I have made a lot of headway since my diagnosis a year and a half ago. But this past year was one of the worst I've had to endure. I divorced (second husband), moved twice, got Covid, had major reactions to my bi-polar meds. It was a long year of gut wrenching emotions. 

However, this past year included getting a lot closer to my sister and brother as well! We come from a very dysfunctional family. I'm the youngest in my 30's with my siblings being in their 40's. Our parents are in their 70's. Finally, we're starting to talk about our trauma. I feel I see my brother and sister in a new light. And they are starting to see me too.

They're seeing how broken I am. They're broken too, but in different ways. My brother is undiagnosed but may be a quiet BPD like I am.

In this past year, they have helped uncover some trauma that happened to me that I have blacked out from my memory. I was even able to know sort of when these events happened because I could remember things before and after (though they are months/years apart). I knew there was trauma during that time in my life (3-8yrs) but only because I had these giant gaps. 

I always thought that must have been the worst of it all. That was what made me different. It made me crazy, deeply sad, suicidal, be able to detect micro-expressions out of hypervigilance, to feel as if no one else understood me or relate to me. 

My parent's divorced when I was 7/8. My father moved all three of us away from our mother into another state. It was an awful custody battle between them. My mother was a rampant drug user and alcoholic but still, she had serious standing. My father used to get enraged about this. She failed test after test but they were still willing to do partial custody of me.

Not my brother and sister though. They were at an age where they could choose. My sister chose my mother. I never quite understood why. I do now. "Would you choose negligence or abuse?" Negligence, of course. And she chose my mother.

I didn't understand this till recently. My father was the thing that broke me. He never hit me but I lived every day in terror of him. He would come home angry and break things and scream. I remember him destroying my sisters room. I remember him leaving my brother in the desert to walk home. So when they left, it was only me. I was 13 when my brother left. 

I shrank, I hid, I tried to become the best child. I worked starting in elementary school, working in the kitchens, any small task someone would pay me for. I continued to work all throughout school, saving what money I could so that I could "find" it in the couch for when our electricity got shut off or we had no food. I was the child that could calm my father down when he went after my brother for sleeping. 

I've taken a lot of time to think and while I have a history (and brain chemistry) of problems, I can clearly see where my BPD originated. And it changed my view on my father. You see, growing up he put me on a pedestal. He told me once that he hadn't committed suicide because he had me. That if my mom got custody of me, he would do it. He told me I was sent to him by God. And I thought he saved me. Saved me from the drugs and hard life with my mother. From physical abuse or accidental abuse from her or one of the various housemates. He always vilified her. She wasn't perfect by any means but now I know he did exaggerate a lot. He wanted me to idolize him. I was so grateful to him for "saving me". And now I know it's actually quite different. Hindsight. 

I saw him for the first time in months. I nearly had a panic attack before meeting up. I was fine during but immediately after I disassociated for about an hour or so. 

And I still just don't know how to feel. 

Tl;dr I'm basically spewing my thoughts after meeting up with my past abusive parent who most likely caused me to develop BPD in the first place. I needed to get it off my chest.