Estranged Daughter Writes of Mother’s BPD

When I found out, in 2006, that she’d drained my trust fund, I was horrified. But on some level, I was also relieved: so much of the nightmare of my relationship with my mother had happened in secret that I struggled to know if it was even real. But now I knew it was. Now, I had proof, and I could finally leave her, with a clean conscience.

WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE ESTRANGED FROM YOUR MOTHER WHEN SHE HAS BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER
GABRIELLE MOSS

The last time I spoke to my mother was this past January. We had a mediated meeting with her psychiatrist, the three of us together in a conference room with a soothing New Age fountain burbling in the corner. It didn’t go well. In fact, it went so not well, that I was crying into a grilled cheese sandwich, alone, an hour later, coping with the idea that I’d probably never talk to her again.

We’d gotten to that conference room and that psychiatrist and that fountain the hard way, after years of hurt feelings and bad feelings and weird, indescribable feelings that made every interaction between us escalate within minutes into a vicious screaming match, the kind that left me broken for days. We do not get along. Or, maybe I should amend that: I do not get along with her.

So what’s the story here? We should be best friends, boon companions, Gilmore Girls: I grew up an only child in Connecticut, with just my mom in the house for the most part. I always had nice clothes, enough to eat, educational opportunities, and everything else that you’re supposed to be grateful for.

READ THE ARTICLE