Effects of a Borderline Personality Disorder Mother on Her Children

So what is your diagnosis? It is impossible for you to have been raised by and been witness to such disorder and not be affected yourself. Have you been honest and written an article about your diagnosis and treatment, or do you consider yourself not disordered in any way and somehow just rattled by it all and not ill yourself? What is your cluster and are you honest about it?

That excerpt was from an email that I received. I don’t know if the nature of the email was sincere or confrontational; however, I thought covering the topic provides value for those attempting to climb out of the trenches of their own personal war. As I have stated before, adult children of BPDs are *war veterans* in every sense of the word, and your psychic landscape no doubt looks something like what's left after a bombing attack.

Through the last 5 years of writing this blog, I have covered the effects of my upbringing and parental relationships. I always searched for my part in the relationship's challenges-- as every relationship takes two. I would analyze and dig deeply to assess my accountability in the estrangements. And time and time again, I was never angry or resentful or even bitter-- always sad that broken relationships surrounded my family. I also wished that our family could be a happy family that shared in successes and supported during failures. But most importantly, I always accepted that these were the cards that I was dealt, and I would manage them to the best of my abilities. 

Parents are the people we look to nurture us and keep us safe. When a parent abuses a child,  the  impact is life-long. My childhood was very confusing, very destructive, and very tormenting. My childhood left my brother and me treated carelessly, with conditions on love, and orphaned. And I think dealing with the emotions, feelings, and memories is crucial to being a healthy, happy, and productive adult. I thoroughly believe that our choices are guided by our internal subconscious shaped by our past experiences. And that internal subconscious can be a positive or negative force depending on the presence, amount, and condition of the scars.

Before we delve into the effects of the relationship with my BPD mother on me, the following are the four BDP mother categories and effects on their child(ren): 

The Witch

• Children live in terror of BPD Witches' capricious moods; they are the "collateral damage" of a secret war they did not start, do not understand, and cannot control.

• Attacks are random, intense, and cruel. Children automatically think they're at fault and can become shamed, depressed, insecure, dissociative, and hypervigilant.

•  As adults they may have multiple difficulties with self, relationships, physical illness, and even post traumatic stress disorder.

 

The Queen

• To the BPD Queen, children are a built-in audience expected to give love, attention and support when the BPD Queen needs it. Children feel confused and betrayed when their normal behavior is sometimes punished (according to the BPD Queen's needs of the moment). 

• As kids grow, conflict with the BPD Queen increases. Underneath, these kids long for approval, recognition, consistency, and to be loved unconditionally for who they are, not what they achieve.

The Waif

• They feel angry, afraid and alone.

• Children may feel like failures for not making the BPD happy, or they may keep trying and trying until the mother's death. This enmeshment (inability to separate) may hinder grown child's relationships, which may be fraught with dependency.

• The child may become cynical, angry, and feel manipulated or turn into over-responsible nursemaids seeking elusive approval.

• The message to children is that life is something to be endured until you die.

• The BPD shelters children to such an extent they find autonomy disconcerting.

The Hermit

• During adulthood, they suffer from many maladies stemming from trapped feelings such as panic attacks or phobias.

• Children not encouraged to explore and learn can become anxious when faced with new situations. They may not learn appropriate coping skills, give up control too easily, have a hard time trusting, and be less capable of naturally moving away from the parent.

My mother is the "Borderline Queen Witch" who married the "Narcissistic King". Borderline mothers are make-believe mothers living in darkness needing the rescuer husband. In particular, my borderline mother is characterized as the Queen, and the 'darkness' that lies within the borderline Queen is 'emptiness'. "Her inner experience is deprivation and her behavior evokes compliance. She is demanding and flamboyant and may intimidate others. The Queen feels entitled to exploit others and can be vindictive and greedy. The Queen's emotional message to her children is: Life is 'all about me'" p 38 Lawson. The Witch hides within my mother as a "temporary ego-state", and makes appearances at times quite frequently but can hide for periods of time. The Witch's darkness is annihilating rage with the message to her children: 'life is war'. 

