Re: flashbacks (just needing support, I guess)

[Guest guest]

, Thank you for sharing. You really touched a cord in me with your post, in

two places.

First you wrote a very powerful, true line. You put into words what I haven't

been able to: " I never felt worthy to be saved from my mother " . I think this

core statement really does become the foundation to KOs self esteem. I know it

has for me.

Also when you listed all the things that together make up the abuse of KOs. I

hear you, that this story with the iron and your dress, IS abuse. I hear you,

because I know its not just one isolated incident. I feel it hurts because

sharing these types of stories with non KOs, never shows the incidious mental

and emotional abuse that went on. Because, like you said, its about an entire

childhood of all that you listed, that together, is horrible child abuse.

I too get flashbacks. And I hate them, because sometimes they actually give me

physical anxiety.

~Kim

>

> Do you ever do something mundane and have a flashback from childhood that

> truly hurt you?

> Do you ever have moments where you say, 'that wasn't as bad as I'm making

> it out to be?' and make excuses for your parent?

>

> I always felt laughed at/talked about in my family and even today at 39,

> hate it when I feel like someone doesn't like me or I feel talked about.

> Also, as an adult, I came to feel like I wasn't important and that what I

> thought or felt didn't matter to other people. I'm sure it's rooted in a lot

> of things, but I never felt worthy to be saved from my mother. My entire

> family stood around and did nothing while I lived under this emotional abuse,

> so what did that say about me? My therapist says it says nothing about me

> and everything about them.

>

> At any rate, it has definitely affected my self esteem and I had somewhat

> of a " flashback " the other night when I burned a hole in a pair of silky

> pants I was ironing. I'm a dufus, I know. I got the iron too hot. I loved

> those silky army green pants. :o/ What a silly thing to flashback over,

> right? No one grabbed the iron and deliberately burned me with it. No one

> forced me to stand for hours and iron. It wasn't near that important.

>

> Well, anyhoo,when I was 11, I wanted to go to church SO bad. I begged and

> pleaded with my older sister (who was 19) to take me with her. She refused.

> My mother had promised to take me earlier in the week, but as usual, never

> kept her promises and told me Saturday night she wouldn't go the following

> morning. I can still see her standing there, cigarette in hand, telling me

> to stop nagging her. So I was determined to go and decided I'd walk

> despite the fact that it was across town and it would have taken me a week to

get

> there. In my 11 year old mind, I'd hitchhike or catch a bus. So I got a

> silky dress and pulled out the ironing board and began to iron it.

> Instead, I got the iron too hot and the second I laid it on favorite dress,

it

> burned a huge iron-shaped hole right in the center. My sister and my mother

> burst out laughing and then told me I was being ridiculous when I started

> crying. I remember my sister screaming at me that I couldn't go with her and

> my mother continuing to stand and laugh as I ran upstairs crying.

>

> Now, I can see how that incident in and of itself is probably not 'abuse'

> per se. Just insensitive. But like most victims of BPD parents, it's the

> multiple effect of everything that happened that causes so many problems.

> The control, the lack of privacy, the invalidation, the cutting remarks, the

> breaking of promises, the smothering for her own emotional needs to be

> met, the fear of her constant threats of sucide, dealing with her phobia of

> lightening, of driving, of everything, being made fun of, invalidated, never

> being considered as a real person who has feelings, emotions, needs.

> I could go on and on....

> My therapist said it's a miracle I survived with as much sanity as I did.

> I escaped BPD although I have lots of 'fleas' and sometimes I wonder....my

> repayment was a dissociative disorder.

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

Yes, I've had " deja vu " or flashback experiences before, one while in my nada's

presence (but I successfully hid it.)

It had to do with the way my nada was responding to some children she knows.

When nada ignored and literally pushed away (gently, though) the enthusiastic

older child (about 3+ years old) to move past her and scoop up the toddler

(about 18 months old) I had what I can only describe as an out-of-body

experience. It was sort of like it was all happening in slow motion, too.

I watched the older child's face change from happiness to hurt and puzzlement as

nada completely ignored her greeting, but then the little girl dropped her arms

that she had raised to give a hug, and tried again to get my nada's attention,

but shyly and quietly. Nada continued to ignore her, but finally spoke to

her/acknowledged her presence after a minute or two. It was weird the way my

nada acted as though the older child *wasn't even there* when she could have

easily greeted both children. So I think that must have triggered memories of

similar experiences that I'd had with my nada at that age.

The depersonalization experience was so sudden and unexpected (and bizarre!)

that I was speechless for several minutes. When I felt like I was " back " , I

left to go to the bathroom and collect my thoughts, to figure out what had just

happened to me.

When I was little, like around 4 to 5, I had a frightening recurring vivid dream

that I was outside on the street where we lived, and I was trying to find my

house but it wasn't there. The next door neighbor's houses were there, but in

the place where my house was supposed to be there was a different house, and my

family was gone. It was like, my home wasn't a safe place for me; it could

vanish and shift and change at any moment. (Three guesses why; the answer

starts with " n. " ) I think my nada treating me like I was " invisible " terrified

me, and the dream of the missing house terrified me, so they must have been

related.

Also, RE flashback things, to this day I have a hard time with startling if my

nada (or anyone) makes a sudden, unexpected loud noise near me. Its actually

painful, because I have a herniated neck disc and sudden jerky movement (like

startling) hurts. I went from having no startle reaction as a child (because

startling enraged nada) to having an exaggerated one as an adult; I'm hoping

" normal " will evolve, eventually.

-Annie

>

> Do you ever do something mundane and have a flashback from childhood that

> truly hurt you?

> Do you ever have moments where you say, 'that wasn't as bad as I'm making

> it out to be?' and make excuses for your parent?

>

> I always felt laughed at/talked about in my family and even today at 39,

> hate it when I feel like someone doesn't like me or I feel talked about.

> Also, as an adult, I came to feel like I wasn't important and that what I

> thought or felt didn't matter to other people. I'm sure it's rooted in a lot

> of things, but I never felt worthy to be saved from my mother. My entire

> family stood around and did nothing while I lived under this emotional abuse,

> so what did that say about me? My therapist says it says nothing about me

> and everything about them.

>

> At any rate, it has definitely affected my self esteem and I had somewhat

> of a " flashback " the other night when I burned a hole in a pair of silky

> pants I was ironing. I'm a dufus, I know. I got the iron too hot. I loved

> those silky army green pants. :o/ What a silly thing to flashback over,

> right? No one grabbed the iron and deliberately burned me with it. No one

> forced me to stand for hours and iron. It wasn't near that important.

>

> Well, anyhoo,when I was 11, I wanted to go to church SO bad. I begged and

> pleaded with my older sister (who was 19) to take me with her. She refused.

> My mother had promised to take me earlier in the week, but as usual, never

> kept her promises and told me Saturday night she wouldn't go the following

> morning. I can still see her standing there, cigarette in hand, telling me

> to stop nagging her. So I was determined to go and decided I'd walk

> despite the fact that it was across town and it would have taken me a week to

get

> there. In my 11 year old mind, I'd hitchhike or catch a bus. So I got a

> silky dress and pulled out the ironing board and began to iron it.

> Instead, I got the iron too hot and the second I laid it on favorite dress,

it

> burned a huge iron-shaped hole right in the center. My sister and my mother

> burst out laughing and then told me I was being ridiculous when I started

> crying. I remember my sister screaming at me that I couldn't go with her and

> my mother continuing to stand and laugh as I ran upstairs crying.

>

> Now, I can see how that incident in and of itself is probably not 'abuse'

> per se. Just insensitive. But like most victims of BPD parents, it's the

> multiple effect of everything that happened that causes so many problems.

> The control, the lack of privacy, the invalidation, the cutting remarks, the

> breaking of promises, the smothering for her own emotional needs to be

> met, the fear of her constant threats of sucide, dealing with her phobia of

> lightening, of driving, of everything, being made fun of, invalidated, never

> being considered as a real person who has feelings, emotions, needs.

> I could go on and on....

> My therapist said it's a miracle I survived with as much sanity as I did.

> I escaped BPD although I have lots of 'fleas' and sometimes I wonder....my

> repayment was a dissociative disorder.

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

, I hope it's okay to say this but your post really brought out the anger

in me at your mother and sister. In almost every spiritual belief system there

is a concept of justice, payback, karma and they are due some, quite a lot.

You deserve to be happy, healthy, whole and not haunted - I hope you give

yourself tons of credit for surviving that. Dissociative disorder is an

understandable consequence of growing up in insane circumstances - not all of

us, certainly not me, can survive such an environment w/o some effects. I too

get triggered by small things that hook back into a memory long buried and it

makes me wonder if it ever heals or just gets shoved to the back of the mental

closet. My hope is it is possible to crowd it out with good things.

be good to yourself

julie

>

> Do you ever do something mundane and have a flashback from childhood that

> truly hurt you?

> Do you ever have moments where you say, 'that wasn't as bad as I'm making

> it out to be?' and make excuses for your parent?

>

> I always felt laughed at/talked about in my family and even today at 39,

> hate it when I feel like someone doesn't like me or I feel talked about.

> Also, as an adult, I came to feel like I wasn't important and that what I

> thought or felt didn't matter to other people. I'm sure it's rooted in a lot

> of things, but I never felt worthy to be saved from my mother. My entire

> family stood around and did nothing while I lived under this emotional abuse,

> so what did that say about me? My therapist says it says nothing about me

> and everything about them.

