My Life With Crazy
A Place For Adult Children of Borderline Mothers to Share and Heal
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Borderline Mothers: The Adult Children's Stories, Pg2

Dear Stephanie,
I am a twenty year old male. I write to you with a story that shares many aspects of previous writers but feels so uniquely my own, as I am sure everyone's experience with bpd is. I thought I would share my perspective as a young boy struggling to understand my mother and cope with suicide attempts and depression. My mother was and is nearly broken beyond repair. I think she was always the way she is but better at controlling and hiding her tendencies, outbursts and behavior. I think my half-brother (18 years older) never had problems with her, but because I am my father's son my Mother has always wavered between hating me intensely, and loving me intensely and intense indifference to me at all. I could never figure out which action would receive which response, and it lead me to isolate in my house, with her isolated to her room and computer, to play solitaire and "read e-mail"  for hours on end...She would always act mom of the year when my friends were around and always tre!ated my sister better. She only struck me once that I remember, when I was 7 or 8, but far worse were the times she would scream at me and each muscle in her face would twitch and tense as she yelled, shook, cried and stared through me as the other writer described, with this horrible, piercing glare that made me feel as hated as I ever have in life, to this day. It was as if each time she fought with she relived all the pain she had experienced and beamed it through her eyes right into me. And I feel like I carry it to this day. It's hard to deal with new relationships, meet people, socialize in public. I just want to be alone and for people to not notice me. I feel like I lived a shadow life in my house and have translated it to my adult life. I feel scared of women although I am not gay. She has never accepted blame for anything, ever, not once. She will forgive me for an accused crime, whether I did it or not, once I have met her often ridiculous criteria for apology and r!epentance, but she will always crucify me over it or bring it back to life the next time we fight. I hope one day I will recover what she took from me for looking like my father, or acting like him, or loving him.ar old male. I write to you with a story that sharemany aspects of previous writers but feels so uniquely my own, as I am sure everyone's experience with bpd is. I thought I would share my perspective as a young boy struggling to understand my mother and cope with suicide attempts and depression. My mother was and is nearly broken beyond repair. I think she was always the way she is but better at controlling and hiding her tendencies, outbursts and behavior. I think my half-brother (18 years older) never had problems with her, but because I am my father's son my Mother has always wavered between hating me intensely, and loving me intensely and intense indifference to me at all. I could never figure out which action would receive which response, and it lead me to isolate in my house, with her isolated to her room and computer, to play solitaire and "read e-mail"  for hours on end...She would always act mom of the year when my friends were around and always tre! ated my sister better. She only struck me once that I remember, when I was 7 or 8, but far worse were the times she would scream at me and each muscle in her face would twitch and tense as she yelled, shook, cried and stared through me as the other writer described, with this horrible, piercing glare that made me feel as hated as I ever have in life, to this day. It was as if each time she fought with she relived all the pain she had experienced and beamed it through her eyes right into me. And I feel like I carry it to this day. It's hard to deal with new relationships, meet people, socialize in public. I just want to be alone and for people to not notice me. I feel like I lived a shadow life in my house and have translated it to my adult life. I feel scared of women although I am not gay. She has never accepted blame for anything, ever, not once. She will forgive me for an accused crime, whether I did it or not, once I have met her often ridiculous criteria for apology and r! epentance, but she will always crucify me over it or bring it back to life the next time we fight. I hope one day I will recover what she took from me for looking like my father, or acting like him, or loving him. Thanks, ~E.C.
Hello, Stephanie.  I would like to share my story about myself and my mother, who has BPD and Bipolar Disorder, along with several other disorders, I'm sure. I have not even begun to forgive my mother for her actions.  I grew up holding her on a pedestal, and praising every move she made because I was taught that daughters should always respect their mothers.  This past summer opened my eyes greatly.  After two weeks of dating a man with almost the same conditions as she (although he was more paranoid schizophrenic than BPD), my mother married a military veteran who had severe paranoid hallucinations very often.  This man hit her, would not let her leave the house or get a job, and then left. I have always lived with my grandparants, in a stable and somewhat normal household.  As apart of the custody agreement between my mother and grandmother, I was allowed to spend six weeks of  my summers in Louisiana with my mother.  Last summer, her husband left her, telling her he had to go away to work for a company which we later found out did not exist.  My mother was furious, and being in a depression per her bipolar disorder, irrationally drove myself and my eight-year-old sister out to the house boat of my sister's father's boss, where we stayed the night.  My mother spent the entire night drinking and crying. The rest of the summer, my mother and I would get into frequent screaming matches.  She would take my phone whenever I threatened to call family friends to come and get me.  She would say things like "you don't love me and never will." Now, I know that I'm a petite girl. But I have a healthy appetite and am in no way emaciated, as my mother seems to believe.  She would threaten to "shove three and four sandwiches down my throat per hour" or "fatten me up." My mother would not let me stay in my own room by myself for more than 5 minutes.  I spent most of my summer watching "Gone With The Wind, while my mother pretended to be Scarlett O'Hara. There is so much more I could say but I have no time. Thank you.~ A.B
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