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OK it’s my turn to vent.Â

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I have given my two cents with my comments on others’ posts here in a

supportive way and now it’s my turn to express myself.  Below I will be

describing BPD behavior which is diagnostic for the syndrome and which

another contributor has neatly synthesized for us in a recent post.

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 I first figured out my nada was BPD years ago. This was when I tripped across

the BPD diagnosis in a matter I was working on and so I looked up BPD in the

DSM-IV. My nada had/has more than the 5 out of 9 DSM-IV diagnostic criteria. I

realize BPD's resist therapy and that they think they're sane and we're all

crazy, but I cannot fathom why my family did not try harder to intervene or Â

get me out of that domestic situation, given one or more opportunities to do so.

I can only think it was Denial and shame at work, given the times and the stigma

that goes with mental health issues.

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It was only recently that I stumbled on SWOE and I read it three times. Yikes,

it’s as though it were written about her, akin to the way Adult Children of

alcoholic parents also rings true in my FOO. Phooey! SWOE identified

additional behaviors that pretty much nail down what was going on. Some kind of

emotional or mental instability in her own family growing up and alienated from

her parents and her brother, perhaps compounded by her being a first generation

born in North America to European immigrant parents who clinged to the old

ways from Eastern Europe. Estranged, her parents did not attend her wedding

to my father. I never understood and felt it odd even as a little kid that her

family was not in the wedding photos and that a family friend gave her away.Â

But everything seemed to get explained away even if not satisfactorily; somehow

I picked up on that I mustn’t ask as it’d be impertinent of me to do so, it

was just they didn’t

come to the wedding.

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Later, there was something in her history about employment not going well for

her; she did not seem to work or want to work later other than to do the

bookkeeping for a time for my father’s business. After that she felt entitled

to not have to work. One day as a teenager, I brought home with me, briefly, a

school mate from the boys’ school I attended . I introduced him to my mom.

By happenstance, he was the son of the man my nada had worked for where the job

had not gone well for her when I’d been very little. She told me never to let

on exactly who she was, as she’d worked for his father. I took that as

intended to protect me too, she was perhaps status conscious and all that. But

perhaps there was something more embarrassing and more ominous about the whole

thing. I never got the straight story about that or about much of anything

else.Â

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She was certainly highly impulsive, not always empathic but sometimes a whiff of

sympathy (which I inadvertently learned to seek as love and approval which was

conditional, subject to her black-white impulsive thinking). Do we categorize

her ordering me as an underage child (about age 7-8 onwards) to illegally go

buy her cigarettes at the convenience stores as abusive, Â pathological

self-absorption, treating me like an object/appendage or as a convenient source

of exploitation? No matter what I was doing or with whom, I’d be ordered to

drop whatever I was doing ( out playing with playmates, etc.) and march right

over to the store, and, without fail, buy a package of cigarettes, going

through the exercise of persuading the storekeeper they really were for my

mom, not for me (at age 7-8!).  If no luck, try again at a different store,

don't come back empty-handed. Sometimes the same clerk would or wouldn’t make

the transaction. This was

repeated hundreds of times when I was a minor child. I felt so preyed upon. Â

I don’t smoke, so I have her to thank for that, I suppose.Â

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She had breaks with reality under stress (paranoia and delusional thinking), and

cognitive distortion (unable to perceive incoming emotional information

accurately). One time, I was about age 10, she had me accompany her to a Notary

Public to witness her Will. She was convinced if she made up her own Will and

sent it to Switzerland it’d be valid and wouldn’t need a lawyer. The hapless

Notary kept looking at me as though I were responsible for her (yet another

variation on the theme of KO of BPD mom as the child- parent?) and she was

trying to tell ME my mom can’t do this and needs to get legal advice. Â

Â

Do we call it exploitive behavior or fear of abandonment when on a school

night at age 8 or 9 she yanked me out of my bed and ordered me, still in my

PJ’s, to accompany her in a taxi to an apartment to confront a  barfly who'd

been having some kind of sexual relations with my father?