>

> At any rate, it has definitely affected my self esteem and I had somewhat

> of a " flashback " the other night when I burned a hole in a pair of silky

> pants I was ironing. I'm a dufus, I know. I got the iron too hot. I loved

> those silky army green pants. :o/ What a silly thing to flashback over,

> right? No one grabbed the iron and deliberately burned me with it. No one

> forced me to stand for hours and iron. It wasn't near that important.

>

> Well, anyhoo,when I was 11, I wanted to go to church SO bad. I begged and

> pleaded with my older sister (who was 19) to take me with her. She refused.

> My mother had promised to take me earlier in the week, but as usual, never

> kept her promises and told me Saturday night she wouldn't go the following

> morning. I can still see her standing there, cigarette in hand, telling me

> to stop nagging her. So I was determined to go and decided I'd walk

> despite the fact that it was across town and it would have taken me a week to

get

> there. In my 11 year old mind, I'd hitchhike or catch a bus. So I got a

> silky dress and pulled out the ironing board and began to iron it.

> Instead, I got the iron too hot and the second I laid it on favorite dress,

it

> burned a huge iron-shaped hole right in the center. My sister and my mother

> burst out laughing and then told me I was being ridiculous when I started

> crying. I remember my sister screaming at me that I couldn't go with her and

> my mother continuing to stand and laugh as I ran upstairs crying.

>

> Now, I can see how that incident in and of itself is probably not 'abuse'

> per se. Just insensitive. But like most victims of BPD parents, it's the

> multiple effect of everything that happened that causes so many problems.

> The control, the lack of privacy, the invalidation, the cutting remarks, the

> breaking of promises, the smothering for her own emotional needs to be

> met, the fear of her constant threats of sucide, dealing with her phobia of

> lightening, of driving, of everything, being made fun of, invalidated, never

> being considered as a real person who has feelings, emotions, needs.

> I could go on and on....

> My therapist said it's a miracle I survived with as much sanity as I did.

> I escaped BPD although I have lots of 'fleas' and sometimes I wonder....my

> repayment was a dissociative disorder.

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

,

Do you know of any good books on Dissociative Disorder (DD)?

Could you tell me a little bit about it as it relates to the borderline

parent/child relationship?

Thanks

Mark

P.S. I've just recently discovered that I was having flashbacks.

I also thought it might just be me overeacting. I have titled

them, " emotional " flashbacks. They are intense

and sometimes frighening. Do you know what I mean?

> > Do you ever do something mundane and have a flashback from childhood that

> > truly hurt you?

> > Do you ever have moments where you say, 'that wasn't as bad as I'm making

> > it out to be?' and make excuses for your parent?

> >

> > I always felt laughed at/talked about in my family and even today at 39,

> > hate it when I feel like someone doesn't like me or I feel talked about.

> > Also, as an adult, I came to feel like I wasn't important and that what I

> > thought or felt didn't matter to other people. I'm sure it's rooted in a

lot

> > of things, but I never felt worthy to be saved from my mother. My entire

> > family stood around and did nothing while I lived under this emotional

abuse,

> > so what did that say about me? My therapist says it says nothing about me

> > and everything about them.

> >

> > At any rate, it has definitely affected my self esteem and I had somewhat

> > of a " flashback " the other night when I burned a hole in a pair of silky

> > pants I was ironing. I'm a dufus, I know. I got the iron too hot. I loved

> > those silky army green pants. :o/ What a silly thing to flashback over,

> > right? No one grabbed the iron and deliberately burned me with it. No one

> > forced me to stand for hours and iron. It wasn't near that important.

> >

> > Well, anyhoo,when I was 11, I wanted to go to church SO bad. I begged and

> > pleaded with my older sister (who was 19) to take me with her. She refused.

> > My mother had promised to take me earlier in the week, but as usual, never

> > kept her promises and told me Saturday night she wouldn't go the following

> > morning. I can still see her standing there, cigarette in hand, telling me

> > to stop nagging her. So I was determined to go and decided I'd walk

> > despite the fact that it was across town and it would have taken me a week

to get

> > there. In my 11 year old mind, I'd hitchhike or catch a bus. So I got a

> > silky dress and pulled out the ironing board and began to iron it.

> > Instead, I got the iron too hot and the second I laid it on favorite dress,

it

> > burned a huge iron-shaped hole right in the center. My sister and my

mother

> > burst out laughing and then told me I was being ridiculous when I started

> > crying. I remember my sister screaming at me that I couldn't go with her

and

> > my mother continuing to stand and laugh as I ran upstairs crying.

> >

> > Now, I can see how that incident in and of itself is probably not 'abuse'

> > per se. Just insensitive. But like most victims of BPD parents, it's the

> > multiple effect of everything that happened that causes so many problems.

> > The control, the lack of privacy, the invalidation, the cutting remarks,

the

> > breaking of promises, the smothering for her own emotional needs to be

> > met, the fear of her constant threats of sucide, dealing with her phobia of

> > lightening, of driving, of everything, being made fun of, invalidated, never

> > being considered as a real person who has feelings, emotions, needs.

> > I could go on and on....

> > My therapist said it's a miracle I survived with as much sanity as I did.

> > I escaped BPD although I have lots of 'fleas' and sometimes I wonder....my

> > repayment was a dissociative disorder.

> >

> >

> >

> >

> >

> >

> >

> >

> >

> >

[Guest guest]

Hi Mark (and everyone),

Thank you all for your support. I have read everyone's replies. In my

heart, I guess I know my mother was an emtional abuser. She is dead now and

tagging her as an " abuser " for some reason makes me uncomfortable. If she were

alive and I were to say she were an abuser she would 1.) Tell me I was

making up things and I had actually been a spoiled brat as a child and 2.)

gone on the defensive and played the victim role and twisted it into me

abusing her by calling her an abuser.

Mark, my dissociative disorder is related to the entire dynamics of my

childhood, which included sexual abuse by my mother's uncle. I am not aware of

any correlation between BPD children and dissociative disorders, but

dissociative disorders are on a continuum and are often mistaken for severe

PTSD.

In a message dated 9/16/2009 5:44:35 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time,

mwhitinger@... writes:

,

Do you know of any good books on Dissociative Disorder (DD)?

Could you tell me a little bit about it as it relates to the borderline

parent/child relationship?

Thanks

Mark

P.S. I've just recently discovered that I was having flashbacks.

I also thought it might just be me overeacting. I have titled

them, " emotional " flashbacks. They are intense

and sometimes frighening. Do you know what I mean?

> > Do you ever do something mundane and have a flashback from childhood

that

> > truly hurt you?

> > Do you ever have moments where you say, 'that wasn't as bad as I'm

making

> > it out to be?' and make excuses for your parent?

> >

> > I always felt laughed at/talked about in my family and even today at

39,

> > hate it when I feel like someone doesn't like me or I feel talked

about.

> > Also, as an adult, I came to feel like I wasn't important and that

what I

> > thought or felt didn't matter to other people. I'm sure it's rooted in

a lot

> > of things, but I never felt worthy to be saved from my mother. My

entire

> > family stood around and did nothing while I lived under this emotional

abuse,

> > so what did that say about me? My therapist says it says nothing about

me

> > and everything about them.

> >

> > At any rate, it has definitely affected my self esteem and I had

somewhat

> > of a " flashback " the other night when I burned a hole in a pair of

silky

> > pants I was ironing. I'm a dufus, I know. I got the iron too hot. I

loved

> > those silky army green pants. :o/ What a silly thing to flashback

over,

> > right? No one grabbed the iron and deliberately burned me with it. No

one

> > forced me to stand for hours and iron. It wasn't near that important.

> >

> > Well, anyhoo,when I was 11, I wanted to go to church SO bad. I begged

and

> > pleaded with my older sister (who was 19) to take me with her. She

refused.

> > My mother had promised to take me earlier in the week, but as usual,

never

> > kept her promises and told me Saturday night she wouldn't go the

following

> > morning. I can still see her standing there, cigarette in hand,

telling me

> > to stop nagging her. So I was determined to go and decided I'd walk

> > despite the fact that it was across town and it would have taken me a

week to get

> > there. In my 11 year old mind, I'd hitchhike or catch a bus. So I got

a

> > silky dress and pulled out the ironing board and began to iron it.

> > Instead, I got the iron too hot and the second I laid it on favorite

dress, it

> > burned a huge iron-shaped hole right in the center. My sister and my

mother

> > burst out laughing and then told me I was being ridiculous when I

started

> > crying. I remember my sister screaming at me that I couldn't go with

her and

> > my mother continuing to stand and laugh as I ran upstairs crying.

> >

> > Now, I can see how that incident in and of itself is probably not

'abuse'

> > per se. Just insensitive. But like most victims of BPD parents, it's

the

> > multiple effect of everything that happened that causes so many

problems.

> > The control, the lack of privacy, the invalidation, the cutting

remarks, the

> > breaking of promises, the smothering for her own emotional needs to be

> > met, the fear of her constant threats of sucide, dealing with her

phobia of

> > lightening, of driving, of everything, being made fun of, invalidated,

never

> > being considered as a real person who has feelings, emotions, needs.

> > I could go on and on....

> > My therapist said it's a miracle I survived with as much sanity as I

did.

> > I escaped BPD although I have lots of 'fleas' and sometimes I

wonder....my

> > repayment was a dissociative disorder.

