Tag Archives: Attachment

Friendship and Borderline Personality Disorder

The second question in the “31 days of BPD” challenge asks why your last friendship ended. Now I don’t have any friends (unless you count my husband) and haven’t had any in a long time.

Friendships for me were usually short-lived. I had one friend in elementary school who stayed friends with me for the three years that I attended that school, but we didn’t have much contact after I left the school. I’d call her a few times, but she’d never call me and I eventually gave up.

With my seventh grade school for the blind friend, the same happened. We were good friends for the entirety of the year I spent in that school. I’d say we were best friends, but in all honesty she was my only real frined even though I got along quite well with my other classmates and some older girls too. Anyway, after I left the school to be mainstreamed, I spoke to her a few times on the phone, but I’d always ask her to call me and she never would.

I think I must’ve burdneed her with my problems, being bullied and isolated in mainstream school, but I don’t remember. This was in any case what caused my few mainstream school friendships to end. Right when a girl started hanging out with me, I’d open up and tell her my problems. While that wasn’t the actual reason my friendship with four girls in seventh grade mainstream education ended, it probably did contribute.

This was the only friendship that truly was broken. I reemember it was at the beginning of eighth grade. We’d had to do a graded music performance, which I apparently screwed up. I don’t remember how, but somehow I screwed it up, giving the other girls a bare pass. They ignored me for a week, one girl in particular but she was supported by her three friends. Then, when I apologized for whatever I did wrong, they said they forgave me but never quite grew the friendship back.

This all happened when I was a teen, and I’m not sure it’s truly BPD that caused me to be overly open. It could have been my autistic social cluelessness combined with the fact that, well, everyone needs someone to support them and I didn’t have any adults who did. However, rapidly growing attached to people is a common BPD trait. I am not really sure I have this trait, as it’s not really that I overestimate how close I am to people.

With my now husband, I saw him as an acquaintance when he was visiting me on the psych unit on a weekly basis. I didn’t grow a true attachment to him till we started dating. However, I did open up to him too soon, sharing my suicidal ideation at his first visit to the hospital.

This could be related to BPD in a way, in that I particularly open up a lot when I experience strong emotions. Another thing, however, is that I open up more to people I barely know than to those who should be close to me, like my family. I don’t have a clue whether this is a BPD or an autism thing or not.

Linking up with Saturday Sharefest at the Recovery Bloggers Network. The Recovery Bloggers Network is a new project, where I and another blogger hope to connect bloggers who write about mental health, addiction, recovery, or healing from trauma or abuse.

Reflections on NICU Trauma

My birthday is coming up on Friday. It was another Friday 28 years ago that I was born at somewhere around 26 weeks gestation. The doctors determined my gestational age to be 26 weeks four days based on what my mother told them and whatever measurements they took. Based on my date of conception, my gestational age may’ve been as young as 25 weeks two days. When I was a teen, this “mistake” led to extreme turmoil, for I thought babies before 26 weeks gestation were at the time not treated. The reality of my birth story is that the neonatologist, now a proponent of leaving micropreemies to die, informed my parents that they were simply keeping me alive and not to interfere.

Times have changed since 1986. For one thing, more is known about the effects of premature birth on health and development. For another, more attention is paid to parents’ and babies’ mental health. This doesn’t mean that PTSD doesn’t rear its ugly head at times. Today, I read a story by a mother of a 23-weeker, who clearly says it does. Then again, 28 years ago PTSD was unheard of in NICU parents. Attachment issues were unheard of in preemies. Today, we know better.

I know better. It isn’t my job to diagnose my parents, but they certainly experienced the effects the Mom in the above story describes. Time and time again, they’d re-experience the memories surrounding my birth. They shared with me, and that was mostly good. Some of it was not so good. Knowing my parents had questioned my quality of life and whether I should be kept alive at all, well, that certainly left some scars on my soul.

I learned about the possibility of the NICU experience being traumatic to the baby from another former preemie in like 2006. She was born in the 1970s, and much had changed between than and the mid-80s. Still, when I checked out the “About” page for the above blog, I was astonished to read that Jax, born in 2012, wasn’t first held till he was nearly two weeks old. I probably didn’t have it any better. I don’t mean this to whine, but it is a possible explanation, along with others, for my severe attachment issues. I know that attachment disorders can’t be diagnosed unless there is evidence of pathological care, such as abuse or neglect. The NICU isn’t pathological, but it most certainly is not a normal environment to spend the last three months of your would-have-been-preborn life or the first three months of your life out in the world in.

First Step in Healing the Inner Baby

When I still had the diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder, my inner children came out relatively often to people I know. This is not common with DID I’m told, and was probably one reason for people not to believe me. I now have a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder and, while the inner children are still there, I keep them in hiding. I tend to believe that only the adult me is allowed to be out in the body.

