Limbo = how low can you go?

Welcome to limbo. Please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are returned to their upright and locked positions. We’ll be circling your final destination for the next… oh, I don’t know MONTH or so.

As I’ve mentioned before, my husband has been interviewing for jobs. This process has felt never-ending at times. For example, here’s what I had to say about this process

In November
In January
In March
In April

Right now, I have no news to report. I have no idea where we’ll land. Seven of the places I mentioned in November are still possibilities. I have no idea when we’ll know. It could be a week, a month, two months.

People keep telling me what an “exciting” time this is. How “rich” it is. Perhaps…

Yet, every time someone says this, I want to punch ‘em. HARD. “Rich” foods are tasty sometimes but they also give you heart disease and high cholesterol. There's something to be said for bland and mild.

Neither my pathology nor I deal well with uncertainty. It helps me to have something to look forward to, something to plan for and keep me slogging through a tough dysphoria-filled day. With no idea of what the future will look like, my mind strains to fill up all that unknown with SOMETHING. And if I let the leash out just a little bit, my mind comes up with all kinds of crazy scenarios. For example, I worry that:

• We won’t like our new town. It’ll be cold or cloudy or less beautiful than the Bay Area.
• We won’t find any good doctors who really understand Borderline Personality Disorder.
• We won’t have a good insurance company that’ll pay for more than a few therapist visits.
• We won’t ever be able to get pregnant and nobody will let a crazy lady like me adopt. If I do have kids, they’ll be just as crazy as I am.
• We won’t make enough friends and we’ll be lonely.
• We won’t be able to afford to buy a home that we like. We’ll always live in a ratty apartment.
• I won't find a job as good and as flexible as the one I have now.
  

But when I write down these fears, I’m struck by how normal they seem. Everyone worries about these things. Nobody knows what the future looks like. Nobody knows if today’s decisions will irrevocably mess up a later opportunity. I’m sure everyone obsesses over big life-changing decisions. So what makes our family different? Maybe nothing.

But maybe… it’s that big looming bogey-man of mental illness over there, lurking in the corner. My health has been stable for a little while now. And it’s scary to think that something we do, some choice we make could upset that. We wouldn’t want to do anything that’ll piss off the monster. It feels safer if we don’t poke it with sticks. It’s better not to take risks. It’s easier to stay put, wrapped up in our little cocoon and never change or challenge anything. It makes you wonder if I should just call myself disabled and live a smaller, quieter life.

Great concept. Still. I’d rather live my life to the fullest.

Caution: suffocation hazard

So my dad visited last weekend. I’m not over it yet, but I’m working on it. Don’t get me wrong, It wasn’t a terrible visit. He didn’t openly criticize or yell at us. Still, it was tense and uncomfortable and HARD.

Like I mentioned in my last post, these visits never seem to go that well. For example:

• The last time my dad visited was late October 2004. A week after he left, I started experiencing mild psychosis, the police took me to the hospital and I was committed for a week. Oh and while I was an inpatient, the outpatient program I’d been attending for a year and a half kicked me out.
• The only other time my dad came to the Bay Area by himself was in September of 2002. Midway through his visit I started having intense suicidal urges. After he left, I spiraled down into a major depressive episode that culminated in, yup, you guessed it… the police and a month long stay at a local psych unit. Fun times.

So frankly, the fact that I’m still loose and wandering the streets a week after this most recent visit is quite an accomplishment. Or so my doctor says.

I wish I understood exactly why my dad’s visits are so toxic. The best answer I seem to come up with is that he’s just way too controlling. He’s a gigantic bully who demands that everything: every thought, every action, every moment to be the way he wants it. If it’s not, he’ll throw a hissy fit and make everyone’s life incredibly difficult. NOBODY would want to spend that much time with anyone who acts like he does.

In between our visits, I always seem to forget just how self-centered and full of anger he is. I want to believe he’s not that bad. But then when I’m with him again, I feel shocked and confused. How did I ever think he’d change? How did I live with my parents for seventeen years? Answer: I stayed away as much as I could.

Still, that’s the only kind of family I knew so that’s what I adapted to. When I’m with my dad, I see how I MUST have grown up warped. I’ve tried to unbend myself but thirty plus years of twisting has to leave permanent damage. Sometimes, it makes me feel like I shouldn’t even try, like I’ll always be crooked.

A while back, my doctor said that I had to shut down and drown my natural instincts and personality to survive with my parents. I stopped trying to be myself. I stopped feeling like myself. I shut down any and all natural responses that caused me trouble. The only time I ever let myself off the hook was to get drunk and that stopped working after a while. Nothing. Was. Ever. Right. And when you keep everything under such control for that long it causes a kind of paralysis.

I have to be very, VERY careful when I’m around my dad. He had me twisted around for so long that when I’m with him, I feel like I can’t even trust my own thoughts. I lied to myself and forced my real self down so I could exist with my parents. Still, it was the only way to survive, like the woman in that movie who muffles her baby’s cries to hide it from the enemy, only to discover that she’s suffocated it.