I have worked very hard over the decades to be a healthy and happy individual, at peace with life, as well as productive and prosperous. Through an open mind and an open heart, I have been successful. I have seen psychiatrists from childhood onward, and I have never received a diagnosis of a psychological disorder (a psychological disorder, also known as a mental disorder, is a pattern of behavioral or psychological symptoms that impact multiple life areas and/or create distress for the person experiencing these symptoms). Although I have not had a formal diagnosis of a disorder, I have had issues to work-out and resolve.

I am very thankful for the wonderful friends that I have had through the decades who would listen for hours on end about MANY whys and questions. They are partly responsible for keeping me grounded and focused.  Besides finding answers through my friends, I have read books like crazy. And when the Internet became more and more of a comprehensive tool, I have used it to connect with others like me and to research even further. Then, I started to blog, which allowed me to take all of this information out of my head and put it somewhere else... AND most importantly, help others like me to sort out all of the jumbled mess that happened in the past and create an understanding of it all. Ultimately, no-contact was the healthiest alternative for not only myself but my child and husband too. 

Part of my being at peace and being able to overcome the effects of a BPD mother is due to the research that I conducted about personality disorders, communicating with others who have experienced mirror situations, support from friends / family, writing down all my history with accompanying analysis, and more. I count on myself for my happiness, peace of mind, and understanding of this world.

The following are the effects of the BPD / NPD dysfunctional toxicity on me, which some are still present (hyperawareness for example) but some have been overcome (insomnia for example): 

Hyperawareness

With the survivors of trauma and abuse, this hyperawareness is a defense mechanism. "A nearly universal characteristic of survivors is excessive emotional hypersensitivity... hyperawareness of body language, moods, and 'the meanings behind the words' is a highly functional defense mechanism" p 166 Evans / Sullivan. In regard to the BPD parent:

• One must be on defense for the next attack, so keeping a vigilant eye on her behavior is vital: She has that look in her eye again; I need to stay away. Her body language is saying she's in a 'witch' mood, I better hide. She is becoming more and more aggressive with her language today; she is probably going to verbally attack me today.  

• Trying to sort-out the confusing and twisted behavior creates a need to collect as much information as possible to try to figure out her behavior (past, present, future). Seemingly, every action or word spoken is another piece of the puzzle.

With these observations of body language, eye contact, verbal communication, many times the child of the BPD questions their own perception of that is transpiring. Is the BPD really that bad? Perhaps the meaning behind the actions / words is being misread? Maybe the BPD doesn't really mean to act or say those things, and maybe I am the one who has the problem? "Children of borderlines may spend their entire lives trying to understand their mother and themselves. They are preoccupied with sorting out the meanings of interactions, studying their own perceptions, and questioning the intentions of others" Lawson p 302

To read more: http://thequeenandking.blogspot.com/2012/03/hyperawareness-defense-mechanism-then.html

Fight or Flight

I am generally a calm, cool, and collected person BUT whenever I have a potential confrontation, actual confrontation, or cause of concern related to my parents, my body immediately reacts. I get shaky, I feel sick to my stomach, I get out-of-breath, and my mind runs a million miles an hour. After decades of ...

• wondering when the next blow-up is going to happen or 

• what I am going to be falsely accused of next or 

• what is being fabricated about me now or

• having my parent(s) confront me with the next "we have to sit down an talk" scenario

... my body is sent into a tail-spin when my parents are discussed relative to me. This 'tail-spin' is fight-or-flight which is defined as the set of processes that occur in the body when it is confronted with some form of physical or mental stress. The nervous system signals for adrenaline and other hormones to be released into the blood which prepare the body either to confront or flee (thus, “fight or flight”). Changes in the body include increased heart rate, dilated pupils of the eye (to improve vision), and increased supply of blood to the muscles (to prepare the body for action).

