Secrets

So, I grew up in an environment of unlocked doors and no privacy allowed.  Letters were not to be kept from my parents, and even if they were, my mom would probably go through our rooms at some point and find them.

Yet, at the same time, there were a lot of secrets.

My dad - I don't know if he kept secrets since he was generally very uncommunicative until he got angry.  He did seem to have to go to the auto parts stores a lot, and he would be gone for hours some times.  And he did take a lot of night classes.  Surely, he had some kind of life outside of the family?

My mom was full of secrets.  I don't know how calculated this was, but she would sometimes tell me something, but not tell one of my sisters.  Or vice versa.  Maybe it was just hard to keep track of who she told what, but at the same time, she was the kind of person who would make sure to tell everyone the same story if it was a good one.  I mean, who doesn't?

My mom would have to ask my dad for money for groceries.  Then she would try not to spend all the money and pocket the rest.  She would build up her own personal savings stash in her prayer book.  Then when one of us needed money, she would use this money to give us.  That way, she wouldn't have to tell my dad.  Or if that was not enough, she would ask my middle sister to borrow the money.  Because usually it was for me or my oldest sister.  My middle sister is very thrifty.  Something that I guess I rebelled against as soon as I got to college.  Now I am still trying to get my financial life in order.

If we went clothes shopping, we would try to hide our purchases from my dad.  He usually could tell when we went shopping and he would make a point to ask what we got.

When my sister secretly got married before her official ceremony, my mom found out.  She kept that secret from my dad.

When my mom found out that my boyfriend (who I ended up marrying) and I were living together, she didn't tell my dad.  And she didn't tell me.  She did act weird though.  Years later when our parents came to New Orleans to meet before our wedding, I had to tell my mom the truth.  I mean, my whole family was going to stay at our apartment.  So, even though my fiance stayed with his family in the hotel, my parents would have figured it out.  My mom acted like this was news to her.  When she asked how long, I replied, "A while."  So, my mom had to tell my dad, but we were getting married, so he didn't really get mad.  After all, this was my only boyfriend that they had ever met.

So, can you blame my mom?  The problem was, that she was the buffer, the interpreter, the shock absorber, the punching bag.  If she had to be the one to deliver bad news to my dad, which she usually was, you better believe that the messenger's life was in danger.  So, she filtered news to my dad.  Everything was on a need to tell you basis.

I had the same dilemma my mom had, time and time again.  So, if I did something wrong - broke something or you know, fucked up the way kids do, I would have the worst anxiety.  I would be scared shitless to tell my dad.  So, I would wait until a "good time".  When the hell is there ever a good time to tell your apeshit tempermental dad bad news?  So, I would put it off, and put it off.  And then he would find out.  And then he would be doubly pissed.  He would be pissed for whatever it was that I did - broke a piano key, or spilled food on the new couch or watched TV and watched the color go haywire and not work properly.  Then he would be pissed for me not telling him sooner.  I think he even tried to pull that bullshit that "if you come to me and you are honest, I will not get mad.  When you hide things from me, I will get mad."  Always wanting to do what was right, the next time I told him right away of my offense.  He got mad.  Was he less mad that I told him right away.  Not in the least.

With BPD, from what I've read and witnessed, anger is a surge, a rush of adrenaline, like a shot of whiskey injected into a vein.  And, yeah, I've felt that myself.  But I've realized how irrational it can be to be in a blind rage over things that are innocent accidents or unavoidable.  Shit happens.  And it sucks.  And we can be pissed.  But usually, our anger doesn't resolve anything in a positive outcome.

So, living with my dad, I learned to hold things in.  If I had a secret I needed to keep from him, I had better be very vigilant.

Now, the funny thing is, I am known to be horrible at keeping secrets.  If it's a secret of no consequence, or it's juicy gossip, then yeah, I probably will spill it.  However, if it's something extremely important, I can keep it.  If I have to.

So, I have a secret I've been keeping from my dad.  Well, he might know, but I haven't told him.

We are moving to south Florida.  So, we will be several hours south of him.  It won't be a situation where we can go up there every week.  Maybe once every six weeks?

We don't have a place to stay yet, and we don't have jobs.  If I told him that, he would have many questions and probably tell us we are stupid.  Is it stupid to move like this?  To some people.  But this is how we have always moved.  Just find an apartment when we get there, find jobs after that, find our life.  Sure, as one gets older, it seems riskier and riskier to move like this.  But what the hell.

