Day 8, Hit with a Ball Pean Hammer

There is something therapeutic about writing a blog. The having of a vessel for my memories and feelings to sail upon, swiftly out of the closets of my mind and into the welcoming sea. It doesn't matter if anyone reads them, merely that I freshen up what hurts and give myself some room for growth and movement.

I picked up the mail from our box today. Inside, an assortment of bills and a rejection note from a credit card company. It pissed me off. When you are in a relationship with someone the credit card companies leap through impossible cracks to hand you money, and when you apply as an independent, you appear as a beggar. It is insane how as a wife, the world works for you in such a way that you can have whatever you want, but you can not make a decision. I recall trying to change something on my cable bill, and because the name on the account was Robin's, I had to call him and seek permission in order to make the change. He then, had to contact the cable company to inform them that I could in fact have a say in what we would have in our home. It wasn't just the cable company, it was the hydro, the water people - all of the utility companies and of course all of the banks.

I realized back then, that in about a minute, my existence here in this house, could be crushed. At any moment, he simply needs to make a phone call, and I won't have so much as running water and therefore by extension, not a pot to piss in. I am angry by this. The man is an abusive, cruel and sick person, and he still has all the power. Oh yes, I can walk and I have. But, I am the one who is spending money on the hotels, in the hostels, or sleeping on friends couches while he luxuriously lays in the home I created. If he realized what he could do with a phone call or two, well, I can see his twisted smile now. I am sure, had he realized the extent of his power, he would surely take me down to the river to drown me.

There is anger rustling deep within me. This isn't the ticket to the bus ride that I bought. I feel quite emasculated actually, instead of powerful for choosing a better life for myself. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't feel like a victim either, just annoyed that in this day and age with women working as hard as they do for the money they make, why the husband still has so much control over the decisions in a home. And why mine, can have a mental disorder and still be the cock on the walk. I shake my head.

I look around my house and glare at the patch marks I have sculpted on the walls, prepped for touch up paint and I wonder, what life will be like for me without him and this house. The rain beating on the skylight feels like my spirit feels. Gray, dark and a bit lost. I don't need a man, or company, that isn't it. It is just a feeling of waste. I thought I had made the right decision when I married him. I thought he would be my prince and instead of living happily ever after, I find myself recalling the notes I would scribe over years, to convince myself that I was worth more. I try to come to terms with the fact that he doesn't care, and no amount of reconciling will ever make him fully capable of giving me the life I deserve. It is so sad.

People that suffer from BPD aren't capable of true love because they are wired differently than other people. They have impulse control issues, and high level BPD's are much like grown up children who have silly childish temper tantrums. When something doesn't suit them, they shut off all elements of logic and instead find themselves in reaction. The reaction very much resembles those of a small child who is unable to use his or her words to explain their pains. They act out irrationally and without warning, but high level BPD's experience a different kind of modification than more serious degrees of the condition. These people have situational reactions. They are frightened of the authority figures in their lives and therefore they don't have the hissy fits that they have with their close partnerships. High levels wouldn't dream of going to their boss and using ridiculous profanity, or smashing things, but they don't hesitate to behave inappropriately with their mates or closest relationships. The reason seems clear; high level BPD's trust their partners not to leave and push the package as far as they can to create a reaction in us so strong, that their biggest fears are fully realized. The replay of their childhood abandonment. They need the push. They feel loved by the push, and the drama that comes only with their intimate relationships. They have such a skewed view of themselves that we, as their mirrors, become the vessel for their weaknesses and their biggest fears. The projection of their lowest selves is the vision we reflect back upon them.

When we leave them, they can become the victims they truly believe that they are. There is no remorse for their behavior, merely emptiness.

I recall when Robin would talk about his twin brothers arriving on the scene when he was just five years old. As he told the story, I was touched and deeply saddened for this child of Manic Depressive Parents, who had difficulty relating to each other. Robin was terrified about living that life in his own marriage, and sadly, I believe he created much of their relationship in our life by replication.

He was a beautiful little English lad, complete with nicker shorts and golden hair. He possessed a naughty grin and deep blue gray eyes, with super long blond eyelashes. He appeared in his pictures as a happy little tyke. full of mischief and wonderment. Then one day, the close relationship that he had with his mum and dad seemed odd and they picked up his toys and in what sounded like a fairly fluid motion, the family moved to a bigger home. Shortly after, his brothers would arrive to the new house, and the connection that he had with his parents was shared. An unequal share at that. The babies naturally took up all of his mummies time, and the fun that Robin once had, was gone.

