So...my mom and I broke up.
Yeah, you read that right. My mom and I broke up.
It's a long, complex story which was born in childhood and stretches until this very moment. The short version is my mom is BPD, and being a child of BPD was finally too much. Straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak.
This is pretty new. The "break-up," so to speak, started Christmas Eve and extended through Christmas. So this is really my first full day of being "parent single," so to speak.
This afternoon, after I refused to speak with her and let her twist my words and feelings from something happy and genuine to ones which are dangerous and ugly (though I left out that second part), she sent a text to the family group chat, which contains my father, mother, and brother.
"I am heartbroken," she said.
And that hurts. Because here's the thing: I don't want this. I love my family and I want us to be kind, loving, and caring towards each other. I want us to be full. I want us to be whole.
And while my mother has moments like those, she also has ones where she rewrites truth at her convenience; where she calls her now-adult children names and insults; where she blames all others in the outside world and does not take responsibility; where she relies on us, her children, to maintain her emotional well-being while simultaneously being her verbal and emotional punching bags.
So yeah, I broke up with her. Because it's just too much, and it is unhealthy. Because I will not expose G.'s family to this and allow her to draw them into her web. And because someday, when I have children, I will not let her abuse them this way.
But I would be lying if I said I wasn't truly, deeply sad. She is my mother, after all. For better or for worse, she raised me. So that text hurt. It makes me feel painfully guilty but simultaneously angry and frustrated because it is not my fault that it's come to this, and yet I still can't seem to get that idea from my head to my heart.
And it is like a break-up. When I passed a library, I thought about being taken their as a child. When I explained the intricacies of digestion to G. in the car, I thought of when she explained them to me. When Crash Test Dummies came on on my iPod, I thought of how she said she listened to them when she was pregnant with me, and how we went to see them when I was 16.
This is...hard. Necessary, healthy, but so damn hard.
If you've been through this, I feel with you and send my love. I know we can get through.
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