To read more: http://thequeenandking.blogspot.com/2012/03/fight-or-flight-with-parental.html

Insomnia

Growing up in an environment with a borderline personality mother and a malignantly narcissistic Dad compounded by a period of simultaneous major-life-stessors (moving, death of grandmother, death of grandfather, parental divorce, parents remarrying), I developed several symptoms of stress. Insomnia was one of the resulting symptoms, which when your sense of safety and trust are shattered, having difficulty falling asleep is a normal reaction to abnormal events.

I can remember the EXACT night that the insomnia started in 1977 when I was 9 years old. Most anxious children do not have a specific event that triggered their anxiety, but some do. Certainly some situations can be anxiety producing, especially those that disrupt the child's sense of structure and order in their world (parental divorce, deaths in the family, trauma, moves) WorryWiseKids.org

To read more: http://thequeenandking.blogspot.com/2011/08/childhood-insomnia-resulting-from.html

Mental Scars

A seminal 1992 American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) report defines childhood abuse as "a repeated pattern of damaging interactions between parent(s) [or, presumably, other significant adults] and child that becomes typical of the relationship." In addition to physical, sexual and verbal abuse, this can include anything that causes the child to feel worthless, unlovable, insecure, and even endangered, or as if his only value lies in meeting someone else's needs.

I wasn't left unscarred from my childhood trauma. I have battled insomnia during peak times of childhood trauma. I have battled anxiety throughout my life, waiting for the next bomb to explode in my family. I have sought acceptance and attention from my parents that I will never achieve in receiving. I have searched, researched, dug, and sought understanding of my past, with which my parents have never assisted (my mother is irrational when speaking of the past, and my Dad 'doesn't remember' because he 'doesn't want to', which neither helps when trying to gain peace with the past).

To read more: http://thequeenandking.blogspot.com/2010/12/what-is-childhood-trauma.html

Toxic Guilt and Anxiety

Guilt trips are a very powerful tool, and I had a challenge with guilt trips and toxic guilt from my parents for many decades. In addition to the guilt, I started to have symptoms of anxiety starting in the mid-late 1990's. I believe the anxiety is a result from the long-term guilt I was experiencing compounded by the post traumatic stress that I experienced from the Parental Alienation Syndrome (PAS) and emotional abuse from my parents' personality disorders.

When you're brought up in an environment where you have been unfairly blamed for the wrongs of others, emotionally abused, or pitted against one parent by the other, the adult child may not have the ability to stop feeling guilty-- this is toxic guilt. Absorbing feelings of guilt, accepting blame, and being passive contribute to the guilty feelings. This early pattern of accepting other's guilt creates difficulty with stopping feelings of guilt about the past.

To read more: http://thequeenandking.blogspot.com/2009/08/childhood-passport-filled-with-toxic.html

Loneliness

Through the years I have felt like something is missing. I felt like I have been searching for something from my mother and Dad-- some sort of answer. And recently I had an epiphany: I don't feel like I belong to a family. I feel like I am an adult orphan. Prior to my parent's separation (You Dropped a Bomb on Me), I felt like I belonged to a family: my Dad, mother, brother, and me. Additionally, I had a deep relationship with my maternal grandparents, which both passed away (1977, 1977). Shortly after the announcement of my parent's separation (1979), that feeling of belonging started to erode away. I haven't been able to put my finger on the feeling until just the other day when I was looking at my daughter and feeling such pure love and joy looking in her eyes-- I belong with her & my husband, she & my husband belong with me, I have family across the country is very loving & supportive- we are a family, and I belong. I haven't had that since I was 11 years old.

