the time.  She called me two days later (why the delay?) to tell me what had happened, at which point I picked her up in my vehicle and took her to the hospital for xrays since she has osteoporosis and a T score of -5.6! (she was 83 at the time).  She was walking, and while bruised and a bit shook up, she said she was fine.  Xrays came back negative (no signs of fracture).  I was thankful she fell on the grass.  The previous time happened at the bowling alley and that resulted in 3 months in a wheelchair (and she's high maintenance without a fall for me to content with).  I digress.  Some time later (can't remember the details but I think it was about 2 weeks), she started having more pain.  More Xrays.  Can't remember if this is when the fracture showed up, or if it was after a 3rd set of Xrays.  Anyways the pain worsened and became acute (I was caring for her almost full time), and two separate trips to the hospital in an ambulance also took place.  Eventually a CAT scan showed 4 fractures in her pelvis and sacrum.  Lots of Dr appts. Lots of dysregulation.  Back then, I was still trying to be the perfect daughter and trying to do everything for her.   I was running ragged trying to please.  So... you know the moment just before the rage comes, but you know it's coming and there's nothing you can do because you are trapped?  I knew in her driveway it was going to come but we had to get to a doctor's appt and she wasn't moving very fast...so, she got in the passenger seat of my car, and before we got to the first stop sign at the end of the street the RAGE came, and she was screaming at me that her pain was all my fault!

Can't wait to read everyone's stories. 

[pursuingJoy]

H and I spent the first 6 months of our married life looking at houses that we could move into with my MIL (I didn't know then that she likely has BPD). We found 8 or 9 houses with a MIL suite, but when she saw them, she nixed every single one, saying it wasn't good enough. She finally told H that she thought it was best not to move in with us.

Five years later, she told me, "You NEVER wanted me to move in with you."

[beatricex]

My mom asked us, my husband and I, to co-own a dog with her.  He said no (hel! no to me).  My husband then proceeded to pick a 6 month old dog out of the shelter for her.  Why?  Because she talked him into it and he's a nice guy.  He did it as a favor.   But, then she actually adopted it.  He only picked out the dog, but she got the final say and went down to the shelter and signed the papers, paid for it, and he was not there for the adoption.

Year two of her and my Dad owning the dog.  My mom pretends like we co-own the dog with her, at the vet she listed herself and my husband as the owners! 

We recently said we couldn't dog sit.  She texted my husband, "just dropped the dog off at the kennel, WAVE"  again, as if it's his dog too.

Before we blocked her, she emailed us constantly asking for advice about her dog "she has allergies, what do you think it is? ...she is limping, do you think a bull kicked her?  ...the dog is not eating, she's trying to throw up but nothing's coming up, think it's the chicken bones I keep giving her?   ...etc.  At first we responded, because we looked after the dog quite a bit, like one time for 5 months straight.  We said "change her food to XYZ, she will quit itching, it works!"  My mom never took our advice.  The dog eats the same food and gets allergy shots.  She chases cows and yes, a bull probably kicked her.  Mom still feeds the dog chicken bones.  We finally gave up responding cause it's like banging your head against the wall she doesn't listen.

Alternate reality is she thinks we care and we don't.  I have since gone No Contact with my mom and she hasn't even noticed yet.  My husband still gets texts about the dog.

[Teabunny]

Yes, I can relate to this, too. You are not alone in the twilight zone of alternate realities. I think all people remember things differently because I read some science thing about how our brain stores memories based on our beliefs and personalities. But in some people with BPD it is pretty extreme.

• Mom doesn't seem capable of knowing my favorite color, and insists it was purple. When I deny this she says it was purple when I was a girl. But, I kept journals starting in 2nd grade and each year starting in 4th grade I recorded my favorite color, "turquoise" spelled creatively then LOL. Still my favorite color! Before 4th grade I would say my favorite colors were whenever red, blue and green were together in something, because I liked Huey, Dewey and Louie; Alvin, Simon and Theodore etc These characters wore those colors. Similarly, she insists that I loved to sew - oh wow did I hate sewing as a girl and still avoid it as an adult, but it's her favorite hobby and helps her battle depression and connect with my grandmother who sews quilts. In high school she made me sew a quilt with the neighbor "to give me something to do so I wouldn't be depressed" and it was all I could do to stand our sewing sessions. I didn't even get to pick out the fabric, neighbor bought some she thought I'd like and I felt pressured to give approval so I did and we sewed with that. Then I had to use the quilt on my bed and I didn't like the starchy feeling. Then Mom would check in as an adult to be sure I was still hanging on to this quilt and using it! Once while my husband and I visited my parents in their home, I pushed back really hard against Mom insisting that I didn't like sewing and did not like the experience of sewing that quilt. She was so upset that she phoned the neighbor long distance to get the neighbor to explain to me how much I'd enjoyed quilting with her because I was clearly in denial or forgot! The poor neighbor, her feelings must have been hurt, and why would anyone speak up then and say they hated quilting - which would hurt the neighbor worse?
• One night my parents and I were having dinner as usual. Dad & I didn't hear anything, but Mom started raging at me for saying something she heard me just say. It was like a voice in her head (which sounded like me) had said something upsetting to her! Freaked us all out. I only remember that happening once.

