Greentext

Man. I know everyone is different, but I believe we should look out for each other. I mean, as much torment as it was for me to spend all that time with someone with BPD, I realize that she couldn’t help it. As much as my daughter and I were traumatized, she couldn’t help it.

Maybe it was easier for me to empathize with her because I knew her my whole life, and I knew how she grew up. Her stepdad, the man who raised her, spent nearly a decade in prison for bludgeoning her mother with a pipe wrench, right in front of her. She spent all of her teenage years grounded and slaving away for her mom.

My mom was batshit crazy too, and in my 20s, I didn’t want anything to do with her. I got older though and got closer with my uncle, and the stuff he told me was just insane.

My mother witnessed her mother’s suicide when she was only four years old. Her youngest sibling was 10 years older than her, her father didn’t know what to do with her, so she was bounced around from family member to family member. Along the way she was sexually molested by multiple people. When she was about 11 years old, she moved back in with her father for a time. He had remarried, and she had to spend the next several years being molested by her stepbrother.

All of her siblings are upper middle class or wealthy. She has never had anything. The world cheated her.

Even her siblings are crazy, my aunt woke up, screaming like that and pulling our hair in the mornings. But they had been through hell.

It was chaos leading up to my grandmother’s suicide. My uncle said he spent his entire childhood, pulling his parents apart and getting in the middle of their fights.

I had to move in with my mom for a while after me and my ex split. It ended badly. I love her with all of my heart, we just can’t live together. She was pretty rough on me as a kid, but she her best, considering the life that she lived.

And I’m old enough now that I’ve seen a lot of improvement in my people, self even. I’ve seen them calm down.

I never knew my grandpa when he was the monster he used to be. The man I knew was an activist who worked his butt off to help abused and neglected children. He adopted many children, took care of me.

I don’t know, you do what works for you. You definitely don’t want to put yourself into a situation that can lead to hurt.

Best of luck to you.

I’d look after my mom if she needed me. It would be a lot, but I’d do it.

I’ll share a song with you that my mother wrote when I was a little kid. My bother and I both made our own thing out of it too, without realizing it.

“Mama, I remember you lying on the floor I seen the cold, cold gun that took you away forevermore I remember in my heart I didn’t know what was going on I didn’t know my life would soon be gone

Did you know what you were doing when you took your life from me? Every day I’ve lived through hell eternally

Mama, I forgive you no matter what you’ve done Mama now I understand just what was going on For I too have lived the life that you had to live And it is for that very reason, mama I can forgive”

I might have fudged it a little bit. She was about 23-25 when she wrote it and man, hearing her sing it done something to me and made it easier for me to forgive her.

I wish everyone would make art in some way. It helps us to see past the basic everyday shit and how it has affected us.