Extreme Consequences

January 27, 2012

Hi, all.

For those of you who don't know, I'm 61 (almost 62 - how did that happen?)

and was the only child of BPD/NPD parents who severely abused me mentally,

physically and sexually.

You younger people (which is just about everyone who posts here!) are SO

LUCKY that BPD is increasingly becoming a recognized mental illness, and

that you now have resources to learn how to deal with BPD family members. I

didn't have any resources until relatively recently, and I developed every

eating disorder in the book (from which I thankfully recovered) and suffer

from PTSD and chronic treatment-resistant depression.

I just wanted to share with you the most recent consequences the world of

BPD/NPD has had on my life, even though my personality-disordered parents

have been deceased for over a decade.

My nada was a histrionic waif/queen/witch, an alcoholic, drug abuser, and a

pedophile. My fada did not have a drug or alcohol problem, but screamed and

cried at the drop of a hat, went into physically violent rages directed

towards me - never at my nada - and saw the world and everything in it in

extreme black and white. Neither parent cared one whit about my hopes,

dreams or needs, let alone my feelings.

Both parents were high-functioning outside the home. They worked, and

behaved like fine, pleasant, upstanding citizens, until they walked into

the house, and then all hell broke loose - towards me.

When I was 10 and entering puberty, I became a bit chubby, and my nada

went ballistic and put me on an adult dose of Dexedrine, which she took

because she thought she was fat, which she wasn't. Often she'd give me

double doses of the Dexedrine. I was forced to take the amphetamine until I

was 18.

As a result, my thyroid was blown, my growth was stunted, and the mood

center of my brain was damaged, which definitely contributed to my having

the chronic treatment-resistant depression. It's a miracle that I didn't

develop some sort of psychosis or drug addiction.

My parents wanted one thing - for me to be famous. I was a talented

pianist, composer and singer - actually, I was a child prodigy - yet I had

a quiet, shy temperament, and performing terrified me. I'd get so nervous

on stage that I'd shake all over, I'd feel like vomiting, my hands would

sweat so much that they'd fall off the keys, and my mind would go

completely blank. I begged my parents to let me stop performing and

auditioning, but they refused. And I wouldn't perform well because I was

too nervous and scared, and then I'd get severely punished. And, oddly,

though they gave me piano lessons with an excellent teacher, they did not

provide me with a decent piano. The piano I had was a half-tone out of tune

(I had perfect pitch and this drove me crazy), and was a rickety old

upright. You can't learn proper technique on such a piano, because the keys

of an upright and the keys of a concert grand (which I gave recitals and

concerts on) have TOTALLY different actions. You need far more strength to

play a concert grand. I could not develop that strength. Could my parents

afford a suitable piano? Yes. For whatever reason, despite my piano teacher

telling them over and over that it was imperative I have a good piano, they

refused to provide me with one - although they bought piles of luxury items

for themselves. There were MANY instances where they put roadblocks in

front of any progress I was making, or could have made, and I lived in a

state of perpetual frustration. If I dared express any of this frustration,

I was punished (beaten, kicked, threatened, screamed and cursed at) for

being ungrateful.

The last time I saw my parents was when I was 27 or 28. I stayed with them

for a week while I was on tour with a singer. The screaming and verbal

abuse were horrible, my nada kept coming on to me, and the straw that broke

the camel's back was when my fada punched me in the face for asking a

totally innocent and non-provocative question about one of my uncles. I

remained in touch with them by phone, but felt so sick after each

conversation that I finally realized I couldn't talk to them any more. This

was in 1991.

In retaliation, my nada told all the family members, who I loved, the most

horrible things about me. She could come across as the sweetest, kindest,

most concerned, warmest, gentlest little woman in the world, and was highly

intelligent and articulate. According to her, I was psychotic, a junkie,

violent, a sociopath, and a pathological liar, and they had done everything

for me and given me so much and I had just spit in their face. According

to her, my eating disorder and depression were nothing but a ploy to get

attention and money. (Ummm - once or twice a year my parents MIGHT send me

$25 or $50 for my birthday or Hanukkah). She was convincing. After a

while, every one of them believed her, and wanted nothing to do with me.

When I tried reaching out to them, they weren't receptive to anything I had

to say, because, of course, I was a pathological liar.

