enmeshed parents

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On the Run

I felt the need to make a coherent post summarizing the past couple days.

So, Monday, BPDm showed up with my brother. I had no idea they were coming over, because my dad’s doesn’t tell me anymore. He didn’t tell me he took the week off or that they were coming over, even though he knows I don’t want contact with my mom.

On a shocking note, BPDm actually brought me the jewelry I’ve been asking for for months. I’d given up on it as a lost cause- the only reason I wanted it back anyway was as emergency funds I could sell it for the gold if I needed.

I try to act pleasant and not like I’m triggered as fuck. Unfortunately, for me, it’s easier to just play the game when mom shows up. I try to keep things light, and I try not to give any information. It’s tricky and I’m not always very good at it. I know that, in some way, yeah, I’m still trying to “spare her feelings” so she won’t get upset, but this is for my own protection. It’s better for me to placate her because I can’t handle when she’s upset- and when she’s upset she tries to trap me and keep me from leaving. So I play the game until I can grab my purse and car keys and make up an excuse to get the fuck out of the house.

So, I left. Not that I had anywhere to go. I sat in my car a while, texting my best friend and my therapist.

I went to the craft store, since there was some tools I needed to get. I wandered around the store for 3 hours, texting and browsing, then got something to eat before going home and locking myself in my room.

I slept like shit. Even though I took melatonin, so at least I fell asleep faster, but I still felt like I didn’t sleep good.

I got up at 6:30 am, showered and left the house. Like I always do, because I would rather spend my time elsewhere than be around her. I got a bagel for breakfast. I felt sick to my stomach so bad. I knew it was probably the anxiety and stress. (Fuck, it’s depressing that she makes me feel violently sick to my stomach like this…) But since it was Tuesday, I went to yoga. I hadn’t been in weeks. My instructor is so nice and understanding. I’m going to miss her. She was always there to listen to me vent and would empathize. She was excited and proud that I’m getting out of here, and insisted on giving me her e-mail so we could keep in touch. Class was great and I felt a bit better afterwords.

After, I got lunch and coffee. Thankfully, for once, I had somewhere to go, somewhere I could hide out. On other days I’ve ended up sitting in my car in parking lots with my car idling for like 4-6 hours, being triggered every time I see a car the same style and color as my mom’s. It’s pathetic and sad.

In the afternoon, my dad called and left a message that he was going to stay with my mom and wouldn’t be back until Friday or Saturday. I wasn’t sure if he was lying or not- because he destroyed my trust and I never ever believe anything that comes out of his mouth. So I still hung out for a few more hours before trying to go home.

I get home and find out that yeah, they actually left. Of course, whenever my dad comes back they’ll be with him, because he didn’t take his car, so they’ll have to give him a ride back.

But at least I have a couple of days to myself, a couple of days of peace.

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Ugh

My dad is in a pissy depressive mood.

It’s because of me.

How true does it feel?

Really, really, really fucking true.

I took off at 6:30 am and have been out all day, because I assumed my mom was coming over or something because it’s Mother’s Day. I’m sure he suspects that’s why I’ve been out all day and he being shitty about the face I don’t want contact with my mom.

So he’s upset with me because of it.

God it feels absolutely true.

*sighs*

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The title of my first post should be more creative than this…

So this is my first post. Obviously. I’ve been nervous about posting anything on here. Even though the internet is anonymous.

I came up with this blog name out of the blue in the car a few weeks ago, and it was so fitting. It combined my personal motto/theme song with my disorder.

Defying Gravity comes from the Broadway musical Wicked. I’ve been a huge fan of this musical since I was 18, but in the last year it’s come to mean so much more to me. So, so much more.

It all started with this line:

Too long I’ve been afraid of losing love I guess I’ve lost.

Well, if that’s love it comes at much too high a cost.

So, here’s why.

A year ago I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, as well as a panic disorder.

The past year I’ve been going through my ‘breakthrough crisis’ as it’s sometimes called- realizing and coming to terms with the fact that I was abused as a child.

My abuse was emotional and psychological- with a couple of few and far between moments of what would be considered physical abuse (this is something I don’t think I’ve quite faced yet… as I have a hard time saying this even in writing)

I was raised by my mother; she has Borderline Personality Disorder, with some narcissistic traits. Her mother, my grandmother, was also a huge presence in my life and I believe she has Narcissistic Personality Disorder, however she is undiagnosed.

My father wasn’t around much- my parents “legally divorced” when I was young, but they are for the most part practically still married, they do not act at all like a couple who has been divorced nearly 20 years. My father is a functioning alcoholic, and for all I know may have other issues. He is also still completely enmeshed with my mother, and very enabling. He has no boundaries with her.

Before I began seeing a therapist, I thought my father was to blame for most of my issues. Because he left when I was little, and I didn’t see him alone, and he’s an alcoholic.

While I have issues with him, sure, through therapy I began to see just how badly my mom’s behaviors and illness effected me. She’s the reason I have PTSD, not my dad.

Part of the reason I blamed (and at times, hated) my father was because my mom often split him black.

People with BPD see the world in black and white, all or nothing. Things are either “all good” or “all bad”. People with BPD think in extremes. It is difficult for them to hold opposing thoughts about themselves or others. When someone is seen as “all good” it’s referred to as being split or painted white. When someone is seen as “all bad” it’s referred to as being split or painted black. Obviously this comes from the cliche of white representing light/good/heaven etc, and black representing darkness/evil/hell etc.

An example, when my mom was trying to get back together with my dad she would often defend him, and go on about what a good father/person he is, and point out all the positive aspects of him. Then when things inevitably went wrong, she’d immediately call him awful names, that he’s a drunk, a terrible father who doesn’t even care about his children or her, that he’s a cruel evil man.

She just cannot grasp the concept that my dad in some ways is a good person, but he has his flaws too.

So, yes, when she split him black, these are the kinds of things she’d tell me. Over and over. She basically brainwashed me against my dad. Thus, I thought my dad leaving was to blame for my anxiety.

I never realized the role my mom played until I began therapy, and she was diagnosed with BPD.

I suppose I’ll leave the rest of this story for my next post.