> >

> >

> >

> >

> >

> >

> >

> >

> >

> > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

> >

>

[Guest guest]

One of the biggest problems i have is that single incidents with nada never

proved to me that she was an abuser. It was the collective events that

Lawson talks about in Understanding the Borderline Mother that

really hit home with me. I can map out a timeline and the events pretty well

and

see that yes, I was abused. Some things my mother did embarrass me to

talk about, even now, at 39 years old.

Warning:

Long and rambley ahead.

When I was 2-3 she would make me sit on the toilet for long periods of time

(I can't say HOURS, but it was long) and that was her " potty training " me.

I would fall asleep sitting on the toilet and then get a spanking for

falling asleep. How can I remember that? Don't normal people not have

memories until 5 or 6? She would demand I go to the bathroom and if I did, it

wasn't enough for her and I needed to go more.

She would shut me in a dark bathroom, forbid me to come out, and tell me

she was leaving me there alone. Sometimes she would add that she hoped

something got me and she was leaving the house. I have no idea why this stands

out to me so much or how jumbled it is, but I went through times where she

would grab her purse and say she was leaving and never coming back. To my

knowledge, she never actually left.

I remember once pooping in my pants. I was little -- 3.5, MAYBE 4 at the

most and she shoved them in my mouth.

She frequently put me in cold showers to make me stop crying. She did this

until I was about 5 and then for whatever reason, stopped.

She would also keep me awake late hours to " talk " to her about my

behavior, which was her berating me for hours and telling me she was going to

" give

me away " or to someone who really loved her. That she never wanted a

little girl like me, she wanted a little girl that actually loved her. I would

attempt to hug her and reassure her that I loved her and she'd push me away

and insist I didn't. It was a helpless feeling that I can still feel even

when writing it.

She was permissive and yet strict. It's difficult to explain. She let me

spend the night with whoever asked me over and yet never let me have a

friend spend the night. She let me stay out roaming the street (our street)

until well after dark but forbid me to play with certain neighborhood kids

because she couldn't get along with the parents. If I made a friend, she'd

fight with the parents and then forbid me to play with them.

She never told me anything about puberty or growing into a woman. I woke up

one morning and was crying because I thought I was dying because my chest

was hurting and she and my father made a laughing joke that I had started

puberty right in front of me. I realized at that moment what it was and was

completely mortified.

She called me ungrateful and bratty so many times I can't even count. She

would tell me how much more I had than other kids materially and it would

be so confusing because I looked at what I had versus what other kids had

and new it wasn't true -- and yet she was saying it, so it must be true.

As I got older, her permissiveness went into control and she had to know

every detail of my life. She read my diary to my father and they both told me

how " weird " it was and that I needed 'help.' Which may have been true.

I developed severe anorexia by about 16 and her way to " cure " me was to

tell me it was ridiculous and I was doing it for attention. Unfortunately, I

struggled with it for many years and sometimes still do.

She controlled where I went, who I dated, what I thought -- way into my

adulthood. Gosh, I would say until she died 2 years ago and I was 37, I was

still afraid of her. She would tell me she was dying (she had emphysema) and

I didn't care if she couldn't get me on the phone and she literally (I am

not exaggerating) demanded i talk to her on the phone multiple times per

day. She'd cal my inlaws, my husband's work, my neighbors -- thankfully we

lived too far away for her to drive over -- and talk about me.

I so wish I had had a normal mother. I still have that need and I am almost

freaking 40.

[Guest guest]

Annie,

Thank you for the hugs. I am not so sure some days that I did mentally

survive. This, along with sexual abuse I couldn't talk about, nearly did me in.

My mother was always so emotionally fragile and I could have never told

her what her uncle was doing for fear she'd commit suicide. She threatened it

enough that's for sure.

I have a question too...

Did any of your bpd parents go into your room when you weren't home and go

through your things? My mother would throw things away I cherished as well.

In a message dated 9/16/2009 12:43:56 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time,

anuria-67854@... writes:

((((())(((

Your mother was seriously disturbed and guilty of committing gross acts of

criminal child abuse. Good Lord in Heaven, its a miracle that you survived

and are as mentally healthy as you are (referring to the anorexia).

Your survival is a tribute to your instincts and inner core of strength.

And you're right RE the relentless, daily accumulation of

just-under-the-And you're right RE the relentless, daily accumulation of

just-under-the-<WBR>radar physical abuses, the terror, the humiliation, the

rejection and

despair that constitute a child's life with a bpd/Cluster B parent: these ac

It makes my blood boil; people like your mother (and your father, who

witnessed it and did nothing) ought to be publicly horse-whipped.

-Annie

--- In _WTOAdultChildren1@WTOAdultChilWTO_

(mailto:WTOAdultChildren1 ) , Hummingbird1298@, Humm

>

> One of the biggest problems i have is that single incidents with nada

never

> proved to me that she was an abuser. It was the collective events that

> Lawson talks about in Understanding the Borderline Mother that

> really hit home with me. I can map out a timeline and the events pretty

well and

> see that yes, I was abused. Some things my mother did embarrass me to

> talk about, even now, at 39 years old.

>

> Warning:

> Long and rambley ahead.

>

> When I was 2-3 she would make me sit on the toilet for long periods of

time

> (I can't say HOURS, but it was long) and that was her " potty training "

me.

> I would fall asleep sitting on the toilet and then get a spanking for

> falling asleep. How can I remember that? Don't normal people not have

> memories until 5 or 6? She would demand I go to the bathroom and if I

did, it

> wasn't enough for her and I needed to go more.

>

> She would shut me in a dark bathroom, forbid me to come out, and tell me

> she was leaving me there alone. Sometimes she would add that she hoped

> something got me and she was leaving the house. I have no idea why this

stands

> out to me so much or how jumbled it is, but I went through times where

she

> would grab her purse and say she was leaving and never coming back. To

my

> knowledge, she never actually left.

>

> I remember once pooping in my pants. I was little -- 3.5, MAYBE 4 at the

> most and she shoved them in my mouth.

>

> She frequently put me in cold showers to make me stop crying. She did

this

> until I was about 5 and then for whatever reason, stopped.

>

> She would also keep me awake late hours to " talk " to her about my

> behavior, which was her berating me for hours and telling me she was

going to " give

> me away " or to someone who really loved her. That she never wanted a

> little girl like me, she wanted a little girl that actually loved her. I

would

> attempt to hug her and reassure her that I loved her and she'd push me

away

> and insist I didn't. It was a helpless feeling that I can still feel

even

> when writing it.

>

> She was permissive and yet strict. It's difficult to explain. She let me

> spend the night with whoever asked me over and yet never let me have a

> friend spend the night. She let me stay out roaming the street (our

street)

> until well after dark but forbid me to play with certain neighborhood

kids

> because she couldn't get along with the parents. If I made a friend,

she'd

> fight with the parents and then forbid me to play with them.

>

> She never told me anything about puberty or growing into a woman. I woke

up

> one morning and was crying because I thought I was dying because my

chest

> was hurting and she and my father made a laughing joke that I had

started

> puberty right in front of me. I realized at that moment what it was and

was

> completely mortified.

>

> She called me ungrateful and bratty so many times I can't even count.

She

> would tell me how much more I had than other kids materially and it

would

> be so confusing because I looked at what I had versus what other kids

had

> and new it wasn't true -- and yet she was saying it, so it must be true.

>

> As I got older, her permissiveness went into control and she had to know

> every detail of my life. She read my diary to my father and they both

told me

> how " weird " it was and that I needed 'help.' Which may have been true.

>

> I developed severe anorexia by about 16 and her way to " cure " me was to

> tell me it was ridiculous and I was doing it for attention.

Unfortunately, I

> struggled with it for many years and sometimes still do.

>

> She controlled where I went, who I dated, what I thought -- way into my

> adulthood. Gosh, I would say until she died 2 years ago and I was 37, I

was

> still afraid of her. She would tell me she was dying (she had emphysema)

and

> I didn't care if she couldn't get me on the phone and she literally (I

am

> not exaggerating) demanded i talk to her on the phone multiple times per

> day. She'd cal my inlaws, my husband's work, my neighbors -- thankfully

we

> lived too far away for her to drive over -- and talk about me.

>

> I so wish I had had a normal mother. I still have that need and I am

almost

> freaking 40.

>

>

>

>

>

>

> [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

>

[Guest guest]

I'm sorry you're parents made you do something that seems so pointless

Jackie. I don't know who would iron bed sheets and pillow cases. That just

seems nuts to me too.

And it is the things that might have been overlooked had it been one

incident or two that bother me so much. I always remember feeling talked about

by my own parents and I hated it. Absolutely hated it.

Before my mother died in 2007, she would call me up and talk horribly about

my sister. I'd tell her to stop and she'd say things like, " I thought we

could be 'friends' now that you're an adult. I guess I was mistaken. " But

I'd never heard of any parent talking so badly about their own child. It

wasn't until after her death that my dad and sister verified she had done the

same about me to them.

My dad was a wimp when it came to my mother and would basically get me off

to the side and beg me to go along and keep peace so he didn't have to hear

it.

Amazing I protected him and yet he did nothing to protect me.

In a message dated 9/16/2009 1:10:04 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time,

sleddog@... writes:

, I understand what you're going through. I was forced to iron for

hours , pillow cases, my fadas handkerchiefs, his shirts, nadas

shirts...bed

sheets ( WHY would anyone waste time ironing bed sheets, pillow cases, and

handkerchiefs ???) I know how you feel about others talking about you ( or

thinking they're talking about you) none of us were saved from our abusive

parents by anyone..not other family members, not school teachers, not

neighbors. I agree with your therapist..it has nothing to do with YOU, it

shows cowardice on their parts, not wanting to get involved....shows

cowardi

a miracle any of us survived !! Sorry you ruined your dress as a child (

and what a terrible thing for your nada and sister to laugh, how cruel)

and

your silk pants recently. We all make mistakes

Jackie

> Do you ever do something mundane and have a flashback from childhood that

> truly hurt you?