School would begin and when it did, there would be no time for play. He went to a elementary school that did not allow fun or drawing or impropriety. He told of a story where he was off of the school grounds, walking towards the building and eating a sandwich on the street. As he entered the school yard, his teacher saw him eating. Upon returning to class, he was brought up to the front of the room and slapped hard across his tiny face. The teacher looked at him and said that eating on the street was an embarrassment to the school. He never played in his elementary years again. He studied, because that was what all good boys did and he did not want a repeat of his childhood trauma.

I think that the combination of these events became catalysts to his life with BPD.

Let me make a note, much like most people who suffer from this disorder, Robin does not believe that he has any kind of ailment. He entirely dismisses it. His diagnosis comes from my own independent investigation of his behaviors and symptoms. I have discussed these traits with my own counselor and she concurs that Robin possesses a significant proportion of the traits that characterize this disorder. In addition, I have spoken with our marriage counselor, and other social workers whom have agreed that Robin carries an abundance of the common patterns of a person who has BPD and Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

It is important to note that many people are never diagnosed. Having said that, if you live with a person who has these qualities, a diagnoses only allows the doctor to use his prescription pad. Unless the condition, is in it's extreme form, where suicidal tendencies and extreme violence are prominent, making the diagnosis is difficult at best and requires cooperation from the patient. I invite you to visit BPD Central for a complete list of the traits associated with this disorder. High level BPD's function very well and they go through cycles of up and down behaviors, and consistently change views between hero worship and hatred. There temperaments are volatile and they explode with little warning. Again, I invite you to consider the symptoms carefully. It took me well over a year of the ten years we were together, to finally come to terms with his behaviors. For the first 6 years, I blamed myself and I internalized a lot of the abuse. It did not belong to me. Once determining that this was his disorder, a huge relief followed and things he had done and said became a new normal. The condition is very clear. It was like a huge burden was lifted and I could understand what I was living with.

Anyhow, at the start of this entry I was talking about the mail and how I was feeling frustrated by the fact that I would be starting my life over again. Had I known in the beginning that he had BPD, I am not sure I would have stayed. I would have made a different choice, or perhaps learned sooner how to detach. I have talked a lot about the condition as it relates to Robin, but not so much as to how it relates to those who don't have the condition.

In my situation, I don't really know what normal is anymore, I just know what isn't. I am so used to waiting for the ball to drop, that I go through incredible phases of highs and lows about leaving this life and starting again. After living with a person who has BPD, you are inevitably on a roller coaster of your own and it takes a while to look at yourself with clarity. Plus it is really hard work. On the one hand, I am pretty excited. I have my sailboat, my sanity (although at the moment that is a bit questionable), and a pretty good outlook that it will be okay. But I also have this incredible sense of guilt. I mean, if Robin had Cancer, heaven forbid, I wouldn't leave him. If he was diagnosed with turrets, I wouldn't be thrilled, but I wouldn't leave him - and so I have to ask myself why put myself through the start again process. My little voice chit chats and says "Give in, give him the money he wants (he equates me to a yearly dollar value) , let him get stupid once every four months, he'll be good in between. " I tell myself it would be so easy just to let him be who he is, accept it, and not take his stuff personally. And then, I look at myself in my own mirror and I know, that abuse is wrong. Mental condition or not. No one has the right to hurt you on purpose.

It is my life and I only have one. When this is all over, and I have found myself again I will be stronger for it, with or without the extra credit card. His voice in my head will quiet over time. I will be able to breath in and out in my own home, without fear that my belongings will be kindling for the fireplace. I will be able to see myself again as the beautiful, smart, fun, energetic, healthy person that I am, and not the words he uttered in lunacy.

My counselor said it best, she said: You will find happiness again. You will be able to get out of your own head and see the world for what it is, but he never will be able too.

I can pity his situation, but not make it a life sentence.

I reach for my tea.

Day 5, Big Boat Home

Well, what a grand time I had at my friends house. I am on the ferry now, returning home to my chaos. I take a breath and look out the window.

Even though I am on the ferry, I can't help but reflect on how wonderful it is to sleep on board my boat and to reconnect to my core. When Robin and I first experienced problems in our marriage, I bought a sailboat. I needed something that was simply mine. I had been in and out of hotels or staying on friends couches. As I put all of these ideas to print, I remember why I left, and the stories come like floods into my remembrance. As there are such whirlwinds of thoughts as I express them I am sure they will seem a bit disjointed, so please dear readers bear with me. As they slowly unravel, the madness of my life will emerge and the pieces will come to make sense.