After my fada passed away, and my nada needed to be in an assisted living

facility, my first cousin (who isn't her blood relative - his father is my

fada's brother) paid for her to live in the best one in Los Angeles, bought

her luxuries, paid for her to go out to eat and to movies and plays, bought

her massages, paid for her to have a personal assistant - despite the fact

that she already had ample finances.

So the consequences of all this as of today?

I am on Social Security Disability for clinical depression, PTSD,

fibromyalgia, asthma and chronic pain. The amount I get monthly is small.

I'm single (because the men I've chosen to get involved with have had

BPD/NPD and/or turned out to be alcoholics or substance abusers - in other

words, I really know how to pick 'em) and have no children. I inherited

nothing from my parents, who left everything to my first cousin (and my

only living family member), who happens to be one of the wealthiest people

in the world. I've lived in a one-room cottage for 10 years, and found out

a month ago that I had to move within 60 days (my landlady's husband

suddenly died, left her in dire financial circumstances and she has to sell

her property as quickly as possible). Finding a place to live has been a

nightmare. You have to be 62 to apply for a senior housing complex, and I'm

61. The " 62 or over " rule is totally unbending. Because my income is so

small, no landlord will rent to me, despite the fact that I've never, ever

not paid rent on time wherever I've lived. And, since utilities were

included in my rent here, and previous to living here I'd have a roommate

with the utilities in his or her name, I've never had a utility in my name

so would have to pay a large deposit for each one. I felt so scared and so

alone. And friends were urging me to call my cousin and ask him for help.

Let's just say that he's so rich that he could buy me a condo and it would

be like me spending a dime. But I couldn't call him because three years ago

I called him on his birthday, and he wasn't exactly happy to hear from me,

plus when I told him I'd really love him to know why I had ceased contact

with my parents, he said he didn't want to hear it because " Well, I'm sure

you BELIEVE certain things happened. " So... that was that. No way can I ask

my cousin for any sort of help.

Luckily, thankfully, the other day I found a one-bedroom furnished basement

apartment that I can afford. Utilities are included in the rent. It's in a

great neighborhood, and it's a lovely apartment, and I'm moving in either

in the middle of February or on March 1st. I was hoping that, at age 61, I

could find something unfurnished, that I could put more of my personality

into, that I could sign a lease for - a forever home, where I wouldn't have

to worry about the owner of the house suddenly having to sell or something

like that, but nothing in life is without risk - and I will be very

comfortable there.

It has been a real struggle for me to care about myself. I've felt so sad,

alone and unworthy much - if not most - of the time. It is only recently

that I've begun to realize that my depression and PTSD are not my fault,

and that I am NOT a bad person - that where I am today is the end result of

being the only child of severely personality-disordered parents. Also, the

fact that my nada forced me to take adult doses of amphetamines all during

my preteen and adolescent years - the consequences of that could have been

much worse than they are, but there were and still are consequences.

This forum has been a big help and comfort for me. And I am SO GLAD that

those on this forum who are younger than I am can get the support and

validation they so desperately need and can learn how to deal with the

all-encompassing nightmare of being raised by a BPD parent.

Judy

January 27, 2012

(((((Judy)))))

Truly, the abusive treatment you endured was toxic to both your mind and body

and it IS a miracle that you didn't go the route of drug addiction or worse.

When both parents are personality-disordered and abusive, yet very

high-functioning, the child is basically screwed. In my opinion, what your

parents did to you constitutes criminal child abuse; I think they should have

done jail time for it.

The fact that you are here and sharing your experience with us is a tribute to

your own innate strength of character and soul; you are doing good for others

here. You didn't become a child-molesting, child-brutalizing monster yourself;

your compassion and humanity remained intact despite your parent's monstrous

treatment of you. You are a true survivor, with a core of decency and goodness.

I agree with you, I see hope for more recent generations than ours (I will turn

60 soon) because of the immediate access people have now to information and

support communities and even therapy via the Internet. This is a HUGE

difference from my childhood and early adult years. The phenomenon of the

Internet still feels like something from " Star Trek " to me: the world's

information at my fingertips, and the ability to communicate with potentially

thousands of other people instantly....

its astonishing.

And its a great goodness.

And I agree with you that there needs to be even more, much, MUCH more public

awareness about the very real, very long-term, tragic damage that being

chronically emotionally, physically and/or sexually abused, exploited or

neglected as a child BY YOUR OWN PARENTS, truly does to a human being.