Since there are decades of these stories, could go on forever, but I'll stop there. It feels good to laugh about these things sometimes and remember that while they were upsetting and are still disturbing, it just points to an illness in the mind of someone with BPD. Really it's less personal than it feels. I think that helps me with my feelings about not being seen by my family for who I am.

For example, she thought of me as sexually promiscuous, doing drugs, drinking etc since that's the environment she grew up in and thought of me as this typical teenager when I was the opposite in most ways. Never wanted to try drugs, signed an abstinence letter in high school and was a virgin into my twenties but mom thought I wasn't. I would've made a good prohibitionist, since I refuse to drink alcohol (Mom interjects when this comes up and says that's not true, I did once drink alcohol as a teen - underage - when she pressured me into sipping her Kahlouwa ? some sort of beverage that looks like coffee & cream - and I gave in and she was like "isn't that tasty? I thought it was illegal in my country to give alcohol to minors but I don't know if this would break that law or not. So the literal truth is I've never drank alcohol *of my own free will* in my life.) It used to make me angry that I couldn't exist and be seen, but now it's hilarious. The hardware up there isn't working for her, so I just need to have compassion, boundaries, and a good sense of humor.

[Methuen]

The great thing about this thread, is that it gives us a wee opportunity to share a bit of humour, and understanding of the craziness of the alternate reality world our pwBPD exposed us all to.  

So the little me loved the colour yellow.  The big me still does.  Yellow to me is happiness and sunshine.  My love for yellow is beyond explanation.  From the time I was a very little girl, I begged for a yellow bedroom.  When I was 14, mom agreed to paint my bedroom yellow, since she was painting other parts of the house anyway.  Oh my gosh, I was so excited, because I was finally going to be surrounded with my happy colour.  On the day she was going to do the painting, I told her I couldn't wait to get home from school to see my yellow bedroom.  I RAN home from school, and down the hallway to see my new yellow bedroom.  It was pink.

When I was upset, she said "I thought you would like it".  Alternate reality?

[pursuingJoy]

M, you had me on the highs and lows of that story.  I was so excited for you - then ugh. That's a great example of exactly how BPD is crazy-making.

Not sure it's alternate reality, but here's another weird one. My MIL bought me a climbing plant. I wanted to get a trellis to put against the shed so I could plant it. I knew exactly what I wanted - a white, wood-look trellis in a diamond pattern. MIL said great, let's go to the store, I'll buy you the trellis.

We went to the store and I found exactly what I was looking for. MIL said, "I don't like it though. I don't want to buy you that." We left the store without buying anything.

The plant died. Oops.

[Methuen]

Oh PJ.  I laughed so hard.  Thank you for that. This thread is SOO therapeutic.  

I have another story. (How to choose which one?  ) First a bit of background.  Two years ago H and I went on a road trip in the summer because I needed a NC spell for my mental health due to uBPD mom craziness and how horrible she was being.  While we were gone, I got a text from her that said "I found a body worm in my bed".  I ignored this text, as I was on a break. When we got home, I got the full story. Here it is to the best of my memory. I promise I am reporting this accurately.

"I woke up in the night and felt something in my bed.  It was a fuzzy worm.  I jumped out of bed (she was 83) and turned the light on.  I got a piece of paper, got it onto the paper, and took it to the bathroom to flush it.  It wouldn't go down the toilet. So I got it out of the toilet, and put it into an empty pill bottle.  The next day I went to Emergency, and told the Dr I had felt it come out of me and found it in the bed.  He laughed at me!  But he took the worm away, looked at it, came back, and told me it wouldn't cause me any problems.  I was happy."  Then she told all her friends this story.  She called her sisters (who all live 800 miles away in different directions) and told them.  She even telephoned some of her nieces.  She told her grandchildren (D22 and S24 at the time).  Alternate reality?

My working theory is that while I was NC and out of town, she needed attention.

[Mata]

Almost two years ago, my mom moved to my town.  My H and I helped her pack.  She was going from a 2 bedroom house to a 1 bedroom apartment, so we couldn't take everything.  During the process of helping her pack, H asked her if she wanted to bring her cd player/radio (it's basically an old boom box).  She said yes.  So he packed it.  A few weeks later when she was unpacking she called and screamed at me because he had asked her if she wanted it packed.   
I was so confused, and asked, "mom I thought you wanted the cd player?" 
She replied "I do!"
I said "okay, you have the cd player, then what is the problem?"   
She screamed again "He had to ask me if I wanted it." 

She was livid at me because my poor H didn't read her mind weeks before.   

[Arbust91]

My BPD mom had some home healthcare mangers come to set up to help my dad. I could hear her talking to them, she was going on about what an excellent nurse she was and how much a particular doctor appreciated her excellent care of his patients. She was having an affair with said doctor ,which she didn't mention. It was so blatant my 12 year old brother figured it out. I think my dad knew because he got her to quit that hospital. She also went on about how the black people she worked with felt a kindred for her. Also a distortion. I had to go to work with her on snow days etc and what I saw from the people of color she worked with was fear. She heavily criticized black women who did not straighten their hair etc.