To read more: http://thequeenandking.blogspot.com/2009/08/not-feeling-like-i-belong-to-family.html

Shame

As an adult child of two parents with personality disorders, I knew when the abuse was actually going on that some after-effects would be experienced later in life. Although I was able to endure the abuse, I knew I deep-sixed some of the feelings. I remember thanking God for giving me a head on my shoulders to know that the abuse was my parents doing-- that what I was going through was a product of their manufacturing. Even so, I knew that somewhere down the line, feelings or results could emerge. Both my BPD mother and NPD father wielded shame well with their emotional abuse, and I exhibit residual effects from the abuse I endure from my BPD mother and NPD father. 

To read more: http://thequeenandking.blogspot.com/2009/03/understanding-my-borderline-mother.html

If you are an adult child of a BPD mother, what are some of the effects you have experienced? What have done to over-come these effects? 

Childhood Insomnia Resulting from Stress

 

Growing up in an environment with a borderline personality mother and a malignantly narcissistic Dad compounded by a period of simultaneous major-life-stessors (moving, death of grandmother, death of grandfather, parental divorce, parents remarrying), I developed several symptoms of stress. Insomnia was one of the resulting symptoms, which when your sense of safety and trust are shattered, having difficulty falling asleep is a normal reaction to abnormal events.

Part of the stressful environment was my very controlling BPD mother. She controlled what we wore: picking up and purchasing our clothing (not giving us a say) as well a laying out our clothes on the bed every day. She controlled what we ate and having us clean our plates or sit at the table until we did. A couple of times, I vomited in my food, only to be given more. She controlled our bathing, even washing our hair at the kitchen sink until we were middle school age which became very embarrassing when friends dropped by-- lying on the counter with my head in the sink and my mother scrubbing my head. She even controlled our bed time and awake time with early bed times and late awake times.And once we were put to bed, we were to remain in our rooms until a set time.

I developed insomnia around 9 years old; however, up to that age, I had years of being put to bed so early that I would stand at my window and watch the children play outside ... and then sit in bed and sing to entertain myself. I remember hearing my mother and Dad watch TV, and I could smell the aroma of freshly popped popcorn wind its way through my room. I also can remember hearing them go to bed and thinking I should be asleep by now. My bed-time didn't have anything to do with my schedule, sleep requirements, or body clock. My bed-time was based on the need for my parents to have alone time from the kids.

My awake-time also didn't have anything to do with my schedule, sleep requirements, or body clock. I woke earlier than my mother allowed my brother and me out of our rooms, so I would sit in my bed and count pennies, listen to the am-radio, or use my hands as puppets. All of our toys and books were in the play-room so we didn't have those things to occupy us . My brother would be awake in his room, and I would be awake in my room, and we were not allowed to play with each other. So we waited for the time we were allowed to leave our bedrooms. I had a small clock to keep an eye on the time so I knew when we were allowed out of our rooms.

At times, my mother refused to get out of bed and she would lock herself in her room. She would stay all day  in that dark room. During these times, my Dad would take care of us in between going to work. He would call from work to make sure that my mother got out of bed after he left us in the play-room while she was still sleeping.

From 1976 to 1977, I said goodbye to my friends when we moved to a new home in a new school district. I started new a new and shortly thereafter I lost my grandmother to a stroke. My mother had become very angry and lashed out at us. Notably that Easter, we were told we were ungrateful and selfish because we were upset that Easter bunny didn't come when she was still mourning the loss of her mother a month earlier. She tossed Easter tee-shirts at us as we stood in the dining room. My childhood ended at this point, and I knew my world had completely changed.

After my grandmother's death, my grandfather lived with us, and my mother was very cruel to him. Ultimately she kicked him out of our house for very petty incidents (crumbs on the counter, urinating on the toilet seat) and wrote him a scathing and scarring letter. She used my brother and me to hurt him more by not allowing us to mail him letters after he moved. I felt tremendous guilt about this. A year later he died, my mother had an affair with my Dad's best friend, and my parents divorced. The divorce was nasty, traumatic for us kids, and lengthy. Safety and trust had been shattered...