I think that public education classes given throughout the school years that

actually show/demonstrate to children, using films and enactments, what

mentally healthy behaviors and ways of dealing with problems look like and sound

like, comparing them to what mentally ill, abusive behaviors look like and sound

like, so children will in effect have a greater ability to understand that what

they are experiencing is abnormal and abusive, that its not OK for parents to do

that to kids, and rescue themselves.

(There also needs to be a " children's advocate " at each school: a combination of

psychologist and lawyer, who has the power of a judge to represent and protect

the child's interests as though the child is an adult with human rights and

civil rights.)

And yes, I realize that these concepts are still rather in the " Star Trek " realm

of fantasy (and have the potential to be abused, of course) but, I hope its the

direction our society will head in: real civil rights and human rights for

children.

-Annie

>

> Hi, all.

> For those of you who don't know, I'm 61 (almost 62 - how did that happen?)

> and was the only child of BPD/NPD parents who severely abused me mentally,

> physically and sexually.

> You younger people (which is just about everyone who posts here!) are SO

> LUCKY that BPD is increasingly becoming a recognized mental illness, and

> that you now have resources to learn how to deal with BPD family members. I

> didn't have any resources until relatively recently, and I developed every

> eating disorder in the book (from which I thankfully recovered) and suffer

> from PTSD and chronic treatment-resistant depression.

> I just wanted to share with you the most recent consequences the world of

> BPD/NPD has had on my life, even though my personality-disordered parents

> have been deceased for over a decade.

> My nada was a histrionic waif/queen/witch, an alcoholic, drug abuser, and a

> pedophile. My fada did not have a drug or alcohol problem, but screamed and

> cried at the drop of a hat, went into physically violent rages directed

> towards me - never at my nada - and saw the world and everything in it in

> extreme black and white. Neither parent cared one whit about my hopes,

> dreams or needs, let alone my feelings.

> Both parents were high-functioning outside the home. They worked, and

> behaved like fine, pleasant, upstanding citizens, until they walked into

> the house, and then all hell broke loose - towards me.

> When I was 10 and entering puberty, I became a bit chubby, and my nada

> went ballistic and put me on an adult dose of Dexedrine, which she took

> because she thought she was fat, which she wasn't. Often she'd give me

> double doses of the Dexedrine. I was forced to take the amphetamine until I

> was 18.

> As a result, my thyroid was blown, my growth was stunted, and the mood

> center of my brain was damaged, which definitely contributed to my having

> the chronic treatment-resistant depression. It's a miracle that I didn't

> develop some sort of psychosis or drug addiction.

> My parents wanted one thing - for me to be famous. I was a talented

> pianist, composer and singer - actually, I was a child prodigy - yet I had

> a quiet, shy temperament, and performing terrified me. I'd get so nervous

> on stage that I'd shake all over, I'd feel like vomiting, my hands would

> sweat so much that they'd fall off the keys, and my mind would go

> completely blank. I begged my parents to let me stop performing and

> auditioning, but they refused. And I wouldn't perform well because I was

> too nervous and scared, and then I'd get severely punished. And, oddly,

> though they gave me piano lessons with an excellent teacher, they did not

> provide me with a decent piano. The piano I had was a half-tone out of tune

> (I had perfect pitch and this drove me crazy), and was a rickety old

> upright. You can't learn proper technique on such a piano, because the keys

> of an upright and the keys of a concert grand (which I gave recitals and

> concerts on) have TOTALLY different actions. You need far more strength to

> play a concert grand. I could not develop that strength. Could my parents

> afford a suitable piano? Yes. For whatever reason, despite my piano teacher

> telling them over and over that it was imperative I have a good piano, they

> refused to provide me with one - although they bought piles of luxury items

> for themselves. There were MANY instances where they put roadblocks in

> front of any progress I was making, or could have made, and I lived in a

> state of perpetual frustration. If I dared express any of this frustration,

> I was punished (beaten, kicked, threatened, screamed and cursed at) for

> being ungrateful.

> The last time I saw my parents was when I was 27 or 28. I stayed with them

> for a week while I was on tour with a singer. The screaming and verbal

> abuse were horrible, my nada kept coming on to me, and the straw that broke

> the camel's back was when my fada punched me in the face for asking a

> totally innocent and non-provocative question about one of my uncles. I

> remained in touch with them by phone, but felt so sick after each

> conversation that I finally realized I couldn't talk to them any more. This

> was in 1991.