So, I did tell my one cousin.  He and his partner bought a house in Pompano Beach last year.  They live here in California, but they want to move their business to Florida.  He told me not to tell anyone about his house.  I told him not to tell anyone we are moving.  So, I kept his secret.  I haven't really talked to any other relatives lately, so that's easy.  I don't know if he kept my secret.  If he told just one person though, one wrong person, then the whole family would know.  Just like that.

Oh, I am facebook friends with some of my relatives, but they don't really go on facebook much.  If they have gone on my facebook page in the last month though, they would know.  And the whole family would know.

But I really don't want to tell my dad until I can at least tell him where we are living.  And even then, I feel like I should wait until we have jobs.  That way he can't tell us we're idiots for moving across the country without leads when the economy is in the dumps.

So, if you see my dad, please don't tell him.

Indecision

So, I've had trouble all my life making decisions.  When I go to the store, it takes me minutes to pick out a simple item like toothpaste.  We don't have a goto brand, so I pick something based on price and packaging.  But I have trouble deciding between the one that restores enamel, or the toothpaste that whitens, or the one that prevents gingivitis, or maybe the toothpaste that does it all but is more expensive.  Oftentimes, my husband will leave me to choose an item, and when he comes back I'm still in the same aisle trying to decide.

When it comes to purchasing a high price item, it takes me hours of internet research.  I will read reviews on similar sites, consumer sites.  Once I narrow it down, finding the right store to purchase from takes another day or two.  Often, there will be one aspect that I overlooked, and when I do finally buy the object of my choice, I realize that it is lacking in some way.  Sometimes, I buy defective products, that have to be returned or exchanged.  I don't feel that there is a necessary pattern to this - I don't go to sketchy bargain basements for higher priced items.

I learned this behavior from my dad.  If my dad were interested in purchasing a new car, he would research it at least a year ahead of time.  He would go to every dealership in a 200 mile radius scoping out the options and the prices, quizzing the salespeople, trying to haggle.  This would be frustrating, because he might spend hours looking at a car, talking to the salesperson, discussing financing and other logistics that probably lead the person to believe they were going to make a sale.  Then my dad would say something deflating, like, I can get this cheaper at the other dealership, and they are more knowledgeable about the specifications.

SPECIFICATIONS.  This is one of my dad's favorite words.  Do you have the specifications?  Do you know the specifications?  What are the specifications.  I need the specifications before I can decide.  Why don't you know the specifications.

What are specifications?  Really, they seem like a set of descriptions and numbers designed to help the consumer procrastinate.  I mean honestly, if my father had been researching something, like a car for months on end, then he would  know the specifications.  My dad can't purchase something from someone he doesn't view as knowledgeable and intelligent.

Indecision can be a killer.  Indecision can ruin a life, lose a job, lose a raise, lose a bargain, lose a lot of things.

One of the "by products" of my indecision is that I'm a gambler.  Not belly up to the blackjack table kind of gambler.  But, sometimes when I can't make a decision, I wildly make a choice.  I'm not an adept gambler, and sometimes I lose, sometimes I win.  It's liberating when this happens, because I relinquish responsibility of making the decision.  And if there are negative repercussions, at least I didn't waste a bunch of time making the wrong decision.

I figure, the indecision goes along with the quest for perfection.  Because, people with BPD may have an obsession with perfecting things.  So, if one were to say, agonize over which towel racks to buy for their new home, and then take home the "wrong" ones, well, then it would ruin that image of perfection.

Right now, I'm facing a few major decisions that affect not only myself, but those I'm closest to as well.  The weight of those decisions crushes on my chest, my head, my brain, and my spine.  Sometimes I can feel them like a physical weight.  It's like depression, I guess.  I feel paralyzed to make a move, and things that normally I would do to relieve stress or lighten my mood, or feed my soul feel are just artificial and unfulfilling.  I barely have health insurance, and it doesn't cover psychiatric therapy anyway.  After all this time feeling like I could deal with my life without professional help, I crave therapy, but I can't afford it.  So, I write this blog instead, even though I don't think anyone is reading it.

 

My First Blog Entry

So, I have been blogging about food for a few years now.  It's not necessarily informative - more of a food porn/daily humor kind of blog.  But, I now feel like I need an additional outlet for my pain, anger, frustration, helplessness and confusion.  I really only talk to my husband and my sisters about my issues with my father, except for the rare occasions when I seemingly "corner" someone else and blab on and tell them too much about my dad, sometimes making them uncomfortable.

