Today's guest post is by Lin. The writer
recounts her own experience growing up in a family with issues that lead to
Borderline Personality Disorder
I was
born into a highly dysfunctional family, consisting of my parents, my very
domineering and generally narcissistic grandmother, and my alcoholic uncle. My
parents both had physical and mental health issues and, in hindsight, I can clearly
see that my mother had untreated Borderline Personality Disorder.
After my
mother had 7 miscarriages and one stillbirth, they had been told that they
couldn't have children. Therefore, they had planned their future without
children. When I came along it was a shock; they both overjoyed to have me and
also shaken that they suddenly had a new responsibility that they never thought
they would have. Because I was an at risk pregnancy, I was born 8 weeks early
by cesarean and, due to my mother's unstable mental health, she was unable to
see me for 6 weeks. Instead I was kept in hospital while they stabilized me and
I only had contact with the staff and, on his occasional visits, with my father.
From the
outset I was the perfect baby. I seldom cried or asked for attention and was usually
compliant. I talked and walked at an early age and was reading by the time I
was 3. My earliest memory is of being that age and in my pushchair. I had a
pacifier in my mouth and saw my mother walking towards my father and myself.
I
remember the fear and shame of her possibly seeing me using it and I quickly
hid it under a blanket. I already had learned not to upset her and felt that I
was bad. I learned to hide what I did and felt.
My mother
sexually abused me from the earliest age I can remember until I was 16 years
old. I am sure my father was aware of it because he had a separate bed in the
same room that my mother and I shared. She made me pray to God afterwards and
ask for forgiveness for making her do it. She told me if I told anyone she
would leave me. The abuse was the only form of physical touch I had—she never
hugged me or told me she loved me or was affectionate in any way. Instead, she
would buy me anything I wanted. Toys every Sunday, sugary foods in a large
quantity every Thursday. I just had to ask and I would get it. All the while
the abuse continued every night. I learned sexual abuse meant my mother would
stay with me and I learned to equate material possessions and food with love.
I was
told we were family and didn't need strangers. Strangers were the enemy. This
meant I was not allowed to have friends. I was never allowed out without a
parent; I was dropped off at school and picked up every lunchtime and at the
end of the day in order to minimize my interaction with others. My father did
have a sister but my mother forbade him from seeing her. During the times my
mother was in hospital, he would take me to visit her always, saying
"Don't tell anyone."
My father
would often do bizarre things, such as once telling me we were going to play a
game with my mother and pretend that he had been mugged on the way home from
work. I thought this was a great game and having secrets with my father made me
feel close to him. I learned to lie for attention.
My mother
would either be very weak or overbearingly strong—sometimes both at the same
time. She ruled me with a rod of iron—I always had to be perfect or I would be
told I was nothing to her and then physically beaten. At the same time she appeared
incredibly weak. I remember a 4 year old child once swore at her and she cried
like a baby. I despised her weakness and sensed she did too, so I learned to
make her angry instead at these times so we would both feel better. I learned
how to manipulate her as she had manipulated me.
My mother
would have frequent psychotic episodes [She was diagnosed with episodes of psychotic
depression]. Either me or my father would force anti-psychotics into her mouth.
She would hear voices stating we were trying to kill her and fight back. The
first time I witnessed that was late at night when I was 6 years old. I ran to
the corner of the bedroom in terror while my father held her down as she lashed
out at him. Once she was calm my father told me I could join her in bed again.
I shook my head, terrified to go near her. My father turned out the lights and
went to bed himself, leaving me sitting in the corner of our bedroom all night,
alone. I learned that I could be abandoned without comfort from those closest
to me at any time.
By the
time I was 12 I had learned to give back what they gave to me. They had taught
me well. I became better at constant manipulation and control than they were.
My father developed congestive heart failure and became physically weak. I
would fight with him constantly to make him fight back and be strong again. My
mother's mental health was worsening and she blamed my father’s lack of care
now that he was ill. I learned to agree with her about how bad he was and thus
make her feel stronger.
My father
eventually took his own life on my 13th birthday, leaving me alone with my
mother. My mother became totally dependent on me. The same spoiling behaviors I
had learned would continue for the next 5 years. I would attempt to strengthen
her when she was weak and weaken her when she was strong. I did not understand
why I was doing this, behaving in a purely instinctual way in order to provide what
we both needed. Even though we fought constantly, I was still being sexually
abused by her and given whatever material things I wanted. During psychotic
episodes, my mother would sob and state that her baby had been replaced at
birth by a changeling of the Devil. As a Devil's spawn, I was going to murder
her just as I had murdered my father. I believed I was evil and hated myself.
By the
time I was 18, I had been in psychotherapy for several years. It had been
arranged for me after I had told other children at school that my father had
died a year before he actually had. I hated him for not stopping my mother and
wanted him dead—the worst punishment I could think of. I became more aware of
my motivations and becoming aware that I had a choice as to how I reacted. I
moved away from home, only visiting my mother sporadically. She never ever
forgave me for choosing strangers over her. Our relationship continued to be
very difficult, with me despising her weakness and trying to make her strong,
and her despising my new found strength and trying to make me weak. I cut her
off entirely when I was 20 and she took her own life a month later. I still
struggle with the guilt and self-blame for both my parents suicides.
This is
all that I learned and why I have Borderline Personality Disorder.