> In retaliation, my nada told all the family members, who I loved, the most

> horrible things about me. She could come across as the sweetest, kindest,

> most concerned, warmest, gentlest little woman in the world, and was highly

> intelligent and articulate. According to her, I was psychotic, a junkie,

> violent, a sociopath, and a pathological liar, and they had done everything

> for me and given me so much and I had just spit in their face. According

> to her, my eating disorder and depression were nothing but a ploy to get

> attention and money. (Ummm - once or twice a year my parents MIGHT send me

> $25 or $50 for my birthday or Hanukkah). She was convincing. After a

> while, every one of them believed her, and wanted nothing to do with me.

> When I tried reaching out to them, they weren't receptive to anything I had

> to say, because, of course, I was a pathological liar.

> After my fada passed away, and my nada needed to be in an assisted living

> facility, my first cousin (who isn't her blood relative - his father is my

> fada's brother) paid for her to live in the best one in Los Angeles, bought

> her luxuries, paid for her to go out to eat and to movies and plays, bought

> her massages, paid for her to have a personal assistant - despite the fact

> that she already had ample finances.

> So the consequences of all this as of today?

> I am on Social Security Disability for clinical depression, PTSD,

> fibromyalgia, asthma and chronic pain. The amount I get monthly is small.

> I'm single (because the men I've chosen to get involved with have had

> BPD/NPD and/or turned out to be alcoholics or substance abusers - in other

> words, I really know how to pick 'em) and have no children. I inherited

> nothing from my parents, who left everything to my first cousin (and my

> only living family member), who happens to be one of the wealthiest people

> in the world. I've lived in a one-room cottage for 10 years, and found out

> a month ago that I had to move within 60 days (my landlady's husband

> suddenly died, left her in dire financial circumstances and she has to sell

> her property as quickly as possible). Finding a place to live has been a

> nightmare. You have to be 62 to apply for a senior housing complex, and I'm

> 61. The " 62 or over " rule is totally unbending. Because my income is so

> small, no landlord will rent to me, despite the fact that I've never, ever

> not paid rent on time wherever I've lived. And, since utilities were

> included in my rent here, and previous to living here I'd have a roommate

> with the utilities in his or her name, I've never had a utility in my name

> so would have to pay a large deposit for each one. I felt so scared and so

> alone. And friends were urging me to call my cousin and ask him for help.

> Let's just say that he's so rich that he could buy me a condo and it would

> be like me spending a dime. But I couldn't call him because three years ago

> I called him on his birthday, and he wasn't exactly happy to hear from me,

> plus when I told him I'd really love him to know why I had ceased contact

> with my parents, he said he didn't want to hear it because " Well, I'm sure

> you BELIEVE certain things happened. " So... that was that. No way can I ask

> my cousin for any sort of help.

> Luckily, thankfully, the other day I found a one-bedroom furnished basement

> apartment that I can afford. Utilities are included in the rent. It's in a

> great neighborhood, and it's a lovely apartment, and I'm moving in either

> in the middle of February or on March 1st. I was hoping that, at age 61, I

> could find something unfurnished, that I could put more of my personality

> into, that I could sign a lease for - a forever home, where I wouldn't have

> to worry about the owner of the house suddenly having to sell or something

> like that, but nothing in life is without risk - and I will be very

> comfortable there.

> It has been a real struggle for me to care about myself. I've felt so sad,

> alone and unworthy much - if not most - of the time. It is only recently

> that I've begun to realize that my depression and PTSD are not my fault,

> and that I am NOT a bad person - that where I am today is the end result of

> being the only child of severely personality-disordered parents. Also, the

> fact that my nada forced me to take adult doses of amphetamines all during

> my preteen and adolescent years - the consequences of that could have been

> much worse than they are, but there were and still are consequences.

> This forum has been a big help and comfort for me. And I am SO GLAD that

> those on this forum who are younger than I am can get the support and

> validation they so desperately need and can learn how to deal with the

> all-encompassing nightmare of being raised by a BPD parent.

> Judy

>

January 27, 2012

Thank you so much, Annie, for your understanding and support.

I didn't know you were going to be 60 soon. Geez, you and I really did grow

up in the Dark Ages as it pertained to the whole BPD/mental/physical/sexual

abuse thing.