> Do you ever have moments where you say, 'that wasn't as bad as I'm making

> it out to be?' and make excuses for your parent?

>

> I always felt laughed at/talked about in my family and even today at 39,

> hate it when I feel like someone doesn't like me or I feel talked about.

> Also, as an adult, I came to feel like I wasn't important and that what I

> thought or felt didn't matter to other people. I'm sure it's rooted in a

> lot

> of things, but I never felt worthy to be saved from my mother. My entire

> family stood around and did nothing while I lived under this emotional

> abuse,

> so what did that say about me? My therapist says it says nothing about me

> and everything about them.

>

> At any rate, it has definitely affected my self esteem and I had somewhat

> of a " flashback " the other night when I burned a hole in a pair of silky

> pants I was ironing. I'm a dufus, I know. I got the iron too hot. I

> loved

> those silky army green pants. :o/ What a silly thing to flashback over,

> right? No one grabbed the iron and deliberately burned me with it. No one

> forced me to stand for hours and iron. It wasn't near that important.

>

> Well, anyhoo,when I was 11, I wanted to go to church SO bad. I begged

> and

> pleaded with my older sister (who was 19) to take me with her. She

> refused.

> My mother had promised to take me earlier in the week, but as usual,

never

> kept her promises and told me Saturday night she wouldn't go the

> following

> morning. I can still see her standing there, cigarette in hand, telling

> me

> to stop nagging her. So I was determined to go and decided I'd walk

> despite the fact that it was across town and it would have taken me a

> week to get

> there. In my 11 year old mind, I'd hitchhike or catch a bus. So I got a

> silky dress and pulled out the ironing board and began to iron it.

> Instead, I got the iron too hot and the second I laid it on favorite

> dress, it

> burned a huge iron-shaped hole right in the center. My sister and my

> mother

> burst out laughing and then told me I was being ridiculous when I started

> crying. I remember my sister screaming at me that I couldn't go with her

> and

> my mother continuing to stand and laugh as I ran upstairs crying.

>

> Now, I can see how that incident in and of itself is probably not

'abuse'

> per se. Just insensitive. But like most victims of BPD parents, it's the

> multiple effect of everything that happened that causes so many problems.

> The control, the lack of privacy, the invalidation, the cutting remarks,

> the

> breaking of promises, the smothering for her own emotional needs to be

> met, the fear of her constant threats of sucide, dealing with her phobia

> of

> lightening, of driving, of everything, being made fun of, invalidated,

> never

> being considered as a real person who has feelings, emotions, needs.

> I could go on and on....

> My therapist said it's a miracle I survived with as much sanity as I did.

> I escaped BPD although I have lots of 'fleas' and sometimes I

> wonder....my

> repayment was a dissociative disorder.

>

>

[Guest guest]

,

How awful for you. What you experienced goes beyond insensitive to emotional

abuse and it's just as powerful. It's bad enough to have gone through such

experiences once, without having them revisited on you. I can understand fully

how one's mind would take you anywhere (dissociate) but where you are / were to

survive.

Make no excuses for you parent - you did NOT deserve what was done to you, and

your sister was old enough to know better. You deserved (and still deserve to

be treated with respect, love and consideration. You ARE worthy and you ARE a

miracle. So keep working with your T, keep applying that flea powder, and keep

knowing there are others out here who care. It will get better.

Suzy

[Guest guest]

((((()))))

Your mother was seriously disturbed and guilty of committing gross acts of

criminal child abuse. Good Lord in Heaven, its a miracle that you survived and

are as mentally healthy as you are (referring to the anorexia).

Your survival is a tribute to your instincts and inner core of strength.

And you're right RE the relentless, daily accumulation of just-under-the-radar

physical abuses, the terror, the humiliation, the rejection and despair that

constitute a child's life with a bpd/Cluster B parent: these acts perpetrated

against a child are the very definition of cruelty and sadism.

It makes my blood boil; people like your mother (and your father, who witnessed

it and did nothing) ought to be publicly horse-whipped.

-Annie

>

> One of the biggest problems i have is that single incidents with nada never

> proved to me that she was an abuser. It was the collective events that

> Lawson talks about in Understanding the Borderline Mother that

> really hit home with me. I can map out a timeline and the events pretty well

and

> see that yes, I was abused. Some things my mother did embarrass me to

> talk about, even now, at 39 years old.

>

> Warning:

> Long and rambley ahead.

>

> When I was 2-3 she would make me sit on the toilet for long periods of time

> (I can't say HOURS, but it was long) and that was her " potty training " me.

> I would fall asleep sitting on the toilet and then get a spanking for

> falling asleep. How can I remember that? Don't normal people not have

> memories until 5 or 6? She would demand I go to the bathroom and if I did,

it

> wasn't enough for her and I needed to go more.

>

> She would shut me in a dark bathroom, forbid me to come out, and tell me

> she was leaving me there alone. Sometimes she would add that she hoped

> something got me and she was leaving the house. I have no idea why this

stands

> out to me so much or how jumbled it is, but I went through times where she

> would grab her purse and say she was leaving and never coming back. To my

> knowledge, she never actually left.

>

> I remember once pooping in my pants. I was little -- 3.5, MAYBE 4 at the

> most and she shoved them in my mouth.

>

> She frequently put me in cold showers to make me stop crying. She did this

> until I was about 5 and then for whatever reason, stopped.

>

> She would also keep me awake late hours to " talk " to her about my

> behavior, which was her berating me for hours and telling me she was going to

" give

> me away " or to someone who really loved her. That she never wanted a

> little girl like me, she wanted a little girl that actually loved her. I

would

> attempt to hug her and reassure her that I loved her and she'd push me away

> and insist I didn't. It was a helpless feeling that I can still feel even

> when writing it.

>

> She was permissive and yet strict. It's difficult to explain. She let me

> spend the night with whoever asked me over and yet never let me have a

> friend spend the night. She let me stay out roaming the street (our street)

> until well after dark but forbid me to play with certain neighborhood kids

> because she couldn't get along with the parents. If I made a friend, she'd

> fight with the parents and then forbid me to play with them.

>

> She never told me anything about puberty or growing into a woman. I woke up

> one morning and was crying because I thought I was dying because my chest

> was hurting and she and my father made a laughing joke that I had started

> puberty right in front of me. I realized at that moment what it was and was

> completely mortified.

>

> She called me ungrateful and bratty so many times I can't even count. She

> would tell me how much more I had than other kids materially and it would

> be so confusing because I looked at what I had versus what other kids had

> and new it wasn't true -- and yet she was saying it, so it must be true.

>

> As I got older, her permissiveness went into control and she had to know

> every detail of my life. She read my diary to my father and they both told me

> how " weird " it was and that I needed 'help.' Which may have been true.

>

> I developed severe anorexia by about 16 and her way to " cure " me was to

> tell me it was ridiculous and I was doing it for attention. Unfortunately, I

> struggled with it for many years and sometimes still do.

>

> She controlled where I went, who I dated, what I thought -- way into my

> adulthood. Gosh, I would say until she died 2 years ago and I was 37, I was

> still afraid of her. She would tell me she was dying (she had emphysema) and

> I didn't care if she couldn't get me on the phone and she literally (I am

> not exaggerating) demanded i talk to her on the phone multiple times per

> day. She'd cal my inlaws, my husband's work, my neighbors -- thankfully we

> lived too far away for her to drive over -- and talk about me.

>

> I so wish I had had a normal mother. I still have that need and I am almost

> freaking 40.

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

, I understand what you're going through. I was forced to iron for

hours , pillow cases, my fadas handkerchiefs, his shirts, nadas shirts...bed

sheets ( WHY would anyone waste time ironing bed sheets, pillow cases, and

handkerchiefs ???) I know how you feel about others talking about you ( or

thinking they're talking about you) none of us were saved from our abusive

parents by anyone..not other family members, not school teachers, not

neighbors. I agree with your therapist..it has nothing to do with YOU, it

shows cowardice on their parts, not wanting to get involved....I think it's

a miracle any of us survived !! Sorry you ruined your dress as a child (

and what a terrible thing for your nada and sister to laugh, how cruel) and

your silk pants recently. We all make mistakes

Jackie

> Do you ever do something mundane and have a flashback from childhood that

> truly hurt you?

> Do you ever have moments where you say, 'that wasn't as bad as I'm making

> it out to be?' and make excuses for your parent?

>

> I always felt laughed at/talked about in my family and even today at 39,

> hate it when I feel like someone doesn't like me or I feel talked about.

> Also, as an adult, I came to feel like I wasn't important and that what I

> thought or felt didn't matter to other people. I'm sure it's rooted in a

> lot

> of things, but I never felt worthy to be saved from my mother. My entire

> family stood around and did nothing while I lived under this emotional

> abuse,

> so what did that say about me? My therapist says it says nothing about me

> and everything about them.

>

> At any rate, it has definitely affected my self esteem and I had somewhat

> of a " flashback " the other night when I burned a hole in a pair of silky

> pants I was ironing. I'm a dufus, I know. I got the iron too hot. I

> loved

> those silky army green pants. :o/ What a silly thing to flashback over,

> right? No one grabbed the iron and deliberately burned me with it. No one

> forced me to stand for hours and iron. It wasn't near that important.