Thus, this blog is meant to be for people with similar experiences.  Hopefully you will find me if you need to.  Of course, this is very indulgent in that it's about me, but I'm hoping others will come forward and comment on this - and maybe I'll find likeminded bloggers who might want to cowrite this blog.

So, here's my background.  I am a first american born Filipina, youngest of three daughters.  My mom was an only child and wanted to be a nun when she was young, but her parents made her go to medical school so she could support them later in life, which she did.

My father was the youngest of seven in a matriarchal protestant family.  He always felt like he had to be the most responsible, even though he was the youngest.  The legend goes, that he lied about his age when he was a teenager, so he could start working earlier.  So, whatever age his legal documents claim him to be are supposedly several years older than his actual age.

My mom used to love to tell the story about how she and my dad got together.  Her friends wanted to set him up with one of their girlfriends.  So, as was tradition back in the day, several of them were present at the first meeting.  When my dad was asked what he thought of the girl who he was being set up with, he replied that she wore too much makeup and that he was more interested in my mom.

My mom also used to love to tell the story about how my dad "was not a handsome man".  He did however, behave like a gentleman, and she could tell that he would be less likely to cheat on her than her previous boyfriend - maybe the love of her life.  This other fellow was handsome and wealthy (or on the path to be wealthy) and also was to be a physician like my mom.

So, on my parents' wedding night, it was a shock to my mom when my dad yelled at her for the first time.  And throughout their lives, it seemed like he barely ever stopped at times.  She felt like she had made a mistake, but there was no divorce in the Philippines, annulments were hard to come by and embarrassing, and her upbringing compelled her to be a dutiful wife.

My mom passed away thirteen months ago at the age of 70, which was a major tragedy for our whole extended family.  She had a hard life, 90% of it caused by her life with my dad.  I am still grieving for her and her wasted time.

A couple months ago, I had the (mis)fortune of being pushed out of my job.  Partially due to cracked management by the owners, and partially due to my unwillingness to bend to their every whim and work myself to death for being what I perceived as being underpaid, I was forced to quit.  That story in itself could be another whole blog!  What positive that came out of it, (and believe me, I am a very negative Nelly) was that I had time to recover from burnout and nurse my grief and explore my family dynamics.

I have spent countless hours on the internet since being unemployed researching.  Researching anything.  A question comes to mind, and I jump on my superfast beloved Macbook Pro.  I'm not sure I've loved an inanimate object so much - but it's seemingly animate with how much it does for me!

So, I had been convinced that my dad was possibly schizophrenic.  The delusions and break with reality, strange disjointed language, kind of seemed to fit my dad.  I don't know how I came across a checklist for Borderline Personality Disorder in my online search, but unlike schizophrenia, it hit every nail on the head.  I found list after list that fit my father's description to a tee.  It was a revelation, a catharsis, a relief, and epiphany, a feeling of not being a crazy as I felt!  The door of enlightenment openned, and there stood in glowing block letters, the words BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER!!!!  


I'm not going to apologize for my feelings, and I'm not trivializing the disorder in any way.  After all, I can only assume that you found this blog because you either know someone with BPD or you have it, or you want to learn more about it.  If you personally have BPD or know someone who has it, then you understand this overwhelming feeling of enlightenment.

So, I've started reading books, Stop Walking On Eggshells: Taking Back Your Life When Someone You Care About Has Borderline Personality Disorder,  and Surviving a Borderline Parent.  And they've been immensely helpful.  To let you in on how helpful, I had trouble with the title of the first book, because I felt like it didn't apply to me because I felt uncomfortable with the part "someone you care about".  That's how strong my negative feelings towards my dad were, before reading this book.  In my sick way of alleviating my pain over my horrible childhood and my strained and estranged relationship with my dad, I had a joke with my husband.  He asked me if I hated my dad.  I would say "I don't hate him" with an inflection on hate.  It just has been difficult all my life to sort through my feelings for my dad as provider and authority and abuser - both physical and emotional.  Whenever I had told my dad that I loved him, he always replied, don't say it unless you mean it.  I don't ever recall him telling me, "I love you."  Now, I just feel sorry for him, for carrying the undiagnosed burden of this personal hell of a personality disorder.  Granted, I haven't seen him in over a year, but I will be seeing him in at the end of July.

I wanted to try to keep this first entry fairly brief, but look, I've gone on and on.  I honestly am not affiliated with the authors, publishers or editors of the two books that I've mentioned above.  I just have found them extremely helpful after years of wondering what was wrong with my dad, my mom and myself.

Thank you for reading.