I think that public education classes given throughout the school years

> that actually show/demonstrate to children, using films and enactments,

> what mentally healthy behaviors and ways of dealing with problems look like

> and sound like, comparing them to what mentally ill, abusive behaviors look

> like and sound like, so children will in effect have a greater ability to

> understand that what they are experiencing is abnormal and abusive, that

> its not OK for parents to do that to kids, and rescue themselves.

> (There also needs to be a " children's advocate " at each school: a

> combination of psychologist and lawyer, who has the power of a judge to

> represent and protect the child's interests as though the child is an adult

> with human rights and civil rights.)

Annie, this is brilliant!!!!!!!!

Warmly,

Judy

On Fri, Jan 27, 2012 at 10:59 AM, anuria67854 wrote:

> **

>

> (((((Judy)))))

>

> Truly, the abusive treatment you endured was toxic to both your mind and

> body and it IS a miracle that you didn't go the route of drug addiction or

> worse. When both parents are personality-disordered and abusive, yet very

> high-functioning, the child is basically screwed. In my opinion, what your

> parents did to you constitutes criminal child abuse; I think they should

> have done jail time for it.

>

> The fact that you are here and sharing your experience with us is a

> tribute to your own innate strength of character and soul; you are doing

> good for others here. You didn't become a child-molesting,

> child-brutalizing monster yourself; your compassion and humanity remained

> intact despite your parent's monstrous treatment of you. You are a true

> survivor, with a core of decency and goodness.

>

> I agree with you, I see hope for more recent generations than ours (I will

> turn 60 soon) because of the immediate access people have now to

> information and support communities and even therapy via the Internet. This

> is a HUGE difference from my childhood and early adult years. The

> phenomenon of the Internet still feels like something from " Star Trek " to

> me: the world's information at my fingertips, and the ability to

> communicate with potentially thousands of other people instantly....

> its astonishing.

> And its a great goodness.

>

> And I agree with you that there needs to be even more, much, MUCH more

> public awareness about the very real, very long-term, tragic damage that

> being chronically emotionally, physically and/or sexually abused, exploited

> or neglected as a child BY YOUR OWN PARENTS, truly does to a human being.

>

> I think that public education classes given throughout the school years

> that actually show/demonstrate to children, using films and enactments,

> what mentally healthy behaviors and ways of dealing with problems look like

> and sound like, comparing them to what mentally ill, abusive behaviors look

> like and sound like, so children will in effect have a greater ability to

> understand that what they are experiencing is abnormal and abusive, that

> its not OK for parents to do that to kids, and rescue themselves.

>

> (There also needs to be a " children's advocate " at each school: a

> combination of psychologist and lawyer, who has the power of a judge to

> represent and protect the child's interests as though the child is an adult

> with human rights and civil rights.)

>

> And yes, I realize that these concepts are still rather in the " Star Trek "

> realm of fantasy (and have the potential to be abused, of course) but, I

> hope its the direction our society will head in: real civil rights and

> human rights for children.

>

> -Annie

>

> >

> > Hi, all.

> > For those of you who don't know, I'm 61 (almost 62 - how did that

> happen?)

> > and was the only child of BPD/NPD parents who severely abused me

> mentally,

> > physically and sexually.

> > You younger people (which is just about everyone who posts here!) are SO

> > LUCKY that BPD is increasingly becoming a recognized mental illness, and

> > that you now have resources to learn how to deal with BPD family

> members. I

> > didn't have any resources until relatively recently, and I developed

> every

> > eating disorder in the book (from which I thankfully recovered) and

> suffer

> > from PTSD and chronic treatment-resistant depression.

> > I just wanted to share with you the most recent consequences the world of

> > BPD/NPD has had on my life, even though my personality-disordered parents

> > have been deceased for over a decade.

> > My nada was a histrionic waif/queen/witch, an alcoholic, drug abuser,

> and a

> > pedophile. My fada did not have a drug or alcohol problem, but screamed

> and

> > cried at the drop of a hat, went into physically violent rages directed

> > towards me - never at my nada - and saw the world and everything in it in

> > extreme black and white. Neither parent cared one whit about my hopes,

> > dreams or needs, let alone my feelings.

> > Both parents were high-functioning outside the home. They worked, and

> > behaved like fine, pleasant, upstanding citizens, until they walked into

> > the house, and then all hell broke loose - towards me.

> > When I was 10 and entering puberty, I became a bit chubby, and my nada

> > went ballistic and put me on an adult dose of Dexedrine, which she took

> > because she thought she was fat, which she wasn't. Often she'd give me

> > double doses of the Dexedrine. I was forced to take the amphetamine

> until I

> > was 18.