How did I get to the boat decision? Well, one of my girlfriends knew that I was struggling and she came to my rescue and offered me a room in her basement. She and I had known each other for over ten years, and she had known me when Robin and I weren't even a glimmer. In fact, she had known me when I was with Charles. She called and upon hearing of my situation immediately came to my aid. She said that the room I could stay in was her husbands favorite space in the house. It was iconic. Everyone in the neighborhood knew of that room. It was an odd place. Her husband was a huge fan of Scarface, and he created a room that was aptly a replica of his icon's office, complete with closed circuit television, an over sized leather chair, a crystal carafe full of whiskey sitting upon a chunky black desk and adorned with the script of the movie. The room was painted a bright red and had shiny black marble floors. Painted in black and red on the wall was a giant globe with the words "The world is yours". This room was something beyond words. I will share more of that story another day, but suffice to say, this room gave me an odd courage. I tried to decide what I would do and one night in the darkest room I had ever slept in, it came to me. Amid the Tommy Gun's and the photo's of Tony Montana, I returned to the pleasantries of the sea.

Boating has always been important to me and when I was in my late teens and early twenties, I lived on one that resembled an old toy Barbie boat. I loved the life. It was one of my favorite memories and so when Robin and I first started the separation roller coaster, I knew that I needed something that was mine. I did not want to feel homeless ever again. Especially, when my future with Tony Montana would be a temporary leg up on a new view of life. Having said that, the first step to independence had begun. My boat was love at first sight. I found her on Craig's list, right around the time that the famous book "The Secret" had begun it's hype. The owner had carefully chosen photos that would give a good feel for what the boat had to offer. I was captivated. I thought it would be impossible for me to buy her. I had some money, but not really very much. I just kept seeing her in my mind. I knew she would be mine, so I went to the bank, and convinced the loans manager that she was a steal. After looking at the internet picture printouts, the manager agreed and within about a month from viewing her, test sailing her, and having her properly surveyed,she was mine. From the moment go, I knew this would be a strength and wehn I am at my lowest, I dream of her. There are lots of wonderful stories I will share about my vessel later, but for now, back to the ferry ride to the mainland.

My friends party was spectacular. Her house filled with the smells of delicious food, prepared lovingly for her family. She is an extraordinary hostess and her grown boys are a delight to be around. She became a two time grandma this year and she particularly glows in the presence of her beautiful grand daughter. The house was full of noise, and laughter and joy and I was in the center of a new hope for myself.

I have always wanted to be connected to a family. I wanted that for my son but sadly, I have not been a good provider of a family for him. My first husband, my son's dad, was a boozer. When the choice came between a sack of beer or diapers, I chose the diapers, while he chose the beer. Charles was a good man, just not a dependable, fully functional adult. I know that sounds awful, but raising my son alone had much better odds, than watching him witness his fathers lack of control. It is said that second marriages don't work out, and in fact the statistics are pretty much lean that they work out less than first time marriages by and far. I would not be a statistic however. I chose better. I did not choose an alcoholic a second time and I knew the first time the error I had made. I was young when Charles and I met and I married for freedom. I did not marry for the right reasons and I knew it even the day that we exchanged vows. I was just too much of a coward to walk away. So after about 14 years, we ended and we closed our relationship as friends. Today, we are still extremely respectful to each other and he participates in our son's life as best as he can with the limitations of his world.

When I married Robin, I thought I had upgraded. Unfortunately, I turned in one mans lack of boundaries for another. In retrospect, my son and Robin are close, and I wanted a better father for him. In fact, they get on well, but I think it is mostly because I have been a strong buffer between them. Especially, when my son was a small fry. I had great hopes of providing for my baby the most nurturing of families complete with a loving step father and a doting mother. I wanted a warm comforting family for him to grow up in. Instead, I put him in the lines of fire. He saw, and heard horrible things. I wanted to protect him, but he didn't understand when I would call the police and have Robin removed after he had smashed another door down or thrown his glass against the walls so that the fragments shattered like explosions in a war. That guilt is probably the biggest burden I carry. When you bring kids into this life, you have such high hopes for what the future will be for them. It is so hard to see those dreams destroyed. For my son, mommy had failed not once but twice. The feelings that I had at my friends party, were reminiscent of my hopes and dreams. A house full of laughing children, and grandparents lovingly blowing up balloons.

I felt a paradox of what I had wanted and what was too late for me to create in my now 18 year old's life. How could I recoup this? One of the other reasons I bought the boat was to reconnect with my son and invite him into something wonderful. I keep that in mind as I look into the future.

I gaze back out the window and realize we are about to dock. The journey to my house another two hours away. I feel numb inside. Happy for my friends life, but numb for my own. The tears well up as I disembark.