Now back to the onset of insomnia: I can remember the EXACT night that the insomnia started in 1977 when I was 9 years old. Most anxious children do not have a specific event that triggered their anxiety, but some do. Certainly some situations can be anxiety producing, especially those that disrupt the child's sense of structure and order in their world (parental divorce, deaths in the family, trauma, moves) WorryWiseKids.org

We had moved to the new house, I had started the new school, and my grandmother had died. One night my parents said goodnight to me as usual, and I didn't fall asleep. I started to feel sweaty and clammy. I heard the AC turn on ... and then off ... and then it come back on ... and then it turned back off... clearly communicating to me the passing of time. Then I could hear my parents walk past my bedroom to go to bed. The lights went off in the hallway and the house was quiet. Time kept passing and I didn't fall asleep. I started to get anxiety ridden and I cried hoping that one of my parents would come check on me-- but neither did. I called out for my parents.

What resulted from here was a long period of time where I didn't sleep. But what was worse than not sleeping was the dread from the moment I woke-up until the the next bed-time: the dread of having to go back to sleep and that frightening, traumatic, horrifying, anxiety-ridden feeling of being lonely, alone, and helpless to insomnia. I can't even describe the nauseating, deep-pitted, empty feeling when I couldn't sleep. I felt like I was the only child / person in the world that experienced this problem-- like I was the only person in the whole world that was wide awake in the middle of the dark and quiet night. I had no idea that other people have the same experience. 

  

Interestingly, I didn't feel sleep deprived. I wasn't sleepy during the day. I only had increasing anxiety about sleep. One night, our parents took us to meet Darth Vader at a local mall, and I was only fixated on the impending doom of bedtime. I also remember getting a doll as a gift and only associating the toy to the dreadful insomnia I was experiencing. I remember playing with friends during the day-time and only thinking of the terribly long night I just endured and the next night quickly approaching that I would have to endure again.

My parents didn't talk about the insomnia. My parents offered little comfort when I was upset and crying during the night. In fact, my mother didn't come to my room after the first night... my Dad did. And he really didn't have much to say other than he has to get up early in the morning for work. He suggested the counting sheep and playing a baseball game in my head ... and later he got permission from my mother to allow me to turn on the bedroom light and read Reader's Digest Condensed books (not any other book was allowed). I read through these books at lightning speed as I was up most nights to 4am and distinctively remember reading the series about Emily Pollifax.

Could the insomnia have been avoided? I believe so. If my parents had been more aware and subsequently more communicative and supportive about the changes in our family life (the move, leaving friends, changing of schools, death), I think some of the stress could have been eliminated. The way my family dealt with stress was to go to a movie (basically, to "deep six" the situation and not talk about it). But how could my parents have been more communicative and supportive about the changes in our family life when they are self-absorbed? And how could they have been more communicative and supportive about stress that they caused or contributed to? For example, if my mother had handled the death of her mother differently, acceptance of her passing would have been easier.  Rather than hiding in a dark room sedated, she could have set a different climate. Instead of attending a funeral for my grandmother, we were subjected to my mother's anger directed to my grandfather. 

And if the insomnia wasn't avoided, I think I could have worked through the sleepless nights with guidance from my parents. Perhaps I would have had a few sleepless nights but with having the comfort of alternatives (ie: watching TV, playing with toys, drawing and writing) and the comfort of knowing others have insomnia too, I would have been able to more effectively deal with the insomnia. Instead of feeling alone with parents ignoring my cries and calls and instead of my parents being angry at me for keeping them awake, I could have felt supported with the love of my parents.

I researched insomnia with children and found some wonderfully supportive parents on message boards. I love this mother's response to a mother who has a 9 year old with insomnia:  

My son has always been a difficult sleeper. We allow him to read in bed with a reading light so he doesn't keep his younger brother awake. I snuggle with him for at least 10 minutes and during this time we talk about his day and settle ourselves. When he was younger we used to do a breathing exercise to calm and focus him, nothing fancy just deep breathing in and out. From my experience having a set ritual each night is helpful. One thing we've done that's worked as well is having him listen to music with headphones. Keeping the room as dark as possible is also good with a light he can control like an LED reading light so he can either read or use it as a night light. Sometimes I also put him in a warm bath before bed or encourage him to take a shower.