> > As a result, my thyroid was blown, my growth was stunted, and the mood

> > center of my brain was damaged, which definitely contributed to my having

> > the chronic treatment-resistant depression. It's a miracle that I didn't

> > develop some sort of psychosis or drug addiction.

> > My parents wanted one thing - for me to be famous. I was a talented

> > pianist, composer and singer - actually, I was a child prodigy - yet I

> had

> > a quiet, shy temperament, and performing terrified me. I'd get so nervous

> > on stage that I'd shake all over, I'd feel like vomiting, my hands would

> > sweat so much that they'd fall off the keys, and my mind would go

> > completely blank. I begged my parents to let me stop performing and

> > auditioning, but they refused. And I wouldn't perform well because I was

> > too nervous and scared, and then I'd get severely punished. And, oddly,

> > though they gave me piano lessons with an excellent teacher, they did not

> > provide me with a decent piano. The piano I had was a half-tone out of

> tune

> > (I had perfect pitch and this drove me crazy), and was a rickety old

> > upright. You can't learn proper technique on such a piano, because the

> keys

> > of an upright and the keys of a concert grand (which I gave recitals and

> > concerts on) have TOTALLY different actions. You need far more strength

> to

> > play a concert grand. I could not develop that strength. Could my parents

> > afford a suitable piano? Yes. For whatever reason, despite my piano

> teacher

> > telling them over and over that it was imperative I have a good piano,

> they

> > refused to provide me with one - although they bought piles of luxury

> items

> > for themselves. There were MANY instances where they put roadblocks in

> > front of any progress I was making, or could have made, and I lived in a

> > state of perpetual frustration. If I dared express any of this

> frustration,

> > I was punished (beaten, kicked, threatened, screamed and cursed at) for

> > being ungrateful.

> > The last time I saw my parents was when I was 27 or 28. I stayed with

> them

> > for a week while I was on tour with a singer. The screaming and verbal

> > abuse were horrible, my nada kept coming on to me, and the straw that

> broke

> > the camel's back was when my fada punched me in the face for asking a

> > totally innocent and non-provocative question about one of my uncles. I

> > remained in touch with them by phone, but felt so sick after each

> > conversation that I finally realized I couldn't talk to them any more.

> This

> > was in 1991.

> > In retaliation, my nada told all the family members, who I loved, the

> most

> > horrible things about me. She could come across as the sweetest, kindest,

> > most concerned, warmest, gentlest little woman in the world, and was

> highly

> > intelligent and articulate. According to her, I was psychotic, a junkie,

> > violent, a sociopath, and a pathological liar, and they had done

> everything

> > for me and given me so much and I had just spit in their face. According

> > to her, my eating disorder and depression were nothing but a ploy to get

> > attention and money. (Ummm - once or twice a year my parents MIGHT send

> me

> > $25 or $50 for my birthday or Hanukkah). She was convincing. After a

> > while, every one of them believed her, and wanted nothing to do with me.

> > When I tried reaching out to them, they weren't receptive to anything I

> had

> > to say, because, of course, I was a pathological liar.

> > After my fada passed away, and my nada needed to be in an assisted living

> > facility, my first cousin (who isn't her blood relative - his father is

> my

> > fada's brother) paid for her to live in the best one in Los Angeles,

> bought

> > her luxuries, paid for her to go out to eat and to movies and plays,

> bought

> > her massages, paid for her to have a personal assistant - despite the

> fact

> > that she already had ample finances.

> > So the consequences of all this as of today?

> > I am on Social Security Disability for clinical depression, PTSD,

> > fibromyalgia, asthma and chronic pain. The amount I get monthly is small.

> > I'm single (because the men I've chosen to get involved with have had

> > BPD/NPD and/or turned out to be alcoholics or substance abusers - in

> other

> > words, I really know how to pick 'em) and have no children. I inherited

> > nothing from my parents, who left everything to my first cousin (and my

> > only living family member), who happens to be one of the wealthiest

> people

> > in the world. I've lived in a one-room cottage for 10 years, and found

> out

> > a month ago that I had to move within 60 days (my landlady's husband

> > suddenly died, left her in dire financial circumstances and she has to

> sell

> > her property as quickly as possible). Finding a place to live has been a

> > nightmare. You have to be 62 to apply for a senior housing complex, and

> I'm

> > 61. The " 62 or over " rule is totally unbending. Because my income is so

> > small, no landlord will rent to me, despite the fact that I've never,

> ever

> > not paid rent on time wherever I've lived. And, since utilities were

> > included in my rent here, and previous to living here I'd have a roommate

> > with the utilities in his or her name, I've never had a utility in my

> name

> > so would have to pay a large deposit for each one. I felt so scared and

> so

> > alone. And friends were urging me to call my cousin and ask him for help.