Analogy Lessons

Husband is to Juniper as Spinach is to Popeye

I’m going to pick up my husband from the airport this evening! It seems like this loooooong interview process may finally be winding down. If he goes on any more trips, hopefully there won’t be a lot more. Since January, he’s traveled to interview for 8 different jobs in 7 different states. Three jobs had him back for a second visit. That’s a lot of traveling!

Perhaps once he’s back I will return to life. Since he left at lunchtime on Tuesday, I’ve been bored and lethargic. I don’t know why I seem to become a dysphoric hermit when he’s out of town, but it’s the truth and it does me no good to ignore it. Sure, I’ve managed to get a couple of things done each day, but they’ve been interspersed with long hours of cable TV.


Parents are to Juniper as Kryptonite is to Superman

I’ve been a bit down since this weekend anyway. My dad was in town for a couple of days, visiting us and giving a speech nearby. It was not our best visit and my mood and sense of self is still trying to recover. It seems like the times when he comes to our house by himself go worse than when he visits with my mom or when we go to their house. There’s just something about getting him alone, on our territory that makes it impossible to ignore just what an…. pain he really is.

By the way, don’t ever try to mix Spinach, Kryptonite and Juniper. You get a new, unstable element that smells bad and gives off an unpleasant, tense vibe. Makes the Kryptonite much, much stronger. More about that later.

Goodwill? Yes. Good will? No thanks.

Now that we know that we're moving this summer, I've started trying to get rid of stuff. I took a couple bags to Goodwill this morning containing the items shown above. I was having a hard time last night deciding if I should let go of these things. I realized that I didn't really need or want any of it - I was just hanging onto this stuff because someone gave it to me and I thought i'd feel guilty for getting rid of it. So I took a picture. That way, I'll still have the memory without having to drag the stuff around too. It's amazing how every object has a story, no matter how long I've been hanging onto it.


A: Strange, ugly woven purse my parents brought back from Japan. Owned: 1.5 years

B: Bowls that came with “salsa” themed gift basket (salsa broken upon arrival). Contents: three small picture frames various weddings (were used as place cards). Owned: 2.5 years

C: Necklaces I never wear:

• Wooden necklace from ex-boyfriend. Owned: 13 years
• Faux pearl necklace from grandma. Owned: 20 years
• Faux black pearl necklace from parents. Owned: 13 years
• Silver necklace mom gave me for wedding rehearsal. Owned: 5.5 years

D: Soap dish from friend (soap long since used). Owned: 1.5 years

E: Wooden box from friend in college. Owned: 13 years

F: Blue bracelet a friend gave me in the hospital. Owned: 4 years

G: Glow in the dark “glasses” from (I’m not kidding) when my parents went to the last republican national convention. Owned: 2 years

H: Box I made from a kit I bought at a Japanese paper store. Contents: push pops & ring pops from our anniversary party last year. Owned: 3 years

J: Nice dragonfly pin I got as a Christmas present. I don’t wear pins. Owned: 2 years

K: Little felt dolls my parents got at a cool toy company in junior high. Owned: 20 years

L: Three decks of playing cards my husband bought because we once thought we might collect a deck from each of our vacations.

• Old Chesapeake Railroad deck. Owned: my whole life
• Deck we got in Yosemite. Owned: 6 years
• Deck we got in Glacier National Park. Owned: 6 years

M: Travel game of Connect 4 my husband got me at target because my neighbors owned one and I always wanted to play it and they never let me. Owned: 7 years

N: Game of tiddlywinks we got as a stocking stuffer. Lame. Owned: 5 years

P: Loofa scrubby thing from my husband. Nice, but too hard on my skin. Owned: 2 years

Q: Photo storage box we got my mother in law as a gift at our wedding. Had the wrong initials so they let us keep it and we gave her the right one. Owned: 6 years

R: Tea towel embroidered with “love” we got for Valentine’s Day gift from my mom. Owned: 7 years

S: Candles:

• Green one a friend gave me that smells too weird to burn. Owned: 0.5 years
• Sparkly Christmas one my student gave me but is too ugly to put out. Owned: 1.5 years

And to think... all that came out of one box under my bed. It's scary what I hold onto just to keep myself from feeling any glimmer of guilt.

Ah Borderline… Act II & III

ACT II: at home later Friday night

I got an email from Colleen. It was sent to me and Gwen, the other woman who had stayed after group to talk to her. It sounded bad:

“I can't remember being more depressed…. Why should I come to the "next" meeting, prepared to… do what? Ask someone why they don't like me? Why should I come back, and ask that person's permission to exist? What's wrong with me? What did I do wrong? I am leaving the world. I can't bear it anymore… LEAVE ME. As I leave others.”

I called Gwen. She agreed to call Colleen. They talked for a while and then Gwen called me back. It was now 11pm.