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I had no idea what was happening of course, was terrified, and couldn’t

understand why my father would be going to sleep in a bed with a strange woman.Â

The woman and her own boyfriend and my mom ultimately all agreed it was veryÂ

late and I needed to go home and back to bed after I kept peering under the

woman’s bed looking for my dad…    Â

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When I was about 11, nada dressed to the nines and confronted a cocktail

hostess over my father in an upscale bar located at the arena where the NHL

hockey teams played, then she came in to the arena to confront my father at the

arena seats. Suffice it to say this was back when going to the NHL hockey game

was a classy event and people dressed nicely, so a well-dressed woman assaulting

her husband at the rink side seats after handing the cocktail waitress his

undershorts (to clean for him) made the local newspapers. The cocktail waitress

was fired from her job for consorting with a patron. For some reason my paternal

grandmother thought the newspaper story was a great bit of fun and she

didn’t care that I felt humiliated and put upon (my over-developed sense of

responsibility as a KO of an undiagnosed BPD), as though I had anything to do

with it.

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Oh, those are the highlights.Â

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We have boundary issues as well.Â

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When I was in high school and I finally got to try out for the swim team, I made

the team. Rather than my dad requiring me to try and then fail at school hockey

team try-outs each year, I chose to stay warm that winter and swim, inside. (I

couldn’t skate, but he’d been a hockey star and after all, this saga took

place in Canada where hockey is the national sport.) Â So, no good deed going

unpunished, my nada ruined my swim team uniform in the laundry. Shrunk the

sweatshirt so I couldn’t use it but she could still wear it. Did this to me,

twice, and then there were no more " SWIM TEAM " sweatshirts to be had. She did

look odd wearing a boys’ school athletic team sweatshirt in public, and to

boot she wore it backwards to draw attention. I was so embarrassed by her. Â

When I was about 15, we had a repeat of folks evidently thinking I was my

mom’s parent and responsible for her: friends of my father, formerly friends

of both parents, seemed to

think I needed to take my mom out and get her a job. Again, I’m just a kid at

the time!   Oh, and she gave away my things without asking, sometimes in a

way that was embarrassing to me, and, she gave away my cat, and she gave away my

dog (once I left for college). Â The dog vanished, perhaps as her revenge for my

abandoning her? Â

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Let’s add that when I got the opportunity to attend professional school across

the continent here in the USA, and I departed, she made off with my accumulated

life savings at the time. Gone, absconded with it. I was told she felt bad about

that but that I could make it all back myself later. Do we attribute that to a

boundary violation, a complete lack of understanding as to what “a trusteeâ€

means? Or is making off with your kid’s own accumulated savings by age 22 Â

revenge behavior with blaming, projecting, a sense of entitlement, pathological

lying, pathological self-absorption, chronic feelings of emptiness, unstable

sense of self, treating other people like objects/exploitative behavior, having

breaks with reality under the stress of not knowing how to cope with money or

holding it in a trust? SWOE tells us a BPD may try to get rid of money they

can’t handle the stress of holding onto once they get it.

Â

Finally, at my wedding she thought that the best opportune time to teach me

valuable verbally and physically abusive lessons in not letting people “get

your goat†as she put it. Do we see this as feared abandonment by the one

she cannot exploit or abuse anymore? (I was getting married with a family life

and career and home of my own 2000 miles away from her.) Or is this a highly

impulsive lack of empathy, hair-trigger temper/violence/chronic irritability,

with rapid mood swings? My now former wife later confided in me she was

terrified of nada and was fearful of having a child because nada had said

nada’d be out on the first plane here once we were having kids. Nada has

always had this thing about trying to move here and resents that I’m here and

she’s there.

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No point in the exercise of trying to establish boundaries here, like many

other BPD’s she just sees limits and boundaries as a challenge “to drive a

truck through.†Suffice it say I am NC. I spoke to her about 3 years ago.

She cut off e-mail contact. She has a PO Box address for me if she wants to use

it.  There are third-party means to get a hold of me if there is a genuine

need. I have to live my own life and deal with the old KO issues like shame,

guilt, the long-term ingrained sense of over-responsibility toward the abusive

BPD parent, and associated issues that crossover with folks who are adult

children of alcoholics. Things like the aftermath of what we call c-PTSD, fears

of success and failure and of loss and rejection, all of which in a Law of

Attraction nightmare have manifested.  For now, it has to be self-improvement

and self-healing as the means for a therapist are just not doable right now.

Past efforts with therapy got

close but did not reveal what’s clear to me now about where I fumbled, fell,

stalled and failed in life before, despite what was going for me.Â

Â

Thanks for this opportunity here to vent, to share, to cry out; to say that the

truth can set me free but boy do I hurt with what I do know now. I thank you for

being supportive.

Â

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