God Rest Her SoulMy mother and her mother dont speak, she jokingly refers to her mother as "god rest her soul" a title which i am now passing along to her, if this was a happy story, you wouldn't be reading it here. My mother was never officially diagnosed, but I have had two different therapists (one who has met her and one who has not) independently suggest that my mother is borderline.
Perhaps the best example is a story from my childhood, it's difficult to choose just one. I am an only child so I have cycled through being the good child and the bad child constantly, often on the same day.
I was in a hurry to get ready for school, mom was getting ready for work, my bedroom door flew open, the sound it made as it bounced off the wall echoed in the now silent room. It's kind of funny to view that moment from the outside, the tableau of me frozen, and her looming in the doorway, an ex
She took a deep breath and shrieked "you're a liar! You had better help me find that earring before you leave this house, I am so sick of your sneaky behavior!" At this point I believe she pulled my lunch money out of her pocket and threw it at me, I remember the dollar bills floating slowly to the floor, and my face burning with shame, my eyes full of unshed tears. She threw me one more murderous glance and slammed my door, but not before saying "find your own way to school"
I was to call her to let her know I had gotten home after school, I was old enough that I didn't need a babysitter. She came to the phone "yes? What do you want?" She demanded. "I'm home from school mom." Silence. A breath. "Good for you." Then the click as she disconnected the call. She arrived home an hour later, pointedly not talking to me, until "get in the car, we're going to your aunts house." She barked this at me while smoking a cigarette and looking at anything but me. At my aunts house she is the perfect guest, smiling and laughing with my aunt and cousins while ignoring me even when I asked her something directly, she paused only to give me a filthy look. Later that evening, we are in the living room, watching tv, not speaking, I am on the floor. I happened to turn my head and see underneath the tv, in the carpet, her earring. I picked it up and placed it in front of her, on the side table by the couch. She picks it up and smiles at me. It is late so I start getting ready for bed. I go out to the living room to tell her goodnight. She looks at me, confused, "aren't you going to give me a hug and a kiss goodnight?" This question stuns me, and not wanting to anger her, I start mechanically walking towards her. She stiffly wraps me in her arms, not for too long, never for too long, it's clingy she always says. "Sweet dreams." She breathes as she smiles she reminds me of a crocodile. I cry myself to sleep that night, outside, in the living room, the volume on the tv increases slightly.
This is merely one story from my childhood, I could tell you several others along the same lines. For now, I am 25 and we are not speaking. This is easier for me, and I am finding myself furious at her, we tried counseling, to no avail, she called me to tell me she wasn't going back after I attacked her like I did. What actually happened was that I paid for her to sit there for 40 minutes of her trash talking my father, they're divorced, and talking about how sneaky and selfish I am. I didn't get a word in edgewise and the therapist was lucky she did. I can only work on me, and try to unlearn what I learned. This freedom from her feels like finally taking a breath after nearly drowning. Right now, I hate her for everything she did, I feel compassion for her that she is the architect of her own worst nightmare, being alone. She treats her friends like she treats me so, as you can imagine, friends are in short supply until she ropes the next sucker in with her charming behavior and innocent smile. She gives with one and and keeps score with the other and God help you if the score is in your favor instead of hers.