“Colleen says that she doesn’t want to die but she still doesn’t want to live. I don’t know what to do. Do you think I should call her doctor?” Yes, I told her. If she were to hurt herself and we hadn’t called him, we’d never be able to live with the guilt.

Gwen called her doctor, whose voicemail message said that he was out of town. So she called the psychiatrist who was covering his practice and told him what was happening. He called the police who showed up at Colleen’s house at midnight.

Then, Colleen called Gwen and asked her why she had alerted the police. She wished she hadn’t – and said that it had only made things worse.

So Gwen called me back, wanting to know if I still thought we’d done the right thing. ABSOLUTELY, I said. I don’t fool around when suicidal people make threats. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to “turn in” a friend to an authority figure. They weren’t easy decisions, but I’ve never regretted doing it. I’ve watched too many people die.

- - - - - - - - -

ACT III: at home Sunday afternoon

I got another email from Colleen. Her mood had obviously changed:

“I'm so sorry for involving you in the Great Storm. Truth is, I was crying so hard I could barely read the screen when I wrote that message, and then just kept crying on and on after I sent it and so didn't really remember/realize how frightening what I wrote would be until the shrink-on-call gave my language back to me as a real reason to call the cops. I'm truly sorry I frightened you both, and involved you at all in this.

I wish I could have done better. I was overwhelmed, and could only feel that feeling in that moment. And part of me… well, part of me that overcame me then… was in so much pain that's all I could hear in my head and I guess I just wanted somebody to hear that, too. A form of selfishness brought on in the extremity. Please forgive me.

We all walk that ground together, and each of us knows its intensity. So you would have known the risk. But no hospital for me, I managed to talk them out of it, with the support of my husband. And now the storm deepens into the gut, as depression has its way.”

I was SO happy to read this. Not just to see that Colleen wasn’t mad at me; that our friendship was preserved. I was more impressed that she could look back at her extreme emotions and how they affected the people around her. Yes, it sucks to have this personality disorder. Yes, other people have to learn to accommodate us when we can’t control ourselves.

BUT. In my experience, it’s very, very important for a borderline to see how much their actions affect others. I watched many people walk away from me because I was too difficult, too emotional, too volatile to be around. I threatened suicide one night in their bathroom and the next day they didn’t want to be friends anymore. It hurt me, but gradually, I changed. I learned. My relationships became easier.

I want this for Colleen. I don’t want this to be the third support group she feels rejected by. I want her to have more ease and grace in her life and the people she interacts with. Yes, she’ll have to change who she is to accommodate them, but sometimes… it’s worth it.

Ah Borderline… a play in 3 acts

ACT I: our Friday morning depression support group

I walked into group and noticed that Colleen AND Jane were both there. Uh oh, I thought.

About a month ago, Jane told us she was glad Colleen hadn’t come to group for the last few months. She didn’t like Colleen – she thought she was too emotional, too flamboyant, had too little insight and took up too much space in the group. If Colleen came back, Jane didn’t want to be in the group anymore. I tried my best to stick up for Colleen. She’s a fellow Borderline, I said. I know how Borderlines can turn people off, I said. I feel uncomfortable when Colleen cries at the drop of a hat too but on the other hand… I can relate. I just take her mood swings with a grain of salt and try to appreciate the depth and passion she brings to the group.

Well Friday morning, it became clear that Jane’s feelings had not changed. Every time Colleen started to say something, Jane interrupted her. She wouldn’t even look at her. It was noticeable; yet not so overt that anyone stopped her. I wasn’t sure Colleen noticed, but as soon as Jane left, Colleen broke into tears. She wanted to know why Jane disliked her so much. We told her what Jane had said in our previous group… as gently and sweetly as possible. Colleen did not take it well. She summed up her thoughts in a later email:

”I would have been very oblivious indeed if I didn't know Jane didn’t like me. I've known it from the very first meeting. It never changed. You confirmed what I already knew. Since the beginning of that group she regularly turns her back on me when I talk, won't make eye-contact at other times, turns her body away from me and makes sure I get that body language loud and clear. She wanted me to know, from the very FIRST time I came back to the group, that I was unwanted. Barely disguised disgust and downright aggressive cruelty were the means of delivering the message. I got it.

Maybe her not-so-latent anger and disdain are an automatic, buried response to women like me. Maybe I represent something uncontrollable, and unpredictable. Maybe she sees that I’m not living in awe of much of anything, much less psychoanalysis. So I CAN'T be controlled. And so I speak out. And I have a life, and an intelligence that is outside a predictable and known line. And I can match her wits, point by point. And maybe, just maybe, it's because I'm not the "normal" she used to: I have my own sense of it.

My best guess is that she will deny it, turn it back on me, and make me feel even more terrible. And then I would run out of the room in tears.”

We talked for a long time after group ended. When she left, Colleen seemed sad but not quite as despondent. Still, we were worried.

tomorrow: act II