>

> Well, anyhoo,when I was 11, I wanted to go to church SO bad. I begged

> and

> pleaded with my older sister (who was 19) to take me with her. She

> refused.

> My mother had promised to take me earlier in the week, but as usual, never

> kept her promises and told me Saturday night she wouldn't go the

> following

> morning. I can still see her standing there, cigarette in hand, telling

> me

> to stop nagging her. So I was determined to go and decided I'd walk

> despite the fact that it was across town and it would have taken me a

> week to get

> there. In my 11 year old mind, I'd hitchhike or catch a bus. So I got a

> silky dress and pulled out the ironing board and began to iron it.

> Instead, I got the iron too hot and the second I laid it on favorite

> dress, it

> burned a huge iron-shaped hole right in the center. My sister and my

> mother

> burst out laughing and then told me I was being ridiculous when I started

> crying. I remember my sister screaming at me that I couldn't go with her

> and

> my mother continuing to stand and laugh as I ran upstairs crying.

>

> Now, I can see how that incident in and of itself is probably not 'abuse'

> per se. Just insensitive. But like most victims of BPD parents, it's the

> multiple effect of everything that happened that causes so many problems.

> The control, the lack of privacy, the invalidation, the cutting remarks,

> the

> breaking of promises, the smothering for her own emotional needs to be

> met, the fear of her constant threats of sucide, dealing with her phobia

> of

> lightening, of driving, of everything, being made fun of, invalidated,

> never

> being considered as a real person who has feelings, emotions, needs.

> I could go on and on....

> My therapist said it's a miracle I survived with as much sanity as I did.

> I escaped BPD although I have lots of 'fleas' and sometimes I

> wonder....my

> repayment was a dissociative disorder.

>

>

[Guest guest]

Hi ,

>I'm sorry you're parents made you do something that seems so pointless

>Jackie. I don't know who would iron bed sheets and pillow cases. That just

>seems nuts to me too.

she made me do the ironing in the basement. I was 8 and she just left me

there to do it, never checking to be sure I was doing it right, or wasn't

getting hurt...I think it was just her way of sending me away, out of sight,

out of mind..

> I always remember feeling talked about

>by my own parents and I hated it. Absolutely hated it.

I don't think nada tlaked about me much, but when she did tell fada about

something I did..it was her word alone, because she'd tell him while I was

sent to do something somewhere else, but sometimes I waited before leaving,

or got done early and over heard her...tell him lies about what I had

done..he never stuck up for me, he always sided with her...and never once

askend MY version of the incident

>Before my mother died in 2007, she would call me up and talk horribly about

> my sister. I'd tell her to stop and she'd say things like, " I thought we

>could be 'friends' now that you're an adult. I guess I was mistaken. " But

>I'd never heard of any parent talking so badly about their own child. It

>wasn't until after her death that my dad and sister verified she had done

>the

>same about me to them.

my nada would do the same thing :-( I'd tell her I don't want to hear it,

and she'd say who was she supposed to talk to then..I told her if she had a

problem with sister, that talk to sister about it..I figured she was doing

the same thing behind my back as well..

>My dad was a wimp when it came to my mother and would basically get me off

>to the side and beg me to go along and keep peace so he didn't have to hear

>it. Amazing I protected him and yet he did nothing to protect me.

same with my fada !! Up until this spring I was still trying to protect

him...then he turned on me, twice ( once in oct, once in march) so he's on

his own now !!

Jackie

[Guest guest]

Did any of your bpd parents go into your room when you weren't home and go

through your things? My mother would throw things away I cherished as well.

ALWAYS !!!!! I did not keep a diary because I saw nada reading sisters

diary while sitting on sisters bed !! I saw nada going through sister

drawers as well. My nada either threw or gave away my stuff, always without

asking !!

Jackie

[Guest guest]

Re: going through kids' rooms - well, there's Nada, and then there's normal.

I don't remember my mom rummaging through my room when I was a small child,

although I know she probably had to get in there to clean. I had a younger

brother who would take my stuff and break it, so I used to hide anything

valuable from him - including my Halloween candy. I know Mom had to clean that

out, because she talked about the ants for years! So I think she was pretty

normal on that score.

As a teenager, my parents had to search my brother's room (contraband!) and

while they were at it, they searched mine (and found nothing). While I

considered it an invasion of my privacy, I was under their roof and they were

dealing with new knowledge about my brother - I can understand why they reacted

that way, although I resented being lumped into the same category as my brother.

Now, as the parent of a teen, I can tell you that if there's a health hazard

(dirty dishes - forbidden, but I still find them sometimes), or he can't find

something important - cellphone, homework, textbook - I will go in there and dig

through the rubble. So far, there's no reason for me to search for contraband

(meaning anything illegal), thank God, but if there were, I'd certainly assert

my rights as a parent and take his room apart. Same deal with the computer and

his phone - my obligation to keep him safe from predators and out of trouble

trumps his " right " to the privacy of his room, which derives from his parents,

not from the law. In other words, he is given our trust as long as he is

trustworthy. Also, with a growing kid, the clothes, toys, books and other

detritus have to be hauled out every six months or so. He and I do that

together - we take everything out of the drawers, check the sizes, collect

trash, vacuum every corner, etc. He usually gets a re-arranged room (and more

floor space)out of the deal, so he doesn't consider it an imposition.

So, bottom line - I don't think a parent going through a kid's room is a

Nada-ism. Throwing away things that are cherished possessions certainly

wouldn't be normal, though. -

>

> Annie,

>

> Thank you for the hugs. I am not so sure some days that I did mentally

> survive. This, along with sexual abuse I couldn't talk about, nearly did me

in.

> My mother was always so emotionally fragile and I could have never told

> her what her uncle was doing for fear she'd commit suicide. She threatened it

> enough that's for sure.

>

> I have a question too...

>

> Did any of your bpd parents go into your room when you weren't home and go

> through your things? My mother would throw things away I cherished as well.

>

>

>

>

> In a message dated 9/16/2009 12:43:56 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time,

> anuria-67854@... writes:

>

>

>

>

> ((((())(((

> Your mother was seriously disturbed and guilty of committing gross acts of

> criminal child abuse. Good Lord in Heaven, its a miracle that you survived

> and are as mentally healthy as you are (referring to the anorexia).

>

> Your survival is a tribute to your instincts and inner core of strength.

>

> And you're right RE the relentless, daily accumulation of

> just-under-the-And you're right RE the relentless, daily accumulation of

> just-under-the-<WBR>radar physical abuses, the terror, the humiliation, the

rejection and

> despair that constitute a child's life with a bpd/Cluster B parent: these ac

>

> It makes my blood boil; people like your mother (and your father, who

> witnessed it and did nothing) ought to be publicly horse-whipped.

>

> -Annie

>

> --- In _WTOAdultChildren1@WTOAdultChilWTO_

> (mailto:WTOAdultChildren1 ) , Hummingbird1298@, Humm

> >

> > One of the biggest problems i have is that single incidents with nada

> never

> > proved to me that she was an abuser. It was the collective events that

> > Lawson talks about in Understanding the Borderline Mother that

> > really hit home with me. I can map out a timeline and the events pretty

> well and

> > see that yes, I was abused. Some things my mother did embarrass me to

> > talk about, even now, at 39 years old.

> >

> > Warning:

> > Long and rambley ahead.

> >

> > When I was 2-3 she would make me sit on the toilet for long periods of

> time

> > (I can't say HOURS, but it was long) and that was her " potty training "

> me.

> > I would fall asleep sitting on the toilet and then get a spanking for

> > falling asleep. How can I remember that? Don't normal people not have

> > memories until 5 or 6? She would demand I go to the bathroom and if I

> did, it

> > wasn't enough for her and I needed to go more.

> >

> > She would shut me in a dark bathroom, forbid me to come out, and tell me

> > she was leaving me there alone. Sometimes she would add that she hoped

> > something got me and she was leaving the house. I have no idea why this

> stands

> > out to me so much or how jumbled it is, but I went through times where

> she

> > would grab her purse and say she was leaving and never coming back. To

> my

> > knowledge, she never actually left.

> >

> > I remember once pooping in my pants. I was little -- 3.5, MAYBE 4 at the

> > most and she shoved them in my mouth.

> >

> > She frequently put me in cold showers to make me stop crying. She did

> this

> > until I was about 5 and then for whatever reason, stopped.

> >

> > She would also keep me awake late hours to " talk " to her about my

> > behavior, which was her berating me for hours and telling me she was

> going to " give

> > me away " or to someone who really loved her. That she never wanted a

> > little girl like me, she wanted a little girl that actually loved her. I

> would

> > attempt to hug her and reassure her that I loved her and she'd push me

> away

> > and insist I didn't. It was a helpless feeling that I can still feel

> even

> > when writing it.

> >

> > She was permissive and yet strict. It's difficult to explain. She let me

> > spend the night with whoever asked me over and yet never let me have a

> > friend spend the night. She let me stay out roaming the street (our

> street)

> > until well after dark but forbid me to play with certain neighborhood

> kids

> > because she couldn't get along with the parents. If I made a friend,

> she'd

> > fight with the parents and then forbid me to play with them.

> >

> > She never told me anything about puberty or growing into a woman. I woke

> up

> > one morning and was crying because I thought I was dying because my

> chest

> > was hurting and she and my father made a laughing joke that I had

> started

> > puberty right in front of me. I realized at that moment what it was and

> was

> > completely mortified.

