Disbelief and trying to find closure.

[Guest guest]

I'm not really sure where to begin here - it's just wonderful (and

not-so-wonderful) to

know that this isn't an anomaly and other people have dealt with someone with

BPD. My

mother died a year and a half ago, and from the time she was diagnosed with lung

cancer,

I went into counseling to allay my Dad's worries and to try to come to terms

with what was

happening.

They had divorced when I was four years old, with many stories of abuse flying

around,

most of which a four-year-old shouldn't be exposed to. Lies were told (I think)

and only

now do I realise that a lot of my 'memories' may not be real, and that in itself

is quite

strange. Growing up I have large blank periods book-ended by horrific events,

feelings of

intense responsibility and feeling like the most important and brilliant person

in the world.

I knew the relationship Mum and I had was special, we were 'best friends' and

she

confided in me as such. Things now, I wish I had never heard.

I remember waking up in the morning after making my school projects to find she

had

altered them, they weren't quite good enough. On the other hand, I was praised

for being

so 'gifted'.

Then I remember being told constantly that I was 'selfish and self-centred,' a

phrase which

now rolls easily off the tongue and has settled quite comfortably into my

psyche. This may

explain why I feel the need to cater to every possible need of the people around

me. I am

so scared that people will think that of me. Selfish and self-centred. I never

meant to be.

Then as I grew up, developed a little bit of my own identity, was more strongly

drawn to

the stability of my Father's side of the family. I was curious to know them

properly,

something which Mum had seemed to 'shield' me from my whole life. They were a

'bad

lot'. I began to work out that this behaviour wasn't normal, Mother's weren't

supposed to

poison their daughter's dogs to get back at them for loving their fathers, they

weren't

supposed to say things like, " A B? I'm an A+ mother. " They weren't supposed to

smack you

so hard that you bruised.

We moved house 11 times.

So, at 16, I suggested, as tentatively as I could that perhaps, maybe, I could

stay with my

Dad a week at a time - instantly, she flew into a frenzy. I remember her leaving

me at

home, it was late at night, to drive down bare-foot to the corner shop to buy

cigarettes,

only to come back yelling at me that it was my fault she started to smoke again.

I was

curled up in a ball in the backyard on the phone to my sister (half-sister

through my Dad)

bawling - I was scared she was in the house killing herself.

From then her condition deteriorated, and I attempted to plow through the last

year of

school and into University - academics and my school persona had always been a

source

of pride for her, so maintaining it seemed to be the most important thing for

her, and it

provided me with the validation I felt I needed. The emotional blackmail she

used to

combat her feelings of abandonment (because I had chosen to live out my final

year of

school with my Dad) were constant and exhausting, and I wondered if she knew how

it

affected me. It got to the point where it stopped affecting me, and I became

numbed. She

then told me she tried to kill herself, and that it was because I left her.

Then after months of Pneumonia, chest x-rays, quitting university to keep up her

visitation expectations in hospital - she was diagnosed with Lung Cancer. She

struggled

with money and ended up having to move into a tiny flat on her own, undergoing

radiation

and chemotherapy. They gave her five years. I ended up working a full-time

managerial

job at age 17 to keep myself busy in the absence of study. I felt disgusting,

making all this

money while she struggled and when I tried to help financially I was thwarted by

her need

to be independent, despite her obvious deterioration. She would tell me how

amazing her

friends were, visiting her all the time, buying her things, being a constant

comfort -

making a very clear reference to the fact that I wasn't doing enough. I've never

felt such

mingled emotions; resentment and guilt. I never showed it. I think that scared

her. I was

blank.

I became robotic, receiving text messages from her like - " You didn't visit me

today,

obviously you don't love me at all, " and " Do I really have a daughter? " I had

gone from

being her pillar of support at home, to the cause of her pain. I had abandoned

her, but I

didn't understand that she was so scared. She used to tell me all the time that

she was

scared when I wasn't there, but because I didn't drop everything for her, I had

lost the

ability to pacify her.

4 months after her diagnosis, they stopped treating her and she died. She had

progressed

incredibly quickly. She said she didn't really have much to fight for, everyone

had gone.

She had been abandoned at an orphanage with her sister at age 3, and suffered

terrible

physical and sexual abuse until the age of 17. She had no parents, no love and

never felt

stable enough to grow up. More often than not, I felt as though I was her

mother. It was

as though she was the child, and I skipped childhood into adulthood. People used

to

always remark on my maturity, but it was a survival mechanism.

For the longest time I wondered why Dad didn't fight for custody of me, knowing

what

Mum was like - I really wished I was saved by someone. Everyone must've known.

But

Mum was amazingly resilient in a public setting - charismatic, the centre of

attention,

caring, intuitive and interesting. She had a real spark, something I think would

have been

quite spectacular had she been a nurtured child as she deserved. Most people

wouldn't

have known. I was the one she chose to reveal herself to, because she was able

to control

me.

Since she died, I have gone through a large stage of denial - I feel like I've

lost elements of

childhood, my mother and any chance of resolution. I feel guilty that she bought

that

packet of cigarettes, a habit that ended up killing her. These feelings

manifested

themselves in depression, anxiety and finally an eating disorder which is

probably the

most debilitating of all and I am still trying hard to battle with daily.

Despite being in therapy over the past two years, I don't think there has ever

been a point

where I've really referred to Mum or talked about her at length. After a

particularly terrible

bulimic episode a few days ago, I practically ran to my psychologist and vented

my

desperation. I was desperate to know why I behaved like this, despite all the

intellectual

knowledge and reasons I have not to put behave this way, and the physical

exhaustion I

felt, I continued to use food and self deprecation to remedy by anxiety. She

asked me why

I thought I did this, and I finally came out with something I'd known all along,

but

something I realised was preventing me from moving forward. I have never ever

dealt with

anything. Ever. She said I'd hit the nail on the head. For the next 90 minutes I

practically

exploded with stories about Mum, Dad and all the weird memories I hadn't allowed

myself

to experience. I'd packaged everything away to stay safe.

Then she said something to me, which I know is the beginning of healing for me.

" It

sounds to me, from what you describe, that your Mother had Borderline

Personality

Disorder. " I had never heard of it, but an overwhelming sense of relief came

over me. She

explained it to me, and explained how adult children of people with BPD behave -

everything fit perfectly. Mum and I were two polar extremes, both with

abandonment

issues but with different survival mechanisms. Now I feel a deep sadness that

perhaps she

had never got the help she needed and I was never able to understand.

But now I think I have an opportunity to understand myself a bit better. I now

understand

why I find it difficult to trust, have constant battles with self esteem, very

black and white

thinking and an overblown sense of responsibility - and have an opportunity to

heal. I am

just so saddened that in the absence of this knowledge, Mum didn't have the

opportunity

to heal too. I now realise how much I love her.

My only dilemma now is where I go from here.

Thanks so much for allowing me to have a medium whereby I can share this, even

just

putting things into words provides some relief.

If anyone managed to read this, you deserve a medal. I didn't plan to write a

large novel.

Abbie.