It’s nice to know you’re not the only one going through hell.


You could be at the supermarket with your crying new-born baby, idly wondering if you brushed your teeth that morning, while you hurriedly load tomatoes into a plastic bag.
You could be at work, stressed, focused, and in the middle of the ‘meeting of the month’, something you’ve prepared for, for weeks.
Or even in the throes of passion with someone you definitely don’t want coitus-interruptus with.
When the phone rings.
And you know, because of the horrendous timing or the way the hairs on your arms have risen as if you’re a neanderthal sensing a hungry saber tooth tiger close by, that the one person you really don’t want to talk to right now is calling you.
They’re the person in your life that makes your stomach clench tighter than if you’d eaten way too many gluten-free-vegan-sugar-free-organic-free-trade ‘brownies’ at your very good friends house while you pretend to be absolutely okay with gluten free, vegan, and sugar free at the same time (yes, delicious, of course I’ll have another one!).

Back to the phone - it’s ringing and you really, really, really don’t want to answer.
You know the reason for the call will either be something you’ve done irrevocably wrong, or someone else has. Someone else being wrong is still bad… even though a tiny part of you will feel glad it’s not you who has wronged the caller. But if you don’t listen to the tirade of blame and manipulation coming at you on the other end of the phone then you’ll be guilty by proxy. Or maybe they need money again… and you think of all the scenarios available to you right now that mean you get to keep your pocketbook closed. Lack of generosity is also a sin, though.
We’ll somehow be guilty and blamed - we’re good at guilt and shame.

What if you don’t answer it?, you feebly wonder. Could you stomach the message left for you, and the numerous times they push that blasted ‘redial’ button to make absolutely sure you are actually avoiding them?

Of course you’re avoiding them - what sane person wouldn’t?
You fear that person ringing you. You don’t want to talk to them.
Couldn’t they just quietly not phone you, and wait for you to phone them? And then you’d have a little more power than the zero amount you’re stuck with now. You could actually choose when to talk to them, on your own terms.
Great idea, right?
We won’t acknowledge that the psychologically optimal number of phone calls to this particular thorn in your side would be 0.001 per year.

The call might be important, you consider. Maybe your favorite Aunt died and the call actually isn’t a complaint, or a request for money, or a bitch about a sister. It might be that lovely Aunt, the one who defended you and the other cousins when you were all caught ‘reading’ uncle’s badly hidden pile of playboys. Oh no! Was I just wishing death on an Aunt who never wronged me?

Best answer the phone...

Of course you got trapped again. There they go, bitching and complaining. And when you tried to ask so sweetly if you can please hang up because this isn’t a good time; the child is trying to steal a supermarket cookie, the boss is looking daggers at you and your department is due for restructuring, or the mailman is ringing your doorbell and sounds rather excited (and is he ever!), your request is offensive and shows a lack of love, and therefore your abandonment of them at their time of need.

That’s why I get it. Been there, done that, and not only got the t’shirt, but thrown the t’shirt away in a fit of rage when the t’shirt wearing became too difficult.

I wrote this because, like you, I’ve tried to love a family member with Borderline Personality Disorder. After enduring years and years of a crappy childhood, haunting memories and their affects on me, I found out what my mother’s diagnosis was and read all about it.

Books showed me how she managed to develop the disorder. The books told me I should feel sorry for her. I was told that I should empathise with this poor woman.

And so I did empathise. I dutifully phoned her regularly. Visiting was more difficult seeing I’d moved so far away from her that phoning was the only way to make a 9,000 mile distance workable. I listened to her. I empathized and empathized and empathized until I felt so guilty for feeling periodic hatred for her that I could have happily joined a convent… so long as I got visiting rights & college funds for my sons, conjugal visits with my husband, and reliable wifi.

But that didn’t stop my mother from having Borderline Personality Disorder.

Therapy would work for a while. My therapist even congratulated me on being a functional mother who had an ability to feel..., you guessed it, empathy.

But bugger empathy.

Empathy doesn’t apologize for its mistreatment of others, or buy anti-depressants, or pay the therapists bills, or stop me from cracking up during puberty (not my own), or emptying the bathroom trash of its copious wet tissues (my own), or any of the other million little and big and medium sized things that happen when you try to live the functional life of a, what am I, survivor? Victim? Nutjob?

When I first started work my boss and mentor was wonderful. She advised me to get a blank business sized card and write on it, “Fuck the Lot of Them”, then leave it in my wallet. That way, when the job got too hard, when someone in a meeting was just plain wrong, or a client has been on your case and won’t listen to any version of reason, then “Fuck the Lot of Them” is all that you can think.

And now I pass this gift, this wordley advice to you. Get a business card for yourself.
I hope the card is a tiny little bit of support for when the guilt is too much and you think your mental backbone can’t take another whipping.
Yes, read the books about BPD and it’s definitely helpful to understand why the person in your life suffers from BPD.
Yes, empathize.
But don’t be afraid to feel the guilt and do it anyway. You have every right to a life free from fear when you see their number in your caller ID.