> >

> > She called me ungrateful and bratty so many times I can't even count.

> She

> > would tell me how much more I had than other kids materially and it

> would

> > be so confusing because I looked at what I had versus what other kids

> had

> > and new it wasn't true -- and yet she was saying it, so it must be true.

> >

> > As I got older, her permissiveness went into control and she had to know

> > every detail of my life. She read my diary to my father and they both

> told me

> > how " weird " it was and that I needed 'help.' Which may have been true.

> >

> > I developed severe anorexia by about 16 and her way to " cure " me was to

> > tell me it was ridiculous and I was doing it for attention.

> Unfortunately, I

> > struggled with it for many years and sometimes still do.

> >

> > She controlled where I went, who I dated, what I thought -- way into my

> > adulthood. Gosh, I would say until she died 2 years ago and I was 37, I

> was

> > still afraid of her. She would tell me she was dying (she had emphysema)

> and

> > I didn't care if she couldn't get me on the phone and she literally (I

> am

> > not exaggerating) demanded i talk to her on the phone multiple times per

> > day. She'd cal my inlaws, my husband's work, my neighbors -- thankfully

> we

> > lived too far away for her to drive over -- and talk about me.

> >

> > I so wish I had had a normal mother. I still have that need and I am

> almost

> > freaking 40.

> >

> >

> >

> >

> >

> >

> > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

> >

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

Jackie - re: the ironing thing - here's a possible plausible explanation. My

mom " let me help her " iron pillowcases when I was little. I really think it was

because that was a way for me to learn to use the iron, on something flat, which

would not be seen in public if I burned it. I know she ironed my dad's " dress

handkerchiefs " (the ones he used with his Sunday suit) because I " helped " with

those, too. In those ancient days, ironing was something women had to do. As

soon as Permanent Press was invented, the old cotton sheets and pillowcases

disappeared without a trace and suddenly we all had new sets. She never bought

anything that needed ironing again. So I know she spent hours ironing clothes,

but I think a lot of women did that. Not sure about the pillowcases - I think

maybe she just had me do those so until I was ready to " graduate " to shirts. I

still iron the linen table napkins for Thanksgiving - but that's only once a

year, less if we go eat someplace else! (Denny's, anyone?) It's more of a ritual

holiday preparation than a real household chore. -

>

> , I understand what you're going through. I was forced to iron for

> hours , pillow cases, my fadas handkerchiefs, his shirts, nadas shirts...bed

> sheets ( WHY would anyone waste time ironing bed sheets, pillow cases, and

> handkerchiefs ???) I know how you feel about others talking about you ( or

> thinking they're talking about you) none of us were saved from our abusive

> parents by anyone..not other family members, not school teachers, not

> neighbors. I agree with your therapist..it has nothing to do with YOU, it

> shows cowardice on their parts, not wanting to get involved....I think it's

> a miracle any of us survived !! Sorry you ruined your dress as a child (

> and what a terrible thing for your nada and sister to laugh, how cruel) and

> your silk pants recently. We all make mistakes

>

> Jackie

>

>

>

>

> > Do you ever do something mundane and have a flashback from childhood that

> > truly hurt you?

> > Do you ever have moments where you say, 'that wasn't as bad as I'm making

> > it out to be?' and make excuses for your parent?

> >

> > I always felt laughed at/talked about in my family and even today at 39,

> > hate it when I feel like someone doesn't like me or I feel talked about.

> > Also, as an adult, I came to feel like I wasn't important and that what I

> > thought or felt didn't matter to other people. I'm sure it's rooted in a

> > lot

> > of things, but I never felt worthy to be saved from my mother. My entire

> > family stood around and did nothing while I lived under this emotional

> > abuse,

> > so what did that say about me? My therapist says it says nothing about me

> > and everything about them.

> >

> > At any rate, it has definitely affected my self esteem and I had somewhat

> > of a " flashback " the other night when I burned a hole in a pair of silky

> > pants I was ironing. I'm a dufus, I know. I got the iron too hot. I

> > loved

> > those silky army green pants. :o/ What a silly thing to flashback over,

> > right? No one grabbed the iron and deliberately burned me with it. No one

> > forced me to stand for hours and iron. It wasn't near that important.

> >

> > Well, anyhoo,when I was 11, I wanted to go to church SO bad. I begged

> > and

> > pleaded with my older sister (who was 19) to take me with her. She

> > refused.

> > My mother had promised to take me earlier in the week, but as usual, never

> > kept her promises and told me Saturday night she wouldn't go the

> > following

> > morning. I can still see her standing there, cigarette in hand, telling

> > me

> > to stop nagging her. So I was determined to go and decided I'd walk

> > despite the fact that it was across town and it would have taken me a

> > week to get

> > there. In my 11 year old mind, I'd hitchhike or catch a bus. So I got a

> > silky dress and pulled out the ironing board and began to iron it.

> > Instead, I got the iron too hot and the second I laid it on favorite

> > dress, it

> > burned a huge iron-shaped hole right in the center. My sister and my

> > mother

> > burst out laughing and then told me I was being ridiculous when I started

> > crying. I remember my sister screaming at me that I couldn't go with her

> > and

> > my mother continuing to stand and laugh as I ran upstairs crying.

> >

> > Now, I can see how that incident in and of itself is probably not 'abuse'

> > per se. Just insensitive. But like most victims of BPD parents, it's the

> > multiple effect of everything that happened that causes so many problems.

> > The control, the lack of privacy, the invalidation, the cutting remarks,

> > the

> > breaking of promises, the smothering for her own emotional needs to be

> > met, the fear of her constant threats of sucide, dealing with her phobia

> > of

> > lightening, of driving, of everything, being made fun of, invalidated,

> > never

> > being considered as a real person who has feelings, emotions, needs.

> > I could go on and on....

> > My therapist said it's a miracle I survived with as much sanity as I did.

> > I escaped BPD although I have lots of 'fleas' and sometimes I

> > wonder....my

> > repayment was a dissociative disorder.

> >

> >

>

[Guest guest]

Hi ,

the difference between your experience and mine was I wasn't " helping " . I

was shown how to do it once, then she left me there alone to do it all..

handkerchiefs, daily ones, fada did not have fancy special ones, just the

ones he'd shove into his pockets every day ...I'd be ironing for 2 hours

every week..all alone in the basement. And once she showed me how to iron,

and saw that I didn't burn anything, I had to iron everything, she no longer

ironed

Jackie

Jackie - re: the ironing thing - here's a possible plausible explanation.

My mom " let me help her " iron pillowcases when I was little. I really think

it was because that was a way for me to learn to use the iron, on something

flat, which would not be seen in public if I burned it. I know she ironed

my dad's " dress handkerchiefs " (the ones he used with his Sunday suit)

because I " helped " with those, too. In those ancient days, ironing was

something women had to do. As soon as Permanent Press was invented, the old

cotton sheets and pillowcases disappeared without a trace and suddenly we

all had new sets. She never bought anything that needed ironing again. So

I know she spent hours ironing clothes, but I think a lot of women did that.

Not sure about the pillowcases - I think maybe she just had me do those so

until I was ready to " graduate " to shirts. I still iron the linen table

napkins for Thanksgiving - but that's only once a year, less if we go eat

someplace else! (Denny's, anyone?) It's more of a ritual holiday preparation

than a real household chore. -

[Guest guest]

Parents who deliberately put their small children in dangerous situations (such

as giving an 8-year-old a hot, heavy iron to handle), well, it just makes me see

red.

Public flogging is too good for them.

-Annie

>

> Hi ,

>

>

> >I'm sorry you're parents made you do something that seems so pointless

> >Jackie. I don't know who would iron bed sheets and pillow cases. That just

> >seems nuts to me too.

>

> she made me do the ironing in the basement. I was 8 and she just left me

> there to do it, never checking to be sure I was doing it right, or wasn't

> getting hurt...I think it was just her way of sending me away, out of sight,

> out of mind..

>

> > I always remember feeling talked about

> >by my own parents and I hated it. Absolutely hated it.

>

> I don't think nada tlaked about me much, but when she did tell fada about

> something I did..it was her word alone, because she'd tell him while I was

> sent to do something somewhere else, but sometimes I waited before leaving,

> or got done early and over heard her...tell him lies about what I had

> done..he never stuck up for me, he always sided with her...and never once

> askend MY version of the incident

>

> >Before my mother died in 2007, she would call me up and talk horribly about

> > my sister. I'd tell her to stop and she'd say things like, " I thought we

> >could be 'friends' now that you're an adult. I guess I was mistaken. " But

> >I'd never heard of any parent talking so badly about their own child. It

> >wasn't until after her death that my dad and sister verified she had done

> >the

> >same about me to them.

>

> my nada would do the same thing :-( I'd tell her I don't want to hear it,

> and she'd say who was she supposed to talk to then..I told her if she had a

> problem with sister, that talk to sister about it..I figured she was doing

> the same thing behind my back as well..

>

> >My dad was a wimp when it came to my mother and would basically get me off

> >to the side and beg me to go along and keep peace so he didn't have to hear

> >it. Amazing I protected him and yet he did nothing to protect me.

>

> same with my fada !! Up until this spring I was still trying to protect

> him...then he turned on me, twice ( once in oct, once in march) so he's on

> his own now !!

>

> Jackie

>

[Guest guest]

I can see this IF a child has shown to not be trustworthy, but sister and I

never did anything along those lines...never gave the parents any reason to

suspect we were doing anything...yet nada still read sisters dieary, and

rummagend through her things, and I can only assume she did the same to me

as things were not in the same place I left them. I always felt nada just

never trusted us no matter how good we were

Jackie

Re: going through kids' rooms - well, there's Nada, and then there's normal.