This belief, however, is counterproductive to healing. When we want to heal, we need to acknowledge all parts of ourselves. We also need to validate our experiences. I strongly disagree with the idea, which is how my therapist used to word her inner child theory, that only the abandoned inner child should be allowed to come out because the rest are there to mask her. I consider my angry innenr child as important, and I for one don’t have a critical parent insider – all insiders are part of me.

Trust is the first step in healing your inner child(ren). They need to know that you will be there for them. In this step, I achieved something important in art therapy last Thursday. One of my inner children is the “mini baby”, a preemie in an incubator. She isn’t really active in the outside world, but I sense her. For clarity’s sake, while some people with DID have baby alters who hold traumatic memories, I don’t believe the mini baby is like this; she seems to be more a symbol for my early experiences.

Anyway, in art therapy, I created a baby out of clay and made a crib for her out of a cardboard box with fabric and fake fur bedding. Like I said, the inner baby isn’t a typical alter, so the symbolism was enough. It was more of a gesture to myself and my actual inner child alters to let them know I can be trusted and they will be cared for.

The second step is validation. I’m not sure I really need to validate the inner baby, since like I said she’s not a real alter. I mean, some people with DID give their inner babies pacifiers. I won’t do this. What I do feel that I need to acknowledge, is the fact that I was wounded from the beginning on. I don’t mean this to pass judgment on my family or the hospital staff. I was probably well cared for and had more interaction with my parents than many preemies from earlier generations or whose parents lived farther from the hospital. What I want to say is that, as much as families and hospitals try to prevent this, a NICU stay can entail a form of attachment loss and can, depending on the baby’s temperament, be traumatic. For now, the symbolism of the ceramic baby in the crib helped all of me.

Empathy and Expressing Emotions

In chapter three of the book Look Me in the Eye, John Elder Robison talks about empathy and the expression of emotion. He describes a situation in which an acquaintance informs him tht someone he doesn’t know has died. He smiles, being glad that he and his own family wouldn’t die in the same way and are safe for now. The acquintance responds furiously, because why would he smile at someone else’s death? Robison is regularly accused of psychopathy for similar lack of empathy. Then again, he has strong emotional reactions to soomething happening to his own family.

I can relate to what Robison describes, only to an even greater extent. He describes the thoughts he has when there’s a plane crash in Uzbekistan, as rational empathy: he’s aware that it’s sad that people are killed and knows that the victims’ families are grieving, but it doesn’t affect him personally. On the other hand, when his father had been in an accident, he was anxious and nervous and did care on a deeper emotional level. Then again, when his mother’s car was on fire, he immediately went to fix it.

These are three different kinds of responses: rational empathy with no emotional reaction, emotional empathy as in feeling personally touched, and emotional empathy with the urge to fix someone’s problems.

I for one don’t often experience a strong emotional response when something “big” happens. When my maternal grandfather had a brain bleed in 1995, I was worried because I’d had one myself. I didn’t realize that his brain bleed was very different, and I didn’t particularly feel any emotion when he died five days later. I did feel the need to care for my mother, who ran towards me for comfort at the funeral. This lack of actual emotional empathy was amplified when my maternal grandmother, to whom I had no emoitonal connection, died in 2007. I was in an emotional crisis two days before her death and called my parents, stammering only “I, I.” My father was extremely pissed, saying: “It isn’t about you. Your grandmother is dying don’t you know!” A few months later, I remember talking to my mother and, when she referred to “grandma”, asking which one./P>

In this sense, I’m more self-centered, possibly even selfish, than Robison. I honestly have never had an emotional response to someone dying. That is, I do sometimes feel touched when I realize people have passed away, but this seems unrelated to the events of their deaths. An online acquaintance died sometime in 2013, and I still have moments where my inner children are sad that they can’t talk to hers anymore. Then again, the emotional response is not strong.

It isn’t, in my opinion, a psychopathic tendency that drives me not to be touched by people’s deaths. I do feel sadness when other people are sad, even if it’s for a relatively minor reason. Rather, it seems to be that I’m captured by details more than by the bigger picture of someone having died. For example, when a fellow patient told us that he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer in late 2007, I smiled at the funny spin on a nurse’s name he made rather than reacting emotionally to his diagnosis.

The intersection of autism and borderline personality disorder, which is essentially an attachment disorder, is interesting here. It is probably an autistic tendency to be captured more by the details of an event than the bigger picture, as in the laughing at a pun when being informed someone has cancer. Then again, I do have strange attachments sometimes. I should technically care more about my grandma’s death than about an online friend kicking me off her mailing list, but the reaction was reversed. Is this selfishness? It could be, but then again, I too have strong emotional reactions to other people’s sadness, sometimes if they’re people I hardly know.