> > Let's just say that he's so rich that he could buy me a condo and it

> would

> > be like me spending a dime. But I couldn't call him because three years

> ago

> > I called him on his birthday, and he wasn't exactly happy to hear from

> me,

> > plus when I told him I'd really love him to know why I had ceased contact

> > with my parents, he said he didn't want to hear it because " Well, I'm

> sure

> > you BELIEVE certain things happened. " So... that was that. No way can I

> ask

> > my cousin for any sort of help.

> > Luckily, thankfully, the other day I found a one-bedroom furnished

> basement

> > apartment that I can afford. Utilities are included in the rent. It's in

> a

> > great neighborhood, and it's a lovely apartment, and I'm moving in either

> > in the middle of February or on March 1st. I was hoping that, at age 61,

> I

> > could find something unfurnished, that I could put more of my personality

> > into, that I could sign a lease for - a forever home, where I wouldn't

> have

> > to worry about the owner of the house suddenly having to sell or

> something

> > like that, but nothing in life is without risk - and I will be very

> > comfortable there.

> > It has been a real struggle for me to care about myself. I've felt so

> sad,

> > alone and unworthy much - if not most - of the time. It is only recently

> > that I've begun to realize that my depression and PTSD are not my fault,

> > and that I am NOT a bad person - that where I am today is the end result

> of

> > being the only child of severely personality-disordered parents. Also,

> the

> > fact that my nada forced me to take adult doses of amphetamines all

> during

> > my preteen and adolescent years - the consequences of that could have

> been

> > much worse than they are, but there were and still are consequences.

> > This forum has been a big help and comfort for me. And I am SO GLAD that

> > those on this forum who are younger than I am can get the support and

> > validation they so desperately need and can learn how to deal with the

> > all-encompassing nightmare of being raised by a BPD parent.

> > Judy

> >

January 27, 2012

Hi Judy

Your story is heart breaking and I completely understand you. My nada is still

alive though. As a child my sister and I were national figure skating

champions, we travelled around the world, were on TV and competed at a world

class level. To the outside world we were very Happy, exceptionally talented

young girls with a supportive mother at our side!

Well in reality we were under confident, abused children who had serious body

dismorphic issues, eating disorders and zero self esteem! God only knows how we

used to perform in front of thousands of people.

My nada was awful to us (and still is) she used to control all our food, makes

us stand in front of the mirror and grab our so called fat (I had 8% body fat

then and my sisters bones and cheeks stuck out) telling us how disgusting and

fat we were. She would starve us then with hold food at meal times until we

literally begged for our meal. Both my sister and I used to have difficulty

getting up as we had zero food in our system. I remember being fed water tablets

and being made to practice for 2 hours minus a water break!!! I'm surprised my

kidneys still work!, I remember being berrated at the rink in front of my peers

and feeling worthless. We used to have to practice at 5:30am before school and

then again after school until 8 pm. After that we still had to eat and do

homework but no nada would take us to the bar and make us stand there, exhausted

and hungry while she drank wine and chatted. She always drove us home despite

drinking! The list goes on and on and on!! if we ever questioned her she would

rage, hit us and tell us how fortunate we were to have her as she was the reason

we were successful.

My whole life has been an unpredictable roller coaster and even at nearly 40 my

nada hasn't change. She is manipulative, cunning and viscous and sweet, highly

organized, assertive, family loving to the outside world!

This site and reading about BPD is helping learn that I am not the problem. I'm

adamant that my children are protected from her ways and that my immediate

family and I lead a happy, healthy life.

It's definitely one day at a time but I am thankful for my awareness and that I

can make it not all be in vain but changing my thoughts and actions. I'm a truly

kind gentle soul that deserves to be happy and I'm going to get it!!

Thanks for sharing your story, it's a reminder that we all are resilient

survivors! Good luck in your new home and may it be filled with unconditional

love.

My best to you

Mel x