I don't remember my mom rummaging through my room when I was a small child,

although I know she probably had to get in there to clean. I had a younger

brother who would take my stuff and break it, so I used to hide anything

valuable from him - including my Halloween candy. I know Mom had to clean

that out, because she talked about the ants for years! So I think she was

pretty normal on that score.

As a teenager, my parents had to search my brother's room (contraband!) and

while they were at it, they searched mine (and found nothing). While I

considered it an invasion of my privacy, I was under their roof and they

were dealing with new knowledge about my brother - I can understand why they

reacted that way, although I resented being lumped into the same category as

my brother.

Now, as the parent of a teen, I can tell you that if there's a health hazard

(dirty dishes - forbidden, but I still find them sometimes), or he can't

find something important - cellphone, homework, textbook - I will go in

there and dig through the rubble. So far, there's no reason for me to

search for contraband (meaning anything illegal), thank God, but if there

were, I'd certainly assert my rights as a parent and take his room apart.

Same deal with the computer and his phone - my obligation to keep him safe

from predators and out of trouble trumps his " right " to the privacy of his

room, which derives from his parents, not from the law. In other words, he

is given our trust as long as he is trustworthy. Also, with a growing kid,

the clothes, toys, books and other detritus have to be hauled out every six

months or so. He and I do that together - we take everything out of the

drawers, check the sizes, collect trash, vacuum every corner, etc. He

usually gets a re-arranged room (and more floor space)out of the deal, so he

doesn't consider it an imposition.

So, bottom line - I don't think a parent going through a kid's room is a

Nada-ism. Throwing away things that are cherished possessions certainly

wouldn't be normal, though. -

[Guest guest]

Jackie - yeah, that certainly was different. My mom had one day a week that she

ironed, and she'd set up the ironing board in front of the TV, haul the tall

kitchen stool into the living room so she could sit down, and watch soaps and

iron. I think perma-press was invented about the time I hit junior high, and

that was the end of the iron.

But since she could sit and watch the soaps, maybe she kept that chore for

herself. I got the vacuuming, dishes, etc. instead.

About those pillowcases, though - I remember she had some that had been

embroidered on the edges. I think she ironed those because she prized them.

Crisp, pressed cotton on a hot night without benefit of air conditioning - maybe

that was the deal with ironing the bed linens. I think maybe there was an

element of " perfect 50's housewife " playing into it somehow, as well.

Ironing all that stuff seems like a really weird thing to do, now that I think

about it... my son has ONE shirt that has to be ironed - twice a year, when the

school orchestra plays. Thank God for modern technology. -

>

> Hi ,

>

> the difference between your experience and mine was I wasn't " helping " . I

> was shown how to do it once, then she left me there alone to do it all..

> handkerchiefs, daily ones, fada did not have fancy special ones, just the

> ones he'd shove into his pockets every day ...I'd be ironing for 2 hours

> every week..all alone in the basement. And once she showed me how to iron,

> and saw that I didn't burn anything, I had to iron everything, she no longer

> ironed

>

>

> Jackie

>

>

> Jackie - re: the ironing thing - here's a possible plausible explanation.

> My mom " let me help her " iron pillowcases when I was little. I really think

> it was because that was a way for me to learn to use the iron, on something

> flat, which would not be seen in public if I burned it. I know she ironed

> my dad's " dress handkerchiefs " (the ones he used with his Sunday suit)

> because I " helped " with those, too. In those ancient days, ironing was

> something women had to do. As soon as Permanent Press was invented, the old

> cotton sheets and pillowcases disappeared without a trace and suddenly we

> all had new sets. She never bought anything that needed ironing again. So

> I know she spent hours ironing clothes, but I think a lot of women did that.

> Not sure about the pillowcases - I think maybe she just had me do those so

> until I was ready to " graduate " to shirts. I still iron the linen table

> napkins for Thanksgiving - but that's only once a year, less if we go eat

> someplace else! (Denny's, anyone?) It's more of a ritual holiday preparation

> than a real household chore. -

>

[Guest guest]

when I had to iron in the basement, there was no TV, no radio, no stool to

sit on...I had to just stand there and do it all, with nothing to keep me

company..I had to iron the perma- press shirts as well, because she'd take

them out of the dryer and put them in the ironing basket...saying they

aren't as " sharp " looking as an ironed shirt...I had to vacuum and do

dishes, dust as well as colect the dirty clothes for laundry ( when I was

older I had to do laundry as well) LOL I have an iron, somewhere, but it's

not been used in YEARS !!!

Jackie

Jackie - yeah, that certainly was different. My mom had one day a week that

she ironed, and she'd set up the ironing board in front of the TV, haul the

tall kitchen stool into the living room so she could sit down, and watch

soaps and iron. I think perma-press was invented about the time I hit

junior high, and that was the end of the iron.

But since she could sit and watch the soaps, maybe she kept that chore for

herself. I got the vacuuming, dishes, etc. instead.

About those pillowcases, though - I remember she had some that had been

embroidered on the edges. I think she ironed those because she prized them.

Crisp, pressed cotton on a hot night without benefit of air conditioning -

maybe that was the deal with ironing the bed linens. I think maybe there

was an element of " perfect 50's housewife " playing into it somehow, as well.

Ironing all that stuff seems like a really weird thing to do, now that I

think about it... my son has ONE shirt that has to be ironed - twice a year,

when the school orchestra plays. Thank God for modern technology. -

[Guest guest]

man, , it's a miracle that you survived at all !! and it seems you've

turned into a caring, sensitive lady.

Jackie

> One of the biggest problems i have is that single incidents with nada

> never

> proved to me that she was an abuser. It was the collective events that

> Lawson talks about in Understanding the Borderline Mother that

> really hit home with me. I can map out a timeline and the events pretty

> well and

> see that yes, I was abused. Some things my mother did embarrass me to

> talk about, even now, at 39 years old.

>

> Warning:

> Long and rambley ahead.

>

> When I was 2-3 she would make me sit on the toilet for long periods of

> time

> (I can't say HOURS, but it was long) and that was her " potty training " me.

> I would fall asleep sitting on the toilet and then get a spanking for

> falling asleep. How can I remember that? Don't normal people not have

> memories until 5 or 6? She would demand I go to the bathroom and if I

> did, it

> wasn't enough for her and I needed to go more.

>

> She would shut me in a dark bathroom, forbid me to come out, and tell me

> she was leaving me there alone. Sometimes she would add that she hoped

> something got me and she was leaving the house. I have no idea why this

> stands

> out to me so much or how jumbled it is, but I went through times where

> she

> would grab her purse and say she was leaving and never coming back. To

> my

> knowledge, she never actually left.

>

> I remember once pooping in my pants. I was little -- 3.5, MAYBE 4 at the

> most and she shoved them in my mouth.

>

> She frequently put me in cold showers to make me stop crying. She did this

> until I was about 5 and then for whatever reason, stopped.

>

> She would also keep me awake late hours to " talk " to her about my

> behavior, which was her berating me for hours and telling me she was going

> to " give

> me away " or to someone who really loved her. That she never wanted a

> little girl like me, she wanted a little girl that actually loved her. I

> would

> attempt to hug her and reassure her that I loved her and she'd push me

> away

> and insist I didn't. It was a helpless feeling that I can still feel even

> when writing it.

>

> She was permissive and yet strict. It's difficult to explain. She let me

> spend the night with whoever asked me over and yet never let me have a

> friend spend the night. She let me stay out roaming the street (our

> street)

> until well after dark but forbid me to play with certain neighborhood

> kids

> because she couldn't get along with the parents. If I made a friend,

> she'd

> fight with the parents and then forbid me to play with them.

>

> She never told me anything about puberty or growing into a woman. I woke

> up

> one morning and was crying because I thought I was dying because my chest

> was hurting and she and my father made a laughing joke that I had started

> puberty right in front of me. I realized at that moment what it was and

> was

> completely mortified.

>

> She called me ungrateful and bratty so many times I can't even count. She

> would tell me how much more I had than other kids materially and it would

> be so confusing because I looked at what I had versus what other kids had

> and new it wasn't true -- and yet she was saying it, so it must be true.

>

> As I got older, her permissiveness went into control and she had to know

> every detail of my life. She read my diary to my father and they both told

> me

> how " weird " it was and that I needed 'help.' Which may have been true.

>

> I developed severe anorexia by about 16 and her way to " cure " me was to

> tell me it was ridiculous and I was doing it for attention. Unfortunately,

> I

> struggled with it for many years and sometimes still do.

>

> She controlled where I went, who I dated, what I thought -- way into my

> adulthood. Gosh, I would say until she died 2 years ago and I was 37, I

> was

> still afraid of her. She would tell me she was dying (she had emphysema)

> and

> I didn't care if she couldn't get me on the phone and she literally (I am

> not exaggerating) demanded i talk to her on the phone multiple times per

> day. She'd cal my inlaws, my husband's work, my neighbors -- thankfully

> we

> lived too far away for her to drive over -- and talk about me.

>

> I so wish I had had a normal mother. I still have that need and I am

> almost

> freaking 40.

>

>

[Guest guest]

Oh .

Any one of the things you've described that your nada did equates to abuse in my

book -- any ONE, let alone adding them up. I'm so (((sorry))) for what she did

to you - she was a seriously disturbed person and one far from equipped to be a

parent. I doubt very much that she was even remotely as fragile as she trained

you to believe (sick yes, fragile no). That was just more emotional blackmail.