Try to create an atmosphere of calm, when bed time becomes anxiety producing there is no way to sleep. And be sure to explain to him that there is nothing wrong with him, some people just have trouble falling asleep or staying asleep. I came to the conclusion years ago that I just need less sleep than other people, my son is the same way. Lately things have been better, he's asleep pretty consistently by 10pm, but these things go in cycles. It sounds like this lack of sleep is distressing to him so I would avoid having him lay in bed waiting to fall asleep, that was always the worst for me as a kid and exacerbated my anxiety about sleep. 

Amen! Bravo! Oh how I wish I had parents that were thoughtful, patient, and flexible like this mother. Obviously my parents were not deficient simply with handling my insomnia. Insomnia was just a small part of the whole-- the whole being a childhood filled with dysfunction, toxicity, confusion, conditional love, and impatience that my parents created. 

Although the insomnia subsided, for decades I have carried that horrible sick feeling of being alone in a forever-long night. If my child ever develops an issue with sleeping (or any other for that matter), I will be completely supportive, understanding, and patient. I have been very comforting with my child during times of sleep pattern changes through the years, still feeling the effects of not having my parents' reassurance (security and safety) through childhood. To this day, my parents have no idea (nor do they care) how terrible that insomnia experience was to me... and how to this day, I can feel the after-effects.

Fly to the Angels (1977 - 1978)

Visiting my mother's grandparents was the light of my life. My brother and I had so much fun with them, we experienced what it's like to be loved unconditionally, and we felt very relaxed with them. We spent our holidays with them, went to their house on weekends, and had other visits with them, as they were only a two hour drive away.

I distinctly remember ALWAYS getting choked up and crying when leaving their house. I would ALWAYS try to hide the fact that I was crying (I was 9 years or younger), but at times, my boo-hooing wasn't able to be hidden (see subsequent blog entry about this: Feeling Like I Don't Belong to a Family). I questioned my Dad years later as to why I had such a difficult time saying goodbye, and his response was that I was so happy with them that I didn't want to go back to the other life-- the life with my mother, where she was emotionally void, controlling, and unhappy.

My grandfather thought I hung the moon. He never wanted to tell me 'no' and spoiled me with attention. I loved him just the same. My grandmother sewed me clothes, danced in the living room with me, and baked us yummy cookies. She was part of my heart. I absolutely adored my grandparents.

I received a letter from my grandmother at the beginning of 1977 which told me about the bad weather they were having, how she fell, and how she had been battling some bad headaches. I didn't know the extent of these headaches, but apparently, the headaches were debilitating, and she sought relief. Unfortunately she sought help in the wrong place, as the chiropractor she went to didn't refer her to a neurologist, and instead, kept telling her she needed to be 'adjusted'. As a result, she blew a huge aneurysm and had a stroke. She was in the hospital for weeks. She kept asking to see me but I was too young to go up on the floor where she was. By the time the staff agreed to sneak me up to see her, my grandmother passed away from a cardiac arrest at the young age of 59.

My grandfather was distraught. He was a man who lived by his woman, who needed his woman's support, and loved her to the deepest part of his soul. They had an intense love affair, and the thought of living life without her tore him up. You could see the air had been completely let out of him, and a deflated shell was left.

My mother was hysterical over the death of her mother. She resorted to staying in her dark room at the back of the house and took Valium that was given to her by a doctor friend of the family (more about him later). My mother was not compassionate, empathic, sympathetic, or loving to her father / my grandfather. In fact, she was very hard on him and pushed him further into depression. I realize people deal with death and loss differently, and each has his or her own way of expression; however, this to me, is the first indication of something not being "right" about my mother. My grandmother's death also marks awareness of something not being "right" about my Dad too, but not to the same extent.

