BPD

My mother has Borderline Personality Disorder. As there is only a relatively small amount of clinical information on this disorder, it is still largely unknown. The best way to explain BPD is, therefore, to describe the symptoms of a person with this disorder:
- Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment or separation.
- Pattern of severely unstable relationships, characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation.
- Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures and/or threats
- Severe instability in moods – severe swings within hours of each other
- Chronic feelings of emptiness.
- Inappropriate and intense anger - often targeted at a caregiver (frequent displays of temper, constant anger, and recurrent physical fights).

Growing up with a mother who has BPD was chaotic, invalidating, confusing, devaluing and exhausting. I was told from a very young age by my mother that she was “sick” and couldn’t help anything that she did or said. I was never able to place blame with my mother if she said something particularly horrific or threw a weekend-ruining tantrum.
As a child, anytime I began to feel the slightest bit angry towards my mother for her actions, I immediately felt guilt and shame for blaming my mother. After all, she was “sick” and “couldn’t help her actions.” I, therefore, blamed myself. I blamed myself for not being a good enough care taker for her, for not making her happy, for not anticipating each of her erratic changes in mood. I walked on eggshells throughout my childhood, trying not to be a nuisance to my mother. In my eyes, she had been the parent that stayed with the three kids that hadn’t pleased their father. In my eyes, she stayed even though I was decidedly flawed. Because of this, I felt I owed it to my mother to try to care for her. At times, it was impossible to please her. I spent time each day making dinner, doing laundry and cleaning, before I settled into my own room to do my homework. These daily tasks began at a very young age for me. Instead of my upkeep of the household making my mother happy, it just became expected and on those days that I didn’t spend as many hours on those tasks, I would be criticized for being “selfish.”

At a young age, I shifted into the role of adult. I took on the problems of the family. My mother would come to me to ask what we should do about my sister, who’d begun to chronically run away from home. What, also, should we do about my brother who’d already become an alcoholic, she’d ask me. I answered the phone when the creditors called. My mother often asked me for advice on how to get her finances under control. I tried to offer her any helpful ideas I could (I didn’t have a lot of knowledge of managing finances by the age of 11). I would eventually make a suggestion that my mother would take offense to. The next hour after that was spent by my mother alternating between sobs and shouting at me for being insensitive.

One night, when I was about 14, my mother told me to have dinner ready by the time she came back, before leaving the house. I had felt extremely ill for several hours. After my mother left, I began shivering uncontrollably. I found my heaviest winter coat and curled up on the couch, too weak to move. My mother returned about an hour later and immediately upon entering the house, began to yell at me for not having dinner ready. Weaker yet, I tried to lift my head to explain that I had fallen ill. Mother launched into a rage - streaming insults ranging from how lazy I was to the claim that I never did anything right. I could no longer hold my head up. I fell back into the couch, unable to move. I let the screams of my mother fall over me – she grew increasingly angry, as I was no longer able to lift my head to look at her during her insults. Later in the night, she had calmed enough to take me to the emergency room. By this time, I had a fever of 106 degrees and a bad case of mononucleosis accompanied by strep throat and an enlarged liver and spleen. Of course by this time, my mother was sweeter than she could be. She sat next to my hospital bed, stroking my hand. That’s why it’s so difficult to completely cast off someone with BPD. Their swings in mood are so extreme that they provoke confusion and conflict in the person they’re associating with. My mother did have the ability to be extremely affectionate at times.

While I do realize that my mother’s condition must have been very frightening and difficult for her to experience on a daily basis, I slowly began to hold my mother more responsible for her actions as I grew older.

For those who may have a Borderline parent or a parent with Borderline tendencies, I recommend the following books (the first of which I found especially helpful):

1.) Surviving a Borderline Parent: How to Heal Your Childhood Wounds & Build Trust, Boundaries, and Self-Esteem by Kimberlee Roth (2003)

2.) Stop Walking on Eggshells: Taking Your Life Back When Someone You Care about Has Borderline Personality Disorder by Paul T. Mason