Your nada may be dead, but that doesn't change one thing about what she did to

you.

The hardest part for me to accept about my nada's illness -- and she pales

mightily in comparison to yours -- is that her treatment of me and my sibs and

her own parents equated to emotional abuse. It hurt a lot to face that fact,

but once I did - I understood a lot more about myself and was able to work

through it. It took time, and work.

You've endured so much more, I understand why it must be so hard to get beyond

the memories. I do believe that once you can at least admit that your nada was

abusive - just like your uncle, that you can begin (with help and support) to

move past it. Not only did you not have a normal mother - you didn't have a

mother period, IMHO. I've heard others in this group speak about re-parenting

themselves and or bonding with other women as mother figures. Is there anyone in

your life who can be that for you? It's not too late for you to have that. I

hope so much for that to happen for you. You deserve to be happy.

Suzy

[Guest guest]

Nada never threw anything away, but she did go through everything. There was

never any privacy. Sometimes she'd be bold enough to ask a question about

something she saw or found while snooping. She had to see and know it all. She

did the same thing with my father. She'd go through his pockets every day as

well as everything else.

>

>

> Did any of your bpd parents go into your room when you weren't home and go

> through your things? My mother would throw things away I cherished as well.

>

>

>

>

>

> ALWAYS !!!!! I did not keep a diary because I saw nada reading sisters

> diary while sitting on sisters bed !! I saw nada going through sister

> drawers as well. My nada either threw or gave away my stuff, always without

> asking !!

>

>

>

> Jackie

>

[Guest guest]

I have physical anxiety, emotional stress and general unease every time I hear

people loudly thumping in other areas of my apartment or at the neighbors

through the walls. I think this is because there was so much physical violence

in my house when I was a child, that now every time I hear thumping, I feel like

somebody is coming to " get me. "

As a child the attacks were usually surprises, if nada suddenly decided she was

mad at me it didn't matter if I was sleeping she would tear up the stairs,

thumping, and commence in a night raid. If my brothers were upset with me they

would come and beat the heck out of me at any moment. So loud noises to me

always predicated violence against me, or someone else in the house. Not fun,

especially when I live in an apartment with thin walls and my heart races every

time there's a loud thump. Ughhh

>

> Do you ever do something mundane and have a flashback from childhood that

> truly hurt you?

> Do you ever have moments where you say, 'that wasn't as bad as I'm making

> it out to be?' and make excuses for your parent?

>

> I always felt laughed at/talked about in my family and even today at 39,

> hate it when I feel like someone doesn't like me or I feel talked about.

> Also, as an adult, I came to feel like I wasn't important and that what I

> thought or felt didn't matter to other people. I'm sure it's rooted in a lot

> of things, but I never felt worthy to be saved from my mother. My entire

> family stood around and did nothing while I lived under this emotional abuse,

> so what did that say about me? My therapist says it says nothing about me

> and everything about them.

>

> At any rate, it has definitely affected my self esteem and I had somewhat

> of a " flashback " the other night when I burned a hole in a pair of silky

> pants I was ironing. I'm a dufus, I know. I got the iron too hot. I loved

> those silky army green pants. :o/ What a silly thing to flashback over,

> right? No one grabbed the iron and deliberately burned me with it. No one

> forced me to stand for hours and iron. It wasn't near that important.

>

> Well, anyhoo,when I was 11, I wanted to go to church SO bad. I begged and

> pleaded with my older sister (who was 19) to take me with her. She refused.

> My mother had promised to take me earlier in the week, but as usual, never

> kept her promises and told me Saturday night she wouldn't go the following

> morning. I can still see her standing there, cigarette in hand, telling me

> to stop nagging her. So I was determined to go and decided I'd walk

> despite the fact that it was across town and it would have taken me a week to

get

> there. In my 11 year old mind, I'd hitchhike or catch a bus. So I got a

> silky dress and pulled out the ironing board and began to iron it.

> Instead, I got the iron too hot and the second I laid it on favorite dress,

it

> burned a huge iron-shaped hole right in the center. My sister and my mother

> burst out laughing and then told me I was being ridiculous when I started

> crying. I remember my sister screaming at me that I couldn't go with her and

> my mother continuing to stand and laugh as I ran upstairs crying.

>

> Now, I can see how that incident in and of itself is probably not 'abuse'

> per se. Just insensitive. But like most victims of BPD parents, it's the

> multiple effect of everything that happened that causes so many problems.

> The control, the lack of privacy, the invalidation, the cutting remarks, the

> breaking of promises, the smothering for her own emotional needs to be

> met, the fear of her constant threats of sucide, dealing with her phobia of

> lightening, of driving, of everything, being made fun of, invalidated, never

> being considered as a real person who has feelings, emotions, needs.

> I could go on and on....

> My therapist said it's a miracle I survived with as much sanity as I did.

> I escaped BPD although I have lots of 'fleas' and sometimes I wonder....my

> repayment was a dissociative disorder.

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

, this sounds so much like my family and my experiences.

My parents laughed at me when I walked 3 miles to a friend's house because they

wouldn't drive me (not once, all summer; i was so bored).

My mother and brother laughed when I said my boyfriend was kind of an ugly kid

(because apparently they thought he was still ugly, so I broke up with him).

Parents laughed when they saw me pick up a very old piece of dog poo with my

hands (it wouldn't stay in the shovel. they watched me from the window and

laughed at me when i came in).

Nada had a field day laughing about how she almost killed my cat with a 15

minute dryer spin, though I begged her to stop because it was so upsetting to

me.

Something about my brother being old enough to gang up on me with my Nada was

particularly hurtful and disturbing.

Father telling me he can see what I'm trying to hide when I exit the camper to

change my tampon in the woods. Why couldn't I just be allowed to be discreet?

Is there something funny about my period?

Nada quizzing me after much begging for her help for spelling bee and laughing

me out of the room when I miss a couple.

When I was 19, I was watching Oprah and a man was on there talking about how

painful it was to be bullied in school. Nada walks in, watches for a minute,

yells at the guy to " get over it " , laughs, and says, " Isn't that what you say

happened to YOU. " All full of glee and giggles. Yes, nada, I was suicidal over

the bullying. Glad it was so much fun for YOU.

These are just the things I remember, and individually, they don't amount to

much, but put them together, and they amount to much anger, shame and hate.

I can so so so see your story, because I lived it!

Hey mom, I really want to go to church.

" No. " (you don't matter; i have all the power).

" OK, I'll make it happen for myself " (make my own dreams come true)

" Ha ha ha you ruined your favorite dress. You are so stupid and worthless and we

all find it so amusing that we control your destiny and it's FUN for us when you

HURT. "

*deep breath*

That is really, really painful. Not insignificant at all.

-Deanna

>

> Do you ever do something mundane and have a flashback from childhood that

> truly hurt you?

> Do you ever have moments where you say, 'that wasn't as bad as I'm making

> it out to be?' and make excuses for your parent?

>

> I always felt laughed at/talked about in my family and even today at 39,

> hate it when I feel like someone doesn't like me or I feel talked about.

> Also, as an adult, I came to feel like I wasn't important and that what I

> thought or felt didn't matter to other people. I'm sure it's rooted in a lot

> of things, but I never felt worthy to be saved from my mother. My entire

> family stood around and did nothing while I lived under this emotional abuse,

> so what did that say about me? My therapist says it says nothing about me

> and everything about them.

>

> At any rate, it has definitely affected my self esteem and I had somewhat

> of a " flashback " the other night when I burned a hole in a pair of silky

> pants I was ironing. I'm a dufus, I know. I got the iron too hot. I loved

> those silky army green pants. :o/ What a silly thing to flashback over,

> right? No one grabbed the iron and deliberately burned me with it. No one

> forced me to stand for hours and iron. It wasn't near that important.

>

> Well, anyhoo,when I was 11, I wanted to go to church SO bad. I begged and

> pleaded with my older sister (who was 19) to take me with her. She refused.

> My mother had promised to take me earlier in the week, but as usual, never

> kept her promises and told me Saturday night she wouldn't go the following

> morning. I can still see her standing there, cigarette in hand, telling me

> to stop nagging her. So I was determined to go and decided I'd walk

> despite the fact that it was across town and it would have taken me a week to

get

> there. In my 11 year old mind, I'd hitchhike or catch a bus. So I got a

> silky dress and pulled out the ironing board and began to iron it.

> Instead, I got the iron too hot and the second I laid it on favorite dress,

it

> burned a huge iron-shaped hole right in the center. My sister and my mother

> burst out laughing and then told me I was being ridiculous when I started

> crying. I remember my sister screaming at me that I couldn't go with her and

> my mother continuing to stand and laugh as I ran upstairs crying.

>

> Now, I can see how that incident in and of itself is probably not 'abuse'

> per se. Just insensitive. But like most victims of BPD parents, it's the

> multiple effect of everything that happened that causes so many problems.

> The control, the lack of privacy, the invalidation, the cutting remarks, the

> breaking of promises, the smothering for her own emotional needs to be

> met, the fear of her constant threats of sucide, dealing with her phobia of

> lightening, of driving, of everything, being made fun of, invalidated, never

> being considered as a real person who has feelings, emotions, needs.

> I could go on and on....

> My therapist said it's a miracle I survived with as much sanity as I did.

> I escaped BPD although I have lots of 'fleas' and sometimes I wonder....my

> repayment was a dissociative disorder.

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>

>