#a friend of mine has just been undiagnosed with bpd which . lovely for them but it sure as fuck invites a Lot of questions

[charliespringverse]

i think it should be possible to scream without making any noise or disturbing anyone or inviting any questions . just sometimes . as a treat .

[roadtripwarrior]

The Two Most Important People in My Life

Heads up before you read, this is more of a vent than anything. And to anyone who usually reads my stuff this will not be my normal style. I don’t usually dissociate but this feeling in this narrative has me messed up. The events here are all true. I don’t usually write non-fiction because it feels to real, but I just need validation. I gave this a once over for proof-reading and to appease the writer in me, but it’s pretty sloppy I imagine and given it’s nature of a vent, it’s also very run-on at some points with a ton of commas. I usually to try to pretty shit up. But this is what it is. Any validation you can give would be very appreciative. My mother has an undiagnosed mental illness. What it is, I can’t say. I’m not a doctor, but if I had to take a guess, I’d say maybe it’s Borderline Personality Disorder, which would explain why she’s so hard to reach. She herself does not know where she is inside herself, nor who she is, nor if she even ever existed. I believe whatever it is that ales my mother arose when she was about four years old, when her stepfather took her into a room and did things to her I cannot fathom anyone doing to someone of that age. He molested her and probably did other things. 

         Here’s the worst part about that. He didn’t just do it once. He did it for nearly 5 years. No one’s sure how long. And it’s not like it was done in secret either. My grandmother knew. And she did nothing. In fact, she only grew to resent my mother. Can you imagine that? You watch you daughter get sexually abused for years, and the only thing you do is become jealous. Jealous because your husband is more interested in your daughter. So you drink, and pretend you don’t see it, then years later even after Norman, that’s his name and I believe the whole world should know it, even after Norman has left, you shame my mother when men look at her. When men look at her. Not the other way around. You call my mom a slut because of things completely out of her control. You distance yourself from her. You stop being her mother and when I was born you treat me in a similar vain. Like I’m not your grandchild. Like she’s not your child. She’s been tainted and stained.

         It’s like that thing peoples say about if you touch a mother bird’s eggs, she won’t want them anymore. I guess it happens in people too. 

         I don’t even hate Norman. It hurts when I think about him yes, but I know that it was a pain, something great and deep, something that was barred inside him for years, decades, and it rot him until he could bare it no more and had to exact hurt upon another to dull his own. No one knows where he is anymore. He’s probably dead. And that’s a shame, because it means he took that pain, he took what he did to my mother, to his grave and never will be able to heal. The pain is inside me now. I have to bare a burden he left upon my mother, which she never dealt with either.

         So now, here is my mother. A woman who will forever fear and despise men, and I am her only son. And I have been burned by her eyes that saw me as a pedophile, as a rapist, before I ever even knew what sex was. There was always distance when I was young. A certain way my mother held me, it’s like the way you hold something that smells, or that’s wet. You don’t want to get it on you. And then came puberty. And that was when things really changed. I don’t know if it’s because she could no longer to bare to be in the house with a young man, or if it was just timing, something inside her that had been growing into an evil flower, and finally came to surface just as the time of my beginning to look at woman awoke, or perhaps it was both. Either way she left. 

         She became a prostitute. It was probably a way for her to coping with those things that happened with her. Understanding her sexuality. I don’t really know. She told me once she had no pleasure from the job. But who knows.

It took me awhile to figure out she even was a prostitute. She would never spend much time with me, anything longer than an hour and she got fidgety, like she always had something more important to be doing.

         But she would show her love through money. It was a way to love me at a distance. She could throw it at me, and not even have to look me in the eye, and I just accepted this as love. Eventually I started to question where the money came from. So much of it, so quickly, and my mom had never had a solid job so I couldn’t imagine. Then I started to realize the boots she wore when she went on “appointments.” Fishnets up the legs, a skirt so short it would make a cheerleader blush. Red, red lipstick, like a doll. And then she’d return with messy hair and six hundred dollars. 

         Now, it was most likely because of the relationship with my mom that I would fall in love with someone who also has BPD. And remain in love with them for six years, despite our relationship never really working out, we’d try to be friends and stuff like that, but always seemed to love each other at the end of the day. But there was a lot of hurt in both our lives that made it hard to ever really get close. 

           I recently had a falling out with my mom. My therapist showed me that I was basically like holding a bridge up for my mother and I to be able to connect. That I had to hid and pretend so much about me wasn’t there. And one day we were getting lunch, and as my mom began to shame me, the pain began to arise. The pain that had been there since I was Twelve, maybe even longer. And I finally said no to it. I wasn’t going to put myself in a bind just to please this woman. Yes, she’s my mother. Yes, I love her. But I don’t deserve this. 

         The result was fascinating, my mom went to in a panic and tried to kill us both while we were driving. She floored the car and almost drove us into someone one’s home. I hadn’t been that scared since I was a child, when she did something similar. 

         After that, I started to become better with woman. I stopped trying to be something around them, to prove I was worthy to a woman who wasn’t even in the room. 

         Anyway, I decided to reach out to Sierra, the girl I mentioned earlier with BPD. The one I’ve loved for years. We hadn’t talked in a couple months, last I saw her, we ran into each other on my college campus, neither of us were aware that we went to this school, we just happened to have a class right next to each other, walked out, and just stared at the other.

Life always brings us together like that.

We sat on a hill and talked. Another day we got a beer with a friend of mine. Then the semester ended. She asked if I wanted her number. I said I wasn’t sure yet. 

         Since I didn’t take her number, I had to get pretty crafty with the art of magic to deliver the message of love I wanted to send to her

         Long story short, the whole thing with my mother was just a facet of a larger thing I was becoming. My therapist whom I believed to be a bit crazy at first, had showed me that there is indeed magic in this world and she awakened a being of love inside me and I’ve just been different. That’s all i can say. 

         Low and behold I cast a magic spell and my message gets delivered to this girl. Sierra. 

         She says she loves me too. 

         But she has a boyfriend.

         I already knew that

         I still love you. 

           So here we are. Loving each other the way we’ve always loved each other. I decided to not manipulate you the way i had once, I decided to not cling if you left. I decided to express the deepness of my love to you, and you could do what you want with it. Little did I know that it was truly an infinite well of water and it flowed from me and I believe you became afraid of me. Afraid of yourself. Afraid of the same thing my mother was always afraid of. 

         You still need to heal. 

         My mother needs to heal too, but I don’t know if she ever will honestly.

         After trying to kill me she seems to think that we are “okay”

         She keeps inviting me to get lunch.

         I just don’t even reply anymore.

         Maybe she’ll change.

         But the point is she’s no longer my mother. 

         And it hurt. I cried in the shower that day she tried to kill us. I cried to my father after I got out of the shower. I realized maybe I never had a mom and that I never would.

         It was relieving in all honesty. I no longer had to pretend. 

         But, losing Sierra? It’s not just about her not being in my life either, It’s that both of them have incredibly self-destructive tendencies. So its like, I just have to let these two people go kill themselves slowly with drugs and alcohol. 

         I know she need time and maybe she may get better too and awaken the love in her heart that she deserve. 

         But it scares me right now. 

         I haven’t heard from her in what’s felt like months, even though its only been a week.

         I keep wanting to text you that I love you and I miss you, because I know with your BPD you need a bunch of validation, but I also know that right now you need your space.

         And now I have to live without the two most important people to me.

         The world ruined my mother, and I can live that.

         One of them I could understand

         Two just seemed unfair.