The More It Changes, The More It Stays The Same

I've just come back from yet another fabulous meeting with the venerable Dr. B.

His suggestion for my situation with the little red-headed chick is to let it go til the end of summer, as it will play itself out naturally when both she and my son leave for college. He doesn't seem to see how positively nauseous this makes me.

In a worst-case scenario, he says they'll marry, but that it's the child's choice and there's little I can do about it. This is simply the beginning chapter of his life. I'm supposed to recognize that he's bright enough to make his own choices based on what he needs/wants. It's a good thing I'M bright enough to recognize that therapists aren't actually supposed to make you FEEL BETTER.

Then he told me to start taking back my house; move out of my bedroom, where I've been living for the past seven months and simply take back my house. "Sit in the kitchen and have tea." It's not going to happen. Why? Because if I do, I'll have to talk to her, and the emotions she produces aren't healthy for anyone, least of all me. I'm pushed to destructive behaviours in an effort to cope, and while I know that I'm ultimately responsible for my own behaviour, there comes a point where desire takes over from rationality, and ... well, a mess is made.

My son is away right now, on a brief holiday to visit his father. While he's gone, she's put me in his role, giving me orders as her chauffeur. We were expected to cut short a day trip of our own so we could pick her up from work; turns out she didn't need it; however the message she left telling us this was on our HOME answering machine. What good did that do? We were 60 miles away, and she knew that in advance! Later that evening, she went out again, then called at 1:30a.m. for me to come "down the hill" to pick her up because her friend's car was acting up and she wasn't sure it would make it up to the top with her. The following day she said she needed a ride to and from the movies with her friend because the car was still not working. Today I'm expected to pick her up and take her to work. When I explained all this to the shrinkage, he said, not for the first time, that she's as borderline as I am!

There are so many variables involved: her treatment of me, her treatment of my son; our lack of privacy, and the impact on my marriage. While I know my husband will stand behind any decision I make, I'm simply too frayed around the edges to make the decisions. Letting her stay will undoubtedly upset him, and he'll tell me, in his very gentle manner, but mostly, I'll just see more disappointment and stress in his face. That's what I see mostly these days: repeated disappointment and stress.

What I need right now is someone who will guide me, and hold me accountable for my actions ~ and in doing so, help me gain much-needed strength. I need that so desperately: some sort of boundary for my behaviour, to help me feel safe, secure, and loved. Instead, I live in a madhouse of four people, and I'm completely alone, left to my own devices. I am powerless. While I recognize that this is MY demon, and that he does love me, I'm fighting (and failing) the thought processes of a Borderline Personality Disorder, considering all manner of destructive patterns, gradually retreating into myself. Playing with razor blades and remembering the warmth of blood, the sting of pain and rush of endorphins, fleeting but powerful; driving, just driving, fast and furious; and finally, wanting to simply let go and allow the rage to erupt at whomever happens to be within range at the time.

What's stopping me? Very little. Less and less each day, actually. It's a downhill slide into illness, comfortable in it's familiarity. In more lucid moments, there's a sickening realization that I've developed a twisted intimacy with my lunacy. One would think that recognition would breed avoidance. Alas, mental illness doesn't work that way.

The shrink says, "Stop". Oh the joy if it were so easy!