My grandfather was so distraught over the loss of his wife that he couldn't bear to deal with the house or its possessions. So he took what he needed and a few things he couldn't live without, and moved across the country. My mother was then able to go and take what she wanted from the house before it was put up for auction. This time period was very surreal and dark for me. I couldn't fathom my grandmother being gone, I was crushed to see my grandfather so upset (this is a big, strong man who is now a shell of who he was), and I was confused to my mother's reaction and distance she created between herself & me (and my brother too).

When we went out to my grandparents' house with a U-Haul, my brother and I were allowed to select a few things to take with us. Additionally, my Dad put a limit on to how many trips and how much stuff my mother could take. My mother apparently (I don't recall this; she told me) was very upset about my Dad controlling how much she could take. We took several trips up to the house and said 'goodbye' to my grandmother.

That summer, my grandfather came for a long visit. During this time, my mother became increasingly hostile to him. She picked on everything he did. She belittled the grieving man. She was very cold to him. I didn't understand where this was coming from (nor do I now other than what I have discovered about her personality disorder), and the situation broke my little 10 year old heart.

Eventually the situation escalated to my mother kicking my grandfather out of the house for peeing on the toilet seat and leaving crumbs on the counter. She also wrote him a scathing letter, telling him horrible things (he's s filthy pig for example) and that he can't see his grandchildren anymore (ever). My grandfather spiraled further into depression and entered therapy.

I was not allowed to answer his letters. My mother held onto the letters and wouldn't mail them. I felt so terrible that I couldn't let my grandfather know how much I loved him and cared for him. And even more terrible, he died that early fall, (1 year and 7 months after my grandmother's death), leaving me with deep seated guilt that he left this world without me answering his letters. I prayed that he knew what my mother was doing. As a side note here, I have a guardian angel, and he has looked over me my entire life. My guardian angel knows the truth. My guardian angel is my grandfather.

I will mention again, that during this time, my mother was obtaining Valium from a family friend. This family friend coached sports with my Dad. They were very close friends; in fact, our families were close. So close that we took vacations together, went to the lake together, and did a great deal together several times a week. I never saw anything abnormal about any of the relationships but this will soon change.

During this time, I developed insomnia. I remember the exact day that I stopped sleeping normally. I was acutely aware that I wasn't falling asleep. I tried but I couldn't. Having a controlling mother, I wasn't allowed out of my bed once put there at bed time, so I stared at the dark walls, counted how many times the air conditioner came on & turned off, counted sheep... and cried. My Dad was always the one to come in to comfort me. And eventually I was allowed to turn on the light and read a book. My days were consumed with the thought of having to go back to bed and experiencing another endless night trying to go to sleep. This bout with insomnia left a lasting impression on me that I carry to this day. The nights were frightening, the feeling of being completely alone and lonesome was overwhelming, and the lack of true parental compassion, safety, and love were disturbing.

I had no idea at the time why I was having trouble sleeping, but it's clearly obvious now. My life had been through some very stressful changes all at one time, and more changes were to come (which you could feel it at the time). Not only was I staying up late not being able to sleep, but my mother would stay up until all hours reading medical books. HUGE medical books. Yes, huge medical books with giant, detailed diagrams. At the time, I didn't make the connection, but our family friend is a medical person. He worked at a local hospital, and at times, my mother would take my brother and me to the local hospital's teaching college to walk around-- she would express how she really wanted to go back to school, and she wanted to go there. My mother also was going on errands and going out when, in the past, she didn't do this.

Well, the day came, less than a year after my grandfather passed, that my mother pulled my brother and me into the kitchen. My Dad was out mowing the yard. At this time, the bomb was dropped. The eternally destructive, the bomb of all bombs to mess with a young child's mind, the bomb